Olivia briefed Jacinta on the guy she was talking to. Swim team, of course—tall. Australian accent, which made her swoon. Jacinta just rolled her eyes. “You and those accents…”
“Excuuuuse me, but it’s not weird. I think it’s cute! Literally everyone does. Y—ohmygosh. It’s time! C’mon.” She stood, grabbed Jacinta’s hand, and dragged her to the couch. Olivia flicked on the tv and leaned back. Jacinta followed suit, folding her arms across her chest, waiting, pulling a pillow onto her chest. Single Woman Looking to Date 27 HOT Men at Once, the stupid show, began with a curtain-tug, rose petals; bad CGI. The host, some model superstar that Jacinta was supposed to know (according to Olivia, anyway), announced the lucky bachelorette, and all of the men strode out from a limo after their talking heads. Most were milquetoast—human, safe, boring. She and Olivia judged everyone; one guy in particular was definitely a drama-stirrer. He was Jacinta’s favorite.
“We all pretend to watch this for the love, but really, we’re just here for the fights.” Olivia agreed. Jacinta made them popcorn during a commercial. She watched the bag puff but couldn’t hide the flinch at every pop. She’d been living in a rougher area; she’d lived along a razor’s edge for the last few years—she wasn’t a jumpy person. She wasn’t.
But the world, the attack, the alternate life she’d been sucked into for seasons, for years—Silas, Doña; a strange death and a strange alternate life, rebirth, all—
Jacinta rubbed her eyes and exhaled. Death was a complicated thing; that she was told, that she knew. The dead never die.
But…if Jacinta was reborn, did she technically die? Was this her world?
The microwave beep plunged her back to her world, her apartment, the sound of a medicine commercial. She inhaled, exhaled—grabbed the popcorn bag, tore the steam free, and returned to the couch, setting the bag between them.
The show. Olivia. Normal life. Catching up. They spent their time like sisters, like friends. For a few minutes, Jacinta forgot about everything; she just had a good time. She ate popcorn and watched the men fight over the girl—Olivia’s dream, ha—and chuckled, sinking back, comfortable. Olivia was showing Jacinta photos of the beagle; his name was Snoopy.
“Creative.” She noted.
“Says the girl that named her cat Oregon.”
Jacinta laughed and shook her head. “You know why he’s named that. I…” she yawned, “I thought it was a creative name…”
Weight was building in her eyelids; exhaustion dragged her down. She sank against the couch, eyes shut, head twisted aside. She heard some roses, some rite—names called.
But soon, they faded to the comfortable inked shadow of dreams. Rose petals suspended across a black lake, spinning. Antlers beneath the water. A killed deer, no—Arborem. Head lost beneath the water, eyes hollow.
***
She woke up to a blister of sunlight. Jacinta winced, leaned forward, yawning. She had a pillow propped behind her head, a blanket atop her—shit. Shit. She fell asleep. Where was Olivia? She rushed to her feet, looked around the apartment—
Olivia was thumbing coins of banana over a peanut buttered slice of toast. She beamed. “Hey sis! You kinda passed out. You missed the rose ceremony! That’s the best part. Anyway, I gotta go to school. We should do this more often!”
Jacinta rubbed her head. “Yeah. Absolutely. How about weekly? We watch the show, have dinner, you sleep over? I don’t mind taking the couch whenever you’re here.”
Olivia bounced. “Absolutely! Alright, I gotta go. I love you and I’ll see you next Thursday!” She blew Jacinta a kiss and ran off, re-adjusting her backpack, flinging the door shut behind her.
“Wait! Please don’t go to the part—” she began, but Olivia was off. Jacinta held her hand against her chest, saying a prayer.
“Doña Francesca, please make sure that Olivia is safe.” She mumbled. Later, she’d need to contact her. A séance. The coven could come together and do it, yeah…
Jacinta showered, readied herself for work, fed Oregon again, and ran out of her home. She dialed Silas, pressed the phone to her ear.
“Miss me already?” He asked with that same self-satisfied, smug tone. Jacinta groaned.
“Yeah, right. I want to talk to you about a potential deal. What we discussed before.”
“Good.” Silas’s tone was low. Other voices on the line—he was somewhere crowded. Someone told him to get off the phone. “You working late today? I can swing by after work.”
Jacinta snorted. She imagined Joe seeing Silas…and throwing a vat of hot frying oil on his face.
“Maybe it’s best to meet somewhere else.” She decided.
“Oh, so you’re inviting me to dinner now?”
