I was woken up, not by the explosive sound of my phone’s ringtone, but by a series of grunts that I could only describe as coming from some heaving animal.

“What the hell…” I started, before blinking twice to make sure I was seeing right. Malquea, or Mal as I had settled on calling her, was by the foot of the bed. Her hands were pressing firmly against the carpeted flooring and her legs were suspended high in the air. Her body moved in a rhythmic up and down motion, interrupted every few seconds by a hoarse shout when her legs reached their highest point in the air.

“I have so many questions,” I said to no one in particular. I just couldn’t keep it inside my head. One look at my phone’s screen confirmed what I knew was probably the case; it was a full thirty minutes before I was set to wake up. For most people, this wouldn’t be such a big issue. In my case, however, I took offense, because that meant that I was up before 4 AM. And any time before 4 AM is party time.

“Did I wake you?” she said as she finished her last rep, jumping back on her feet and making the floorboards shake.

“A little, yeah. Why do you make all that damn noise?”

“It keeps me focused,” she said, wiping sweat off her brow. It sounded like a dying whale or a tennis player.  “You should try to incorporate it into your exercise routine.”

“I don’t have one of those,” I said plainly as I headed for the door.

“You’re not gathering your equipment?”

“I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, before pausing for a brief second. “I probably should explain how you use a bathroom.”

“No need, Leo. I may come from a different time, but using simple deduction can get me far,” said Malquea, stretching her legs on the floor.

“Alright,” I said, shuffling my way past the door.

In twenty minutes I managed to walk her through the morning routine (explaining why we used toothbrushes proved to be way more difficult than it should have been), ending up with breakfast. I set down our cups of coffee, along with a plate of toast for Mal and a bowl of cereal for myself.

“What are your goals for the day?” she said, scarfing down wheat.

“Uh… Sell as many cups of coffee as yesterday?” I said, slightly tilting my head. Her frown told me all I needed to know.

“Are you not going to take advantage of the observations I gave you yesterday?” she said, her voice taking a scholarly tone.

“I’ll keep some of it in mind.” She shot me a look. “Fine, all of it.”

“Good,” she said. “I will keep a close eye on the business.”

“You’re not interested in taking a stab at the espresso machine today?”

“No,” she said. “There’s a lot more to observe.”

“You aren’t scared of it, are you?” I raised my eyebrow as I said this to drive the point home.

“I’m not… That’s… No. Of course I’m not scared. If a fool like you can work the machine, then I can no doubt do it much better. I simply believe that observing will yield the better results.”

“Yeah, OK. Let’s go. Wouldn’t want you to be late for all that staring you’ll be doing today,” I said, a smile escaping my lips.

The morning rush came and went; the snooty man from yesterday even paid me a second visit. What was concerning, however, was that the number of people who stopped at Big Gusto had decreased even more. Machiavelli Coffee was a problem that wouldn’t go away.

“We may need to visit your competitor even sooner today,” said Mal as she bit down on a meatball sub I grabbed for her from the strip mall. “Your revenue is down.”

“What are you talking about? We’re doing fine.”

“You are a terrible liar, Leo. While you went to fetch us lunch, I looked through the day’s receipts.”

“How did you do that?” I said. This is a person that crash-landed from a place with Medieval-era technology. How could she learn how to work an iPad that fast?

“I memorized the secret code you use to access it,” she said.

“We might need to set some more ground rules,” I said. “And I’m not going.”

“You’re turning your eyes away from the truth, Leo,” she said, finishing her last bite. I wasn’t even half-done with my sandwich.

“I’m not,” I said, staring at the floor. “I just don’t think today will be a good day.”

Malquea put her right hand on my face, so that her thumb pressed against my cheek while the four other fingers pressed on the other side of my face. She then lifted me off my seat and pulled my view towards the window.

“Wot are you woing?”

“Do you see what those things are out there, Leo?”

It was a road, congested with late-morning traffic. Nothing unusual there.

