A Witch's Beauty (Daughters of Arianne 2)

"True," Mina responded, fascinated with the flood of words. She didn't think anyone could speak that fast. And while the waitress was obviously worried she'd offended her, most beings who met her knew exactly how she'd lost the fingers, so it had rarely come up in conversation. She found the waitress's observation quite logical. "It's a little too difficult to explain."

"Fair enough." She beamed. "What can I get you to drink?"

"Some of that?" Mina gestured at the pot.

"Coffee. Sure thing." The waitress turned over an upside-down cup on a saucer in front of Mina and poured. "I'll give you a couple minutes with the menu. I'm just about to end my shift, so it's going to be Diane who takes your order. She's a sweet little thing, just like you."

Mina blinked. Nodded. Felt David's amusement.

Are you listening in?

In a way. My sense of hearing is very refined.

Eavesdropper.

Well, after the saloon, I realized you're full of surprises. I thought you might start flirting.

Do I strike you as the type of person who flirts? But she felt something ripple through her stomach at his velvet teasing. Would you like me to practice? There's a man at the counter who looks very broad in the shoulders, broader than yours. He is wearing these blue, somewhat tight pants that make a very noticeable display of his—

You're baiting me.

Am I? Or am I flirting with you? She felt his surprise, as well as some of her own. Besides, why would I bait you?

Because you enjoy it.

What would you do if I did flirt with one of them?

A hum of energy moved through her body, slow, like a thick liquid spread by his fingers over her vital organs. His palms were on her skin, his breath in her ear, the heat and weight of him bearing her down. So real, it seemed she could twine her arms and legs around him, feel the silk of his feathers through her fingers as she stroked him with her wet, heated muscles.

I would remind you of my touch, my mouth, until you couldn't think of another.

"Oh," she said faintly. Despite herself, she pressed her lips together, compressing the sense of his touch there, a pleasant combination with the coffee's rich aroma. How did you do that? Is it the blood we share?

Yes and no. I'm in you, Mina, as you're in me.

"Okay, have you decided what you want?"

Mina tuned in to the new waitress in front of her with effort. Diane was not much taller than herself, dark-haired and brown-eyed. Eyes red-rimmed from crying. From the uncomfortable shift of the girl's gaze, it was obvious she was hoping no one would point out the obvious and trigger a new flood.

Mina knew all about not wanting someone to push, and unlike a certain angel, she respected that. Plus, she was far more interested in the inanimate objects of the human world than the irritatingly complex animated ones. She wanted to examine napkins, utensils, the array of dishes before her. Study how people dressed, their jewelry, what they chose to eat. If she could figure out how to be invisible, she'd go from table to table, looking. Visit the kitchen and watch them prepare food.

I can snatch the toy from the baby in the elevated chair behind me and determine how it is making that incessant rattling noise.

Mina.

I didn't say I was going to.

"Ma'am?"

"I want chocolate chip cookies. A dozen of them. Warm, from the oven. Do you have those?"

"Sure." Diane nodded. "That's, like, one of our specialties. It will take just a few minutes to do a new batch. Anything else?"

"That's all." Mina didn't have any money, but eyeing the few bills that the man at the counter had just handed to the older woman behind it to pay for his meal, she could illusion a facsimile of them that would pass inspection until they left. While she didn't care for stealing any more than David did, she figured there was a reason she was here that was more important than the relative cost of a few cookies.

Though going from table to table wasn't feasible, she spent the wait gazing around her with interest. A couple of families. A pair of men in dust-covered clothing, both lean as whips but eating enormous amounts of food. In a corner booth, a trio of old men analyzed human politics, looking so comfortable they had to come here often. The brawny man she'd mentioned to David was drinking his coffee alone, but speaking on some type of phone.

She didn't see anything that suggested the Schism's reason for bringing them here. Perhaps the Schism had experienced a benign moment and was merely giving her the opportunity to provide David cookies. Her surroundings felt magic and threat free.

Still, she didn't relax entirely. Though she didn't particularly want to interact with people, she did pay attention to their mannerisms. If they were going to be among humans for a while, she needed to blend, a vital technique every sea creature knew was necessary for survival. All in all, their behavior didn't seem much different from that of average merpeople.

However, it was different to be an unremarkable part of that, not treated as a pariah. But she was disturbed by her own comfort with it. It had been the other way for too long. It would be too easy to embrace this, to forget to be wary.

Fortunately, as normal as her surroundings might seem, the Schism wasn't about to let her forget its presence. A shimmer when she looked out the window gave her the opportunity to see a school of sea horses swim by, followed by a whale who surged forward with a flick of his tail, despite the background of the desert landscape. Apparently the Schism had co-opted her imaginings and was amusing itself with them. No one in the diner seemed to see the creatures except the wide-eyed baby perched in the high chair in the next booth. She gurgled. Mina noticed she also seemed very preoccupied with looking toward the ceiling and waving her arms, as if she wanted whatever was up there to come down and see her. Hold her.

Yes, angels had that effect. One particular angel had that effect on Mina, not that she cared to admit it. She wanted to say that they'd only known each other several days, use that as a way to deny his love, but she knew as well as he did that it had been going on far longer than that between them. Since they'd first met, he hadn't been far. She'd sensed his presence even when other angels were guarding her. Knew from conversations she had overheard between Marcellus's men that he'd talked to them often. And it had reassured her, when it shouldn't have.

I think the Schism has a sense of humor.

David spoke in her mind, indicating he, too, had seen the whale.

Or it could just be free-form chaos, she responded. This place is a sketch pad, a workbook for outlining magics before implementing them elsewhere. Something's subconscious.

Have any idea yet whether it's good or bad?

Either. It's a design board. But whatever runs it is territorial, and recognizes the wrong kind of chaos, if it doesn't permit Dark Ones.

So you must be the right kind, if you're this close to the main Schism and it's interacting with you.

I'm not sure this is about us.

"Here you are." Diane was back. She'd put two of the cookies on a plate, and the smell coming from them had several heads turning. Mina had to agree with their interest, but unfortunately, it seemed to have the opposite effect on her waitress. She was growing pale, her skin looking clammy. "If that's all..." Diane ripped the ticket from her pad and laid it down. "Here you go. I've put the rest in this bag to keep them warm and in case you want them to go. Excuse me."

Turning on her heel, she fled, her hand clapping over her mouth. As she retreated, her hip struck the baby's high chair. So intent on being sick, Diane didn't notice until she was past the chair and startled cries alerted her. As she spun, the baby's chair was going over. Mother and father both made a lunge for it. Missed.

The front door whipped inward and hit the concrete wall, the glass shattering in the metal frame. More cries erupted at the shocking noise, but Mina's gaze was frozen on the high chair, which made one last slight rock as it settled back in its upright position. Like everyone else, she'd seen nothing, but the baby was laughing and twisti

ng her head this way and that. Looking for her guardian angel, Mina suspected. The child had a white and brown feather clamped possessively in a chubby fist.

A snowstorm of napkins was spinning off tables and floating toward the floor, the tinny noise of shattered glass pinging off the tiles of the entranceway.

Diane stood stock-still, staring at the baby.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" The father was up and shouting at the white-faced waitress, his fists clenched. "Why are you running when you have children sitting in the aisle like that?"

"I-I'm sorry," Diane stammered.