Lucy kept an eye on the man at the corner table. He’d glance at the front door each time it opened and then return his gaze to a book whose pages he rarely turned. He waited for someone.
Lucy didn’t begrudge the customers of her family’s café a chance to linger, especially not mid-afternoon. The mid-day rush had passed by then, and only a few couples still sat chatting together while some individuals read their newspapers. She didn’t begrudge customers a chance to linger, but this man was different.
She’d smelled the difference earlier when she served him his meat pie. Even as the dish had steamed right under her nose with aromas of beef and onion, she’d caught a whiff of fallen leaves and autumn bonfires. The scents lingered about the man. They were the smell of his power. She didn’t know what kind of power those scents meant, but they meant something. Her friends used to make fun of her for even thinking she could smell power, but she could, and she smelled it on him.
“He seems nice enough,” said the young, fair-haired server named Peter. He’d rested his tray on the counter and followed Lucy’s gaze.
“I don’t like him being here,” she said.
“He just ordered a desert and a demon cake to take with him,” Peter said as if it excused the man’s presence. “And I don’t think he’s a knight.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What is he then?”
“Looks like Benarian Order.”
Lucy returned her eyes to the man with ash blond hair in a linen tunic. A monk?
“Well,” she said, “they’re just as bad. These people with power walk around like they’re something special.” All the religious orders recruited people with power and gave them loads of training and education. It did something to them. “It’s a problem,” she added. Just last week her father had to call in two knights off the street when their buddies started a fight in the café. “Bystanders get hurt when these people from the orders fling around their powers.”
“They don’t bust up as much as that fist fight last month did,” Peter said. “Those guys didn’t have any powers. Only brute force.”
“Brute force the rest of us could fight. How are we supposed to protect each other against powers we don’t have?” Lucy had been asking herself that question a lot lately, ever since knights from the Military Order had been stationed inside the city. With more of them in the city, more of them had been visiting the café.
Lucy grabbed the carafe of coffee from Peter. “I’ll do this round. What did the monk order?”
“A slice of ginger pear tart with chocolate sauce.”
Lucy nodded and went to the pastry case for the tart. She made herself take a deep breath.
It helped. A little.
Then she strode to the corner table where the man in the linen tunic sat. “A ginger pear tart,” she said, setting the little plate beside his book and pouring coffee into the empty mug. The man glanced up with a smile that caught her off guard. Sunlight had caught the golden brown of his irises and lit them up with a warm glow.
“Thank you,” he said.
Lucy took a breath to speak, and for the briefest moment, she found herself relishing his autumn scent. Then she reminded herself that it wasn’t the autumn she smelled. Not really. It was power. And power meant no good.
“You’re welcome,” she said.
“My friend kept telling me what a wonderful place you have. She was right.”
Lucy hesitated. “Thanks,” she said. Her suspicions kept her feet planted by the table. She wanted to know what he was doing here. “We don’t get many Benarians down this way,” she ventured.
“I don’t doubt it. Benar is a bit of trek,” the monk said. “But I’m here in Azure City on study leave. Your abbey has the best library in the country.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.” His expression dimmed. “But the refectory leaves a lot to be desired. I’m taking one of your demon cakes back with me.”
She stared at him. Was he joking? “You’re taking something called a demon cake to an abbey?”
“Absolutely. Chocolate must be of the god.”
Lucy narrowed her eyes. The monk wasn’t what she’d expected. “Can I get you anything else?”
“No.” He held up the mug. “Thanks, again.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll have your cake at the register.” Lucy returned to the counter, puzzled.
She’d boxed up the monk’s cake and was tying a string around it when the front door opened again, and hints of lemon oil and pine tar met Lucy’s nostrils. She froze.
Lucy knew who’d entered the café. This customer had become a regular. Lemon and pine – it was the smell of power over almost every element and energy there was. Lucy only knew that because she knew this man. He served on the country’s ruling council and had his fingers in most of the religious orders, too. Lucy would have distrusted him had he not been courting one of her friends. So, she was withholding judgment.
“Minister,” she said, straightening and meeting those steely grey eyes that fixed on her.
Dark hair was curling about the collar of his long black coat. He pulled off his gloves. He only nodded his greeting. “A demon cake, please,” he said.
A corner of Lucy’s mouth quirked up. He ordered these as gifts for her friend. She liked him for that. “Of course,” she said, reaching for a box.
Lucy heard the minister lay coins on the counter. When she glanced up again, she found him staring at the monk in the corner. The monk was glaring back. Lucy’s heart sank as the minister walked toward the monk’s table. The monk was leaning back in his chair. The two men exchanged words Lucy couldn’t hear, and she saw them tense as if a conflict were escalating.
Her heart started thumping. “Peter!” she called behind her into the kitchen.
Peter stepped out. When he followed her gaze to the men in the corner, his eyes went wide.
“Finish boxing a second demon cake,” she said. “The minister has paid. The monk hasn’t. And …,” she let her voice trail off as she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. As if on their own, a teaspoon and a butter knife were both rising from the table behind the minister.
This wasn’t good. Lucy strode around the counter and called out, “Gentlemen!”
Neither the minister nor the monk turned. They focused solely on each other.
As Lucy strode closer, she saw the floating teaspoon poke the minister in the shoulder. For an instant, she hesitated. She’d never quite seen a fight like this before. Her confusion was about to outweigh her fear of someone getting hurt. Then she noticed the knife pointing itself at the minister’s back.
“Gentleman!” she called, louder this time.
Both men started and turned. Lucy grabbed the floating flatware out of the air. It smelled of autumn leaves, which told her everything she needed to know. She clenched her teeth. To her consternation, the monk grinned at her.
“I’m going to have to ask you both to leave,” she announced. “Your cake boxes are ready at the counter, and you,” she pointed the flatware at the monk, “will have a check up there, too.”