Jacinta rolled her eyes and continued down the street. She’d be at the subway soon—no cell service. “No, you ass. I mean yes. But…strictly business.”
“I take it you like something casual? You like steakhouses?”
“Casual.” Jacinta deadpanned. “Is a steakhouse casual for your Upper West Side ass?”
Silas gasped as though he was offended. “…maybe. Fine. There’s a ton of nice, casual restaurants near me. What do you like?”
Jacinta sidestepped around a small crowd, sighing. “Literally decide and give me the address and time. I’m off work at seven tonight. You’re paying.”
She usually felt bad mooching off people, but she knew that he could pay this.
“Great. I’ll text you it after—yeah, Carlo, I’m getting off the phone now. Anyway. See you tonight.” Silas hung up.
Jacinta checked if there were any new messages from Gregory. He was probably on one of his tinkering kicks; when he was inventing new things, he never stopped. He’d take potions that were energy drinks on steroids—and once he was done, he’d hibernate.
She’d need to check in on him. After work and Silas and dinner.
***
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Jacinta rushed in—alone, again; her coworker wasn’t answering the phone, Joe said. She was a young woman, college student. Roxanne. A siren.
Where the hell was she?
“Let me try to call…” Jacinta mumbled, dialing her number. The mailbox was full. Weird.
A slow shudder crept along the nape of her neck.
“No answer.”
Joe studied her for a moment, then nodded. “She was good. Always kept men coming back…shame. I’ll call up and see if there’s anything on her. You alright, Jace?”
Jacinta wrapped the black apron around her midriff. “I’m good, yeah. Thanks. Ready for duty.” She saluted him, then helped prep for service. People trickled in for breakfast sandwiches; lunch break, she had a chicken sandwich and fries, texted Gregory that she hoped he was good, checked the location Silas sent her. A modern gastropub. Charming.
She returned; slid back into the groove. Mike was back. Another usual customer—he was old, gnarled like a tree, with a fat wallet but hungry hands and eyes. His gaze was always fixed down. She just let it happen. His tips were too good to say otherwise.
On the way out, his fingers slid against her back. She shuddered, walked away fast, fast—
And completed a mostly painless service. At least that old harpy with the claw-hands wasn’t back…
She completed service. Joe handed her a wad of cash—under the table; she didn’t…legally work there—and she thanked him, set off.
The sun was dipping behind the skyline. Jacinta plugged the location into google maps; alright, just a short trip away. She sucked in a breath, adjusting her outfit—black shirt, black pants; that was the uniform for the diner—and set off. The streets were crowded; it was always a holiday somewhere, and groups of tourists took photos in the streets. Jacinta kept her head low. She texted Olivia:
Last night was fun. I hope you’re chilling at home. <3
Olivia’s response was near-immediate: I am sis. Aquaman and I r watchin a movie. Friends r comin. Lov u
Jacinta bit her lip. Why did she not trust her? She—
It wasn’t a matter of trust. It was just…hope. She debated on asking Gregory where some high schoolers would party, but he wasn’t well-connected with the higher-ups within the supernaturals of the city. He was like her: a person living in the dredges, with a hope and a wand. But he had the skill that he’d been perfecting for years. He could do it.
She’d try harder.
She took the subway again: screechy, crowded, muggy—and squirmed. What if it was a trick? If Silas was actually leading her right into a trap? Would—
No. They both had dirt on each other. An unproportionate amount in his favor, sure, but he was a man that kept appearances; he couldn’t afford a screw-up.
At least, she was banking on that.
The subway slowed, stopped. Jacinta tried to parse her way through the crowds, but the slight haze with her vision issues. She exhaled, strode forward, out; Central Park nearby. She was uptown. Nicer, cleaner streets; paved roads, no potholes. Fewer taxis, tourist traps.
She followed the map app until she reached the restaurant. Through the glass, she could see high tables, different beers, fancy pub foods. It was definitely a hipster restaurant; threads of wheat were shaped of plastics and metals and strung along the walls. There was a garden too, it seemed, somehow…framed? Jacinta sucked in a breath, exhaled. She hadn’t even gone over whatever she was going to say; shit, what—
Okay. She’d pretend that she had info herself to give, play it up. She was a witch, and a fucking good witch. She only broke his nose because she didn’t want to show her ultra-powerful magic, yeah…
“You’re early.”
She jumped, fists raised. It was Silas: chuckling, brow raised.
Asshole.
“Three minutes early, to be exact…I was expecting you to be the late type.”
Again: asshole.