“Kwars?”

“Yes, Leo. Cars. And what are they not doing?”

“Texting and dwiving?” I said, fully aware that Malquea wouldn’t get my lame attempt at humor.

“They’re not stopping here to buy your products.” After saying that, she released her hold on me.

“You don’t have to be so rough about it,” I said.

“Maybe I should talk to your competitor? I’m sure they would be more receptive to my suggestions.”

“I don’t think they will,” I said. I was about to sneak in another joke when I saw Mal staring straight into my eyes. This was something she was taking personally and I was about to make a laugh out of it. It’s my business. My livelihood.

And I’m letting it slip away.

“I’ll close up early,” I told her with a serious tone. “But promise me that if we go through with it, tomorrow you’ll let me teach you how to make a cup of coffee.”

“Those two things have nothing to do with each other,” she said, flustered.

“Malquea, please?” I said, locking eyes with her. My resolve was pushing back.

“It’s an agreement, I suppose,” she said. Her sigh was followed by a quick look at the espresso machine.

“Let’s shake on it, then,” I said, extending my hand.

“What?”

“What?”

“Your hand…” she said. “You’re pointing it at me.”

“I’m giving it to you so you can shake it,” I said.

“S-Shake it? What kind of twisted custom is this?” Her hair became a few degrees more disheveled and she stared at my hand as if I were holding a live cobra.

“It shows agreement. You agree, you shake my hand.”

“The gesture means something vastly different in my dimension,” she said. “Vastly, vastly different. But I suppose I am a guest here.”

With a lot of trepidation, she shook my hand.

We pulled into the parking lot adjacent to Machiavelli Coffee around four-thirty in the afternoon. Their success was obvious; their two drive-thru windows were swamped with people. Inside, there was even a modest line of six customers.

“You have nothing to worry about,” said Mal. “... if money and success is something you despise. Do you despise money and success, Leo?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Let’s just walk in,” I said. We left the car and joined the few people waiting inside the shop.

Machiavelli Coffee was painted a sleek red and white color that oozed modern. There was ample space for customers and employees alike, and it even had a second floor for extra seating. Everything from the lights to the equipment was several steps beyond Big Gusto; the espresso machine behind their counter cost five times more than mine alone.

I felt defeated. How could I compete? Something this big and impressive wasn’t even part of my five-year plan.

“Fuck,” I said, my eyes staring down at the floor. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

I said it low enough so that only Malquea could hear it. This was the reason I didn’t want to come here. Because then I’d be forced to take it all in and admit that I’m a failure. Mal took one look at my sorry state and turned to the counter, where it was our turn to order.

“Welcome to Machiavelli Coffee. Is this your first time here?” The person who took our order was a man about my age. He carried himself with an aura of dignity that reflected the state of the establishment. He was handsome, too, I had to admit; a clean shave and a nice haircut to go along with his stony face. What a bastard.

“It is,” said Mal. Behind him, another employee worked one window. It seemed like they rotated around, serving three points-of-sale between the two of them. The previous customers who ordered on foot had left, leaving only the four of us inside.

“Good to know,” he said with a sweeping smile. “My name is Nelson Needs, and I’m the manager of this location. What can I get for you today? Our prices are second to none and our drinks are so good they’ll make you want to run into exile.”

Camden Needs was the middle-aged founder of the coffee chain. He’s a northwestern socialite, appearing in dozens of magazine covers and hosting parties for the region’s political elite. Coffee, as I understand, is just one branch of his food empire. This Nelson guy might be his son or nephew.

Malquea inched closer to the counter. Although I was upset, I was still curious what she would order.

“What’s your secret?” said Malquea.

“Excuse me?” said Nelson.

“Leo also runs a coffee restaurant, except that it is nowhere near as successful as this one. Do you have any advice to give him?” she said.

“The hell? Sorry miss, but I’m not here to give out free advice. You buying something or what?”

