Page 28 of Hex and the City
The establishment was both operated and frequented by mages, after all. Everyone was welcome at Unholy Grounds, as long as they behaved. And if they didn’t? Well, Johnny and Roscoe had very creative and often painful ways of dealing with troublemakers.
Johnny Slivers, proprietor and barista-in-chief, cleared the floor in a few long strides. He wrapped me up in a tight hug, white dress shirt pulled up to his elbows to reveal tattoos from the backs of his hands up to his forearms. A coiled snake slithered across his chest, a spray of flowers inked across his neck.
“Max, you handsome, awkward bastard,” he grunted into my ear, clapping me on the back. “You don’t ever come around here anymore.”
Roscoe Stone’s laughter was a warm, welcome sound. “Johnny, don’t exaggerate. We saw Maxy last week.” Roscoe was Johnny’s partner, both in business and in love, always looking so comfortable in his soft hoodies, so carefree with his floppy waves of hair.
“Thanks for sticking up for me,” I said, scratching the side of my nose. “Just been so busy with stuff, and Tina takes up a lot of my downtime, too.”
“Good to see you, Max.” Roscoe pressed a kiss against my cheek. I squeezed his waist, grinned in greeting. “Johnny really does miss you, though.”
“And I’m Leon.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, sheepishly staring at my shoes. “Sorry, Leon. Um, guys, so this is Leon. He’s also a finder. He’s new in town. Leon, guys. Guys, Leon.”
“Good to meet you,” Johnny said, grasping Leon by the shoulder. “Welcome to Unholy Grounds. Don’t mind Max. Raised by wolves. Doesn’t know how to act around people.”
I shot Johnny a scowl. He ignored me and just kept on talking.
“And hold on. New in town? A bit of buzz among the local finders. You that witch boy everyone’s talking about?”
“Well, I don’t know about everyone.” Leon blushed. Cute. Annoying. Mostly cute. “Really? People talk about me?”
“I hear bits and bobs of gossip, here and there.” Johnny waggled an eyebrow. “One of the perks of catering to people like us. Everyone wants to unwind, let their hair down, spill some beans.”
Roscoe clucked his tongue, taking Leon’s hand and shaking it briskly. “Johnny’s right. Don’t take it too personal. Maxy here has always been terrible with introductions. And people. And returning books he borrowed from me six months ago.”
“God,” I moaned. “I said I was sorry. Next time, I promise. Like I said on the phone, it’s kind of important that we came to see you.”
“Before that, drinks are on me.” Johnny thumped himself on the chest. “Anything you like. What can I get you boys?”
“Flat white,” I said, almost automatically. I knew I seemed like the type to take my coffee black, but I really enjoyed milky drinks.
“That’s so nice of you,” Leon said, staring up at the chalkboard menus. “I’ll take a caramel macchiato, if that’s okay?”
Something sweet. Of course. Didn’t surprise me. And I wasn’t judging anymore, honest. Leon just seemed like the type to have a sweet tooth. It was cute.
Johnny nodded, ducking behind the bar to make his magic. “Coming right up, Witch Boy.”
Plenty of mages in the arcane underground could manifest very specific gifts, apart from the things they learned through conventional magical education. It was part of what made everyone so unique, talents that could be small and practical, or exceptionally fantastic.
Both of my friends tended toward the small and practical side, depending on who you asked. Perhaps subtle was the right word, particularly in Ross’s case.
Roscoe Stone was the smartest person I knew, equipped with a preternatural ability to understand intricate magics, deciphering even the most difficult of rituals to be found in ancient spell books. Give Ross a dusty old grimoire and he could probably cast half its spells by heart after a couple days of study. Maybe an exaggeration, but I never thought there was anything wrong with bragging about my friends.
And no one would ever know from looking, how he loved to dress down in casual, comfy T-shirts and jeans. He just looked like a somewhat scruffy college professor, the very opposite of a layman’s idea of a wizard. He was pretty good with tongues, too. I meant languages, of course, though Johnny might argue otherwise, if he were the type to kiss and tell.
Johnny Slivers was someone who belonged on the back of a Harley, who looked like he was born with tattoos and piercings, swaddled in biker leathers. Hell, even his name sounded tough. I liked to think he was a good boy’s version of a bad boy, with his meticulously tailored clothing and artful tattoos. A hipster, through and through, though saying that out loud would get me punched right in the face.
He made it all himself, too, the clothesandthe tattoos. Johnny specialized in a very specific form of metal manipulation, conjuring dozens, if not hundreds of little needles to do his bidding. Like I said, very practical. But piss Johnny Slivers off, and the results could be very deadly, too. Personally, I didn’t want to make a habit of pissing off a guy who could revenge-tattoo a dick on my forehead.
As for my special talent? Nice try. Mind your own business.
Johnny handed us our drinks. I thanked him and took my first sip — perfect as always, an excellent balance of coffee and milk. Leon tried his macchiato, beamed, and nodded appreciatively. Johnny Slivers smiled back, a rare and precious sight.
“Here’s the thing,” I said, fishing the scrap of fabric out of my pocket and handing it to Roscoe. “Ripped it off the culprit behind the anomalies. Maybe you can help us out.”
Roscoe adjusted his glasses, their lenses flashing a different color each time the light struck. Iridescent. Very much like the shadowy anomalist’s quartz crystal goggles, in fact. Pretty common in the arcane underground, actually, and fairly convenient, too.
