Ian didn’t look as though he’d hit the shower yet, but at least he was dressed. He regarded me critically. “Starbucks? They might have been okay before they became mainstream, but now they’re just another corporate monstrosity that all the sheep flock to.” He swirled his coffee mug around. “Back in Chicago, I go to this really great hole-in-the-wall café that’s run by this guy who used to be a bass player in an indie rock band you’ve probably never heard off. The espresso he serves is
“So,” I said, suspecting one could make a drinking game out of how many times Ian used “mainstream” in a conversation, “I guess that means there’s plenty of Starbucks here for me.”
Margaret nodded briefly toward Seth’s coffeemaker. “Have a cup with us.”
She turned around and continued cooking. The phone was burning in my pocket. I wanted to sprint toward the door and had to force myself to behave normally in front of Seth’s family. I poured myself a cup of delicious corporate coffee and tried not to act like they were keeping me from a phone call that could change the rest of my life.
“You’re up early,” I said, taking my coffee over to a corner that gave me a good view of both Mortensens. And the door.
“Hardly,” said Margaret. “It’s nearly eight. Ten, where we come from.”
“I suppose so,” I murmured, sipping from my mug. Since signing up for Team North Pole, I hardly ever saw this side of noon anymore. Children didn’t usually hit Santa up for Christmas requests so early, not even the ones at the mall I worked at.
“Are you a writer too?” asked Margaret, flipping over something with a flourish. “Is that why you pull such crazy hours?”
“Er, no. But I do usually work later in the day. I work, um, retail, so I’m on mall hours.”
“The mall,” scoffed Ian.
Margaret turned from the stove and glared at her son. “Don’t act like you never go there. Half your wardrobe’s from Fox Valley.”
Ian actually turned pink. “That’s not true!”
“Didn’t you get your coat at Abernathy & Finch?” she prodded.
“It’s Abercrombie & Fitch! And, no, of course I didn’t.”
Margaret’s expression spoke legions. She took down two plates from the cupboard and stacked them high with pancakes. She delivered one to Ian and the other to me.
I started to hand it back. “Wait. Is this
She fixed with me with a steely gaze and then looked me up and down. It gave me a good view of the quilted teddy bears on her sweatshirt. “Oh? Are you one of those girls who doesn’t eat real food? Is your usual breakfast coffee and grapefruit?” She gave a calculated pause. “Or do you not trust my cooking?”
“What? No!” I hastily put my plate on the table and took a chair across from Ian. “This looks great.”
“Usually I’m vegan,” said Ian, pouring syrup on the pancakes. “But I make exceptions for Mom.”
I really, really should have let it go but couldn’t help saying, “I didn’t think ‘usually’ and ‘vegan’ go together. You either are or you aren’t. If you’re making exceptions some of the time, then I don’t think you get the title. I mean, sometimes I put cream in my coffee and sometimes I don’t. I don’t call myself vegan on black days.”
He sighed in disgust. “I’m vegan
I returned to my pancakes. Margaret was back to cooking again, presumably her own breakfast now, but still continued the conversation. “How long have you and Seth been seeing each other?”
“Well . . .” I used chewing as an excuse to formulate my thoughts. “That’s kind of hard to answer. We’ve, um, dated off and on for the last year.”
Ian frowned. “Wasn’t Seth engaged for part of the last year?”
I was on the verge of saying, “He was engaged ironically,” when Seth himself emerged from the bedroom. I was grateful for the distraction from explaining our relationship but not pleased to see Seth up.
“Hey!” I said. “Go back to bed. You need more sleep.”
“Good morning to you too,” he said. He brushed a kiss against his mother’s cheek and the joined us at the table.
“I mean it,” I said. “This is your chance to sleep in.”
“I got all the sleep I need,” he countered, stifling a yawn. “Besides, I promised to make cupcakes for the twins. Their class is having a holiday party today.”
“ ‘Holiday,’ ” muttered Margaret. “Whatever happened to Christmas?”
“I can help you,” I told Seth. “Well . . . that is, after I take care of a couple of things.”
“I can make them.” Margaret was already going through the cupboards, seeking ingredients. “I’ve been making cupcakes before any of you were born.”
Seth and I exchanged glances at that.
“Actually,” he said, “
Ian straightened up importantly. “I’ll go find an organic bakery and pick up some stuff for the kids who want to eat baked goods that are made with free-range ingredients and don’t contain animal products.”
“What, like free-range flour?” I asked incredulously.
“Ian, they’re seven,” said Seth.
“What’s your point?” asked Ian. “This is my way of helping out.”
Seth sighed. “Fine. Go for it.”
“Cool,” said Ian. He paused eloquently. “Can I borrow some money?”
Margaret soon insisted that Seth have breakfast before attempting anything else, and I took advantage of his becoming the center of attention. I quickly put on casual clothes and made a polite exit, thanking her for breakfast and telling him that I would meet up with him at the twins’ school for cupcake distribution. As soon as I’d cleared the condo, I began dialing the phone again.
Unsurprisingly, I got Jerome’s voice mail. I left him a message and made no attempt to hide my urgency . . . or irritation. That kind of attitude wasn’t going to endear me to him, but I was too pissed off to care. This transfer was a big deal. If there was any chance of its legitimacy, he really should have given me a greater heads-up.
Back at my place, my cats Aubrey and Godiva were happy to see me. Actually, I think they were just happy to see anyone who could feed them. They were lying in front of Roman’s closed bedroom door when I walked in and immediately jumped up. They pranced over to me, snaking around my ankles and bombarding me with piteous meows until I refilled their food dishes. After that, I was old news.
I toyed with the idea of waking up Roman. I really, really wanted to talk out this transfer news with someone, and Seth hadn’t been an option this morning. Roman, unfortunately, shared his father’s “fondness” for mornings, and I wasn’t entirely sure I’d have the most productive conversation if I woke him against his will. So, instead, I took my time showering and getting ready for the day, hoping that Roman would get up on his own. No such luck. When ten rolled around, I left another voice mail message for Jerome and finally gave up on Roman. A new idea had hit me, and I went to go check it out first, setting the mental condition that if Roman wasn’t up when I returned, I’d wake him then.
The Cellar was a favorite bar for immortals, especially Jerome and Carter. It was an old dive of a place down in historic Pioneer Square. The bar didn’t generally do a lot of business this time of day, but angels and demons were hardly the types to care about propriety. Jerome might not be answering his phone, but there was a very good chance he was out and about for a morning drink.
And, as I came down the steps that led into the establishment, I did indeed feel the wash of a greater immortal signature over me. Only, it wasn’t Jerome’s. It wasn’t even demonic. Carter was sitting alone at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey while the bartender punched in 1970s songs on the jukebox. Carter would’ve sensed me too, so there was no point in trying to sneak off. I sat on a stool beside him.
“Daughter of Lilith,” he said, waving the bartender back. “Didn’t expect to see you out and about so early.”
“I’ve had kind of a weird morning,” I told him. “Coffee, please.” The bartender nodded and poured me a mug