I saw a glint in Malquea’s eyes. She bared her teeth, much like a shark when facing its prey. This was what she had been waiting for.

Her hands reached over the counter and grabbed the collar of his shirt. She had dragged him halfway over the counter when I registered what was happening.

“Tell me, now!” demanded Mal, her eyes glowing bright red.

“What the hell are you doing!? Stop!” I said. I tried to unlatch her grip on him but it proved impossible.

“Shit! Call the police, Susie! Get off me!” screamed Nelson. The other employee, who I can only assume was Susie, scrambled to dial her phone. This could get ugly fast.

“Not going to tell me?” said Mal.

“No!” said Nelson.

“Fine then! I’ll just use my Kingly Subjugation!” A red hue gathered around her hands. That was followed by a short zap that sent them both flying back.

Mal had been thrown against a table. It broke in two but the Lord of Lords came off without a scratch. Nelson and Susie, on the other hand… not so much.

Nelson had been thrown back, hitting Susie. They were flopped in front of a stainless steel refrigerator, unmoving.

“D-Did you kill them?” I said, holding my breath.

“Don’t be absurd. They’re alive,” said Mal, dusting herself off. “See?” It was subtle, but they were both breathing.

“Thank God…”

“My magic backfired.”

“Why? What the hell was that for?”

“They wouldn’t give me the information I wanted. I tried to use some of my mind-controlling magic, but it appears that my mana circuits are still far too damaged.”

“They were about to call the police, Malquea! We can’t just attack people out of nowhere.”

The cars in line started honking. When one started the rest followed, bouncing off my eardrums and making me even more nervous.

“What do we do? What do we do?” I said, pacing.

“Let’s leave,” said Mal, frustrated. “We can come back tomorrow and do the same thing.”

“No,” I said, putting my hand out in front of me. “We fucked up. You try to wake them up and I…” I looked around at the equipment behind the counter. It was all the same machinery, just with a much nicer coat of paint. “I’ll run the drive-thru.”

Malquea looked at me like I was the biggest idiot on the planet.

“You plan on making money for the competition by fulfilling their orders for them?”

“That’s right,” I said. The tablet they use to charge credit cards was unlocked, meaning I effectively had everything I needed to do the work.

“What would you like?” I said as I turned to the closest window. The customer was a young woman with her phone to her ear. She looked annoyed.

“Two medium cappucinos,” she said, before turning back to her phone. After listening for a second, she added “And a blueberry scone.”

“I’ll get right on that,” I said, thumbing through the tablet. After several button presses, I came up with a total and swiped her card.

“Cappucino, cappucino… Let’s see…” I found a flip-book that contained all the steps. I knew how to make a cappuccino, but the trick was getting it to their specifications. All the while, I could feel Mal’s gaze burning a hole in my back. After a short wait, I handed over the order.

The woman took a sip off one cappucino and gave me a fierce look.

“What’s wrong?” I said, exhausted. There were about fifteen more cars I had to serve. Fifteen more orders I had to fill for my competitors.

“I can’t taste the vanilla,” she said.

“That’s because it doesn’t have any?” The little booklet didn’t show it.

“The coffee here always adds it without me having to ask. Add it,” she said, handing back both drinks. I sighed, fixed the stupid drink, and moved on to the next window.

“You’re an idiot,” said Malquea. Her arms were crossed, making it clear that she had abandoned any attempt at waking up the two employees.

“It’s your fault I’m in this mess!” I said, throwing my hands up.

“No, Leo. My reasonable assumption led to an error; not an unusual deviation. You, on the other hand, are engaging in something truly pathetic.”

“What’s so pathetic about this?” I said as I quickly jotted down the customer’s order, a small mocha.

“You’re wearing your competitor’s apron, Leo.”

I looked down and saw Machiavelli Coffee’s logo emblazoned into the red apron over my chest. I didn’t even realize I had put it on. It’s instinct at this point.

“It’s… Whatever. Get me more milk, please.”