She expected one of them to object, either with words or with power. Neither did.
“Thank you for the cake,” was all the minister said. Then he turned back to the monk. “I’ll be watching.”
“I’d expect no less,” said the monk, still grinning as the minister returned to the counter.
Lucy took another step toward the monk and spoke low. “You aren’t welcome in this cafe anymore.”
The monk’s mouth dropped open. “Why?”
She waved the butter knife at him. “Why do you think?”
“You think a butter knife could have hurt him?” The monk pointed at the counter. His incredulous expression said she was being ridiculous.
Lucy didn’t care. “No, but there are innocent bystanders in here.”
The monk pressed his lips together. He glanced around the room as if about to contradict her, but he didn’t. He only sighed and said, “I’m sorry.”
Lucy studied him. “Thank you,” she said. Then she turned and strode back to the counter.
Peter whistled low at her approach. “That went better than I expected.”
Lucy was shaking her head, not sure what to say. She’d never confronted anyone with power before, and her hands were shaking.
“Good for you,” Peter added. Then he grabbed a fresh towel on his way to the seating area, tossing it over his shoulder, “The monk’s check is on the cake box.”
The monk was already approaching. Lucy straightened her shoulders and pushed the cake box across the counter to him. He glanced down at the check as he set coins on the counter.
“No change,” he said.
Lucy frowned. Peter was right about the tip. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.
“And thank you for the lovely afternoon,” he said, sounding not at all facetious. In fact, his face held a pleasant expression as he reached for the box. Then he paused. “I apologize, again, for acting in ways that could be construed as aggressive.”
Lucy felt her frown deepen. “How can a knife at someone’s back not be aggressive?” She clenched her teeth when he didn’t respond. “You people with power are all the same. You don’t care who gets hurt. You don’t even think about how–”
“That man,” the monk interrupted, suddenly serious, “could have smashed my brains in with a passing thought. He’s the one you should worry about. Not me. Besides,” a hint of amusement returned to his face, “I was only trying to annoy him. Wouldn’t it annoy you to get poked by a butter knife?”
Confused all over again, Lucy stared at him. “Why would you want to annoy someone as dangerous as you say he is?”
“Because he’s courting my friend, so I needed to test his temper. He’s got a reputation, you know, and I wouldn’t want her spending time with a man who’s quick to anger.”
Lucy opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She didn’t know which surprised her more, the monk’s test or the idea they had a friend in common. She’d need to check that out, of course, but still.
“She keeps telling me I don’t know him like she does,” the monk continued. “So, I came to find out.” He paused, thoughtful. “He did well, don’t you think?”
The monk’s expression told her she should be chuckling, but Lucy felt more confused than anything. “I guess it depends on what you said to him.”
Mischief returned to his face, as if even the memory of what he’d said still entertained him. “I think I placed a fair amount of stress on him. I was pleasantly surprised, all in all.”
“He could still be waiting for you in a dark alley on your way back to the abbey. Maybe he prefers having no witnesses.”
The monk barked out a laugh. “The minister has a cake to deliver. By comparison, I’m not important.”
Lucy felt herself tempted to smile. The minister did seem serious about the sweets he purchased for her friend.
“I’m Liam, by the way.” He held out his hand across the counter. “Liam Girard.”
Lucy stared at the hand a moment before taking it. Grip firm, the flesh felt surprisingly warm. “I’m Lucy Baker.”
“Nice to meet you, Lucy.” Liam waited, watching her as if he expected her to say something more.
She only studied him.
“And not all butter knives are bad,” he observed.
A butter knife must have already risen from the back counter because, at Liam’s statement, the knife floated over Lucy’s shoulder to hover between them. She stiffened, but then she noticed Liam watching her as if to gauge her displeasure. She wanted very much to feel angry, but the sight of his smile didn’t quite allow that. And the scent of fallen leaves and bonfires that wafted through the air around him made Lucy want to smile, too. Autumn truly was her favorite season.
With that thought, Lucy relaxed a little and watched with something like wonder as the knife curved gently into a circle. Then it lowered itself to hover by her right hand.
“A bracelet,” Liam offered. When she didn’t move, he added, “You can try it on if you like.”
She glanced up to find his playful brown eyes watching hers. She huffed and smiled grudgingly. Was that one of his powers, too – having a smile that made other people smile back?
Reaching for the delicate circle, she slid it over her hand and onto her wrist. She felt him watching her.
“I can reshape the knife if you like,” he said after a while. “Or, I can leave it as it is. Whichever you prefer.”
“You can leave it,” she said.
A fresh smile blossomed across his face. “Good. It can remind you of the day you kicked the scariest man in the city out of your café. Not many people stand up to him, you know.”
She hadn’t really thought of it that way. She’d been more focused on Liam.
Liam nodded knowingly. Then he picked up the cake box and started to turn.
“Wait.” The words came out of Lucy’s mouth, surprising her.
He stopped.
She supposed she might as well continue. “If you’re not murdered on your walk back to the abbey today, you could swing by later this week and wave through the window. Let us know you’re still alive.”
Liam screwed up his mouth as if not sure whether to smile or frown. “But I’m still not allowed to come inside?”
Lucy couldn’t help it. Her smile turned into a grin. “We’ll see.”
A grin flashed across Liam’s face, as well. “Alright, then we’ll see.” With a wink, he turned and walked out the front door.
Lucy stared after him a long while. That really had gone better than she’d expected. She probably would see the monk waving through the window one day soon. She’d be glad to see him. And that grin. Of course, she’d invite him back inside.
With that thought, she glanced back down at the bracelet and realized something. Her hands had stopped shaking.
Image: a silver butter knife with an ornate handle on a beige background. from https://www.freeimages.com/
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