“I usually am. Haven’t you ever heard of Hora Latina?” She joked, swallowing, raking back her hair. The quake in her hands returned. Her gaze flitted beyond him, around. No cars lingering along the curb. No helicopters or drones above. Did he have a camera attached to his clothes, sewn into the fabric? Were there cameras in the street beyond the ones at every stoplight? Was there someone in the apartment windows above, waiting, camera or gun or dart ready? She eyed him briefly, him and his bent nose, his shimmery eyes. What was she talking about? Right. Timing. “But for important business meetings…I attempt to be on-time.”
“Right.” He followed her, looking around, before laughing and raising a hand. “Don’t worry; I’m off-duty; this is strictly business. In a…paradoxical way, I guess.”
Silas adjusted the collar of his white button-down and strode into the gastropub without another word. Jacinta followed. Smell of good-quality food, sizzle of burgers and steaks in the back. Dim lights. Music: modern folk band playing in the corner, fishbowl tip jar with a few sad bills within. Noise—not sloppy drunks, just people having a good time. Smart. People couldn’t listen in on their conversation over all the clatter.
They were seated in a table along the back of the restaurant. Jacinta thanked the server, looked down at the menu—high prices. Modern food; reinvented classics. Deconstructed tomato soup and grilled cheese—ha. Pretentions, but Jacinta couldn’t lie; she liked the idea of reinvention, disassembly, deconstruction. Her stomach growled; she swallowed, staved it, glanced up. “This is on your tab, right? I figure the SEE pays you well.”
He huffed, giving her a flat look. “You clarified the payment earlier. Yeah, on my tab, no problem. You usually ask the guy to pay in full?”
Jacinta’s cheeks warmed, but she only balked. “Excuse you. When I’m on a date, I usually agree to split the tab unless they say otherwise. And with family or friends, I often cover—but I’m not at places with…” she glanced down at the menu, whistling. “Sixteen dollars’ worth of grilled chicken wings.”
Silas laughed. He opened his mouth, about to retort, but the waiter came. Drinks?
“What do you recommend?” Silas asked. “I like anything light and fruity.”
The waiter gave a list of different beers; Silas took some orange-scented wheat one. Jacinta said she’d take a glass of the same one; it wasn’t like she’d be drinking much, not if she needed to stay on her toes. They both returned to the menus. Jacinta kept glancing back at her phone, waiting for a message from Olivia. She’d need to check in again with her. Just in-case…
Silas eyed her for a moment. “I’m sorry about snapping at you back at Verdance. I’m not the type to screw up, alright? There’s a lot of people making sure I don’t fail.”
Good for him, having a support system. Jacinta’s throat went sandpaper; she swallowed, tongue scraping along the roof of her mouth like a thorn. She told herself not to be bitter, be angry—he was lucky. Everyone had their struggles; she couldn’t be judgmental.
“Lucky you.” She cleared her throat, frowned, lowered the menu. “I guess I should apologize for breaking your nose, but…the situation was dire. And you deserved it, going after me and Gr—my friend.”
Silas rubbed his nose bridge, shaking his head. “You leave a lasting impression, huh…”
“I guess so.” She felt the echo of a smirk ghost over her lips, but it fell fast. Jacinta re-examined the menu, then went to the phone, moving to text Olivia.
Send me a photo of Emmy’s beagle please. I want to make sure you’re there.
She could feel Silas’s even stare on her, but he said nothing. The waiter returned with drinks; water and the yellow-gold beers, frothy top. Jacinta took a hasty sip, staring down at the screen. Olivia’s image popped up; good. She was calling. The order, right— “uh, Silas, order whatever you want; I’ll have the same thing. I’m allergic to shellfish, lentils, and spinach though.” She stood, pressed the phone against her ear, and stared ahead. No easy path out; she struggled, shouldering her way through the crowded restaurant, maneuvering her way through the tangle of chairs and bags and patrons, rising onto her toes to try and not hit anything. She wasn’t slim; she had to squeeze through. She waited, stared at the phone—accidentally hit the back of a chair. The person seating in it gave her a glare; she raised a hand, giving them an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, uh—"
Jacinta tried again, head pounding. Migraine returned, damn—focus. She hit a bag, not too hard; it swung, didn’t fall; Jacinta broke through, out of the labyrinth, out of the chairs and people and—
The glass door. Exit. She pushed the button to dial Olivia and walked out, waiting. The ringer continued. Continued. Continued.
“Dammit, pick up…” She hissed, thinking, scowling.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.