Mal took my words and lazily walked to the refrigerator I pointed, grabbing a gallon of 2% milk among a fridge full of them.

“They carry a lot of inventory here. Must mean that they expect to sell a lot of coffee, don’t you think, Leo?”

The purr of the espresso machine helped drown some of the sass. The work I was doing was like armor plating; it gave me a shiny sheen and more importantly protected my self-esteem against vicious attacks like those. The minutes whipped by, until the last car left satisfied.

“Working two windows sucks,” I said, taking a sip of tap water. “No wonder they have two people manning it.”

“Can we go home now? Watching this has left a bad taste in my mouth,” said Malquea. She played with her long blonde hair, braiding and rebraiding it while her feet dangled from the counter that faced the walk-in customers.

“Any chance they’ll remember any of this?” I said. I really didn’t want to be questioned about this.

“Probably not,” she said. “I think they’ll just have a hazy recollection of the events. They’ll remember the feeling but no details of what happened.”

“That’s too complicated for me to think about right now,” I said. Just then an older woman walked through the front doors. I gathered myself up and gave Mal a light tap on her thigh. She got the message and jumped off.

“Welcome to Machiavelli Coffee. What would you like to order?”

“Hmm. You seem familiar,” said the woman, her eyes peering into mine. “Do I know you from somewhere?” I recognized her as one of my customers that typically comes once or twice a week.

“I’m from Big Gusto Coffee,” I said.

“No wonder it was closed! I was a little sad to see that you weren’t there. I heard about this place so I decided to give it a try,” she said, scratching her mane of white hair.

“I apologize for that. We’re usually open. It’s just that today, well. Today we were…”

“Helping out some friends,” said Malquea from behind me. She pointed to the two unconscious employees laying by the far wall.

“Oh dear,” said the old woman. “Are they going to be OK?”

“That’s right! They… They’ve overworked themselves. Opening a new coffee place is, uh, very stressful. They called for our help so now I’m here. They’re just resting now.”

“Well, OK…” she said. “You know my usual, don’t you, sonny?”

“I do,” I said. I prepared the woman’s white chocolate mocha, making use of the restaurant’s expansive selection of powders and syrups.

She took the drink in both hands and brought it to her lips in one gentle motion, closing her eyes in the process.

“You know, I’ve been to a lot of different places, but nobody serves coffee like you, sonny.”

“Thank you,” I said, nearly bowing my head. “Really, your satisfaction is good enough for me.”

“And who’s the girl? A friend of yours?” Malquea raised her head when she heard her name.

“Friend… And Big Gusto’s newest employee.” As I said that, I put my hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, is that right? How’s your coffee taste, dear?”

The question took Mal by surprise. “I… Uh… The truth is, I…”

“It’s the best damn coffee you’ll ever taste,” I said, chin raised high. “This girl’ll send you to an early grave with how good it tastes.”

“That’s intense praise! I’ll have to give it a try sometime. Have a good day,” she said, leaving through the front door.

“You praise skills I don’t have,” she said.

“Talking up your employees. Setting expectations. It’s all good business, isn’t it?” I said.

“What an unusual approach,” she said. “You aren’t as easy to read as I originally thought you were. Make no mistake, though: You are very much a fool.”

“I’ll take it,” I said. With no more customers in sight, we left to the parking lot. The moment Malquea sat down in the passenger seat, a jar rolled out of her pant pockets.

“What’s this?” I said, holding up the jar of raspberry jam.

“I thought it would go well with the bread is all…”

“You stole this?” I said.

“Consider it your payment for the job you did here today. And since we can’t split a jar, I will just take the whole thing.”

“Maybe I’m not the only weird one around here,” I said with a laugh. Mal pulled the jar from my hands and hid it back in her pocket. With her lips pursed, she ran her fingers down her hair and watched the traffic from the window.

It was a whole new world for her… and for me as well, I think. We should spend more time exploring it.