“Welcome to Starbucks. Go ahead and order when you’re ready.” The weirdly chipper voice made Cheyenne pull away a little from the window and blink quickly.
“Yeah, just a… I don’t know. Large coffee.”
“A venti? Okay? What roast did you want this morning?”
“Um, caffeinated.”
A muffled laugh came over the speaker. “Not a regular, are you?”
“What gave it away?”
“Okay, I personally am a fan of the Colombia roast. We have cold-pressed, too, if you want.”
“Yeah, just go with the first thing, please.”
“Got it. That’ll be two fifty-eight. I’ll see you at the window.”
“Thanks.” Cheyenne slowly rolled her car all of six feet forward before she stopped again behind the Prius and rubbed her cheeks, blinking heavily. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she slowly rolled her head on her sore neck and looked out the passenger-side window. That was when she saw the walking pile of trash. “What…”
Old, crinkled wrappers and an empty paper soda cup flew off the top of the trash pile, followed by a half-eaten apple and a long pink ribbon. The pile of trash walked past Cheyenne’s car, then slumped to the ground and revealed a two-foot man with bright-red skin who sifted through the armload of garbage with a grin and wide yellow eyes. This one’s neon-orange hair was gelled into seven thick mohawk spikes.
Cheyenne glanced around the parking lot. Why is no one seeing this guy?
When she looked back at the little red dude sitting on the grass between the Starbuck’s parking lot and the next lot over, the guy shrugged out of a backpack and propped it up beside him while he rifled through the trash. For the second time in twenty-four hours, Cheyenne found herself looking at a lime-green backpack with a print of the Incredible Hulk smashing cars on the front. Oh, hell, no.
She leaped out of the car and stalked across the parking lot toward the mohawked magical, her fists clenched at her sides. “Hey.”
The little dude jerked his head up at her with wide eyes, then glanced around the parking lot and pointed at his chest.
“Yeah, I’m talking to you. Where’d you get that backpack?”
“You can see me.”
“Yeah, and I asked you a question.” When she reached him, she snatched the backpack from beside the guy and forced away the memory of all those other clothes piled in a heap before they were buried in construction rubble.
“Hey, lady. What I pull out of the trash is none of your business.”
“This isn’t trash. It’s stolen.”
“Yeah, by you.” The bright-red man leaned forward to grab at the backpack, but the halfling lifted it out of his reach and glared at him.
“Where did you get this?”
“Some demolished building, okay? And I’ll have you know, the goblin told me to go ahead and take whatever I wanted. Wouldn’t give up the hat, though. Nice black hat, and thirty-eight’s my lucky number! Turquoise bastard. Now hand it back. I gotta have something to put my best finds in, and you’re making it pretty hard.” The guy snatched up a wrinkled newspaper out of his lap, scanned the front, then tossed it over his shoulder before picking up the next item—a huge metal skull painted black and silver and dangling from the end of a black satin ribbon.
“No.” Cheyenne yanked it out of his hand too. She couldn’t look at it too long, or she’d lose her shit right here in front of the Starbucks at the start of rush-hour traffic. “What else did you take from that building?”
“Hey, if you wanted to keep this stuff so badly, you shouldn’t have thrown it out. Jeez.” He rolled his yellow eyes and rummaged through more junk, tossing aside loose papers and a string of fake pearls. “Nobody wants it until they see someone else does.”
“Did you hear me?”
“Nothing. Got it? Those were the only two things worth my time in that heap, so give ‘em back.”
Cheyenne swallowed and shook the backpack at him. “You hear about all the missing kids?”
The half-pint magical froze and cocked his head. “Man, how the heck does a human know about any of that stuff?”
“’Cause I’m not a human.” The halfling lifted a hand and got ready to slip into drow mode for a second to prove her point, but nothing happened. What? She glanced down at her empty hand, still human-looking and even paler against her black-painted nails. “I…” She clenched her fist and tried again, but the flaring heat at the base of her spine didn’t even spark.
The little orange trash-collector let out a shrieking cackle and gripped himself around the middle, rocking so far back he almost tumbled over into the grass. “Oh, wow! You hit your head one too many times in a mosh pit or what? Not human.” He guffawed, his yellow eyes wide as he leaned back toward her and pointed. “Or you’re a dud. Give me a break.”
What’s going on with my magic? Staring at her hand, Cheyenne blinked again and took a quick step toward the cackling magical. He stopped instantly and stared at her, licking his lips. “This stuff belongs to those kids. Not for you. Stick to raiding dumps, got it?”
“Says the not-human human. Can’t tell this imp what to do.” His voice broke a little as she stared him down.
“I can do a lot more than that. Don’t let me find you with any more stuff from that building.”
He scoffed and went rifling back through the junk in his lap again. “Whatever.”
With wide eyes, Cheyenne headed back toward her car, the backpack and satin ribbon of the necklace clenched tightly in her hand. She reached the Focus just as the woman’s Prius pulled away from the window, and the halfling slid behind the wheel. She set the backpack and necklace gently down in the back seat, then glanced in the side mirror and rear-view mirror one more time. The annoying little imp was gone, empty wrappers and the rest of the newspaper fluttering in the breeze on the grass. At least
