Page 1 of Twice Bitten

ONE

Three Little Beans bustled with customers even at this early hour. The scent of coffee smacked me in the face the moment I walked in—a Colombian roast, dark, with hints of caramel and spice. I inhaled, savoring the smell of the new blend, and waved at the barista on shift as I headed toward the back to prepare for my second twelve-hour shift of the week.

A cloud of pixies streaked overhead in a shower of multicolored sparkles, their rapid chatter sounding like tiny bells. One of them, a tiny creature named Quinn, perched on the curtain rod over the main window by the entrance.

We locked eyes, and I almost laughed at her annoyed expression. Quinn never participated in the other pixies’ shenanigans and tended to keep to herself, although she hung out in the coffee shop a few times a week.

Turning away from my path to the counter, I headed toward the pixie. “Hey.” I peered up at her.

“Hey.” Her voice was a few octaves lower than the others, surprisingly deep for such a small creature.

Quinn had dark hair and sharp features, and she also had the brightest purple eyes I’d ever seen.

I lowered my voice. “Want a shot of syrup?”

Quinn’s eyes lit up, but her expression swiftly fell when her gaze slid to the others. “Do I have to share?”

I snorted. “How about this?”

I opened my purse and pointed inside. “Get inside, and I’ll sneak you to where the good stuff is. Think you can get back to the front on your own?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. She looked at the bag, then back at the pixies, then back at the bag once more. Pixies existed on flower pollen and sugar water, but our special organic syrup proved too much for her initial resistance to the dark recesses of my purse.

With a quick look at the others, she nodded and leaped off the rod, straight into the confines of my bag.

“We can’t let Addy see,” I whispered. “Stay quiet.”

Quinn’s eyes glowed. She gave me a quick nod. I smiled and closed the bag, hiking it over my shoulder. Addy liked having the pixies inside the shop for the ambiance, but my boss did not like sharing the goods for free. Even so, I had a soft spot for Quinn. She reminded me of myself, and if a little simple syrup could make her day a little brighter, I’d add a buck to the till later on.

A few minutes later, Quinn was back at the front with no one the wiser, a bit of extra pep in her step, and I was clocked in, ready to start the day. My boss, Addy, coffee roaster extraordinaire, awkwardly held a fifty-pound bag over one of the roaster’s hoppers, slowly pouring in new beans. I tossed my purse onto the table and hurried over, snagging the stepladder next to the table.

She sighed when I lifted the bottom of the bag, easing her burden. “Thanks. The weight isn’t as bad as the awkward shape.” Addy adjusted her grip and let the flow of beans die down to a trickle before she tied the top with a piece of brown twine. “Want to help me down?”

I eased some of the bag’s weight onto my shoulder, and we carefully walked it down together. The burlap sack was no longer heavy, but it was still cumbersome enough to cause a nasty fall if one of us lost our balance.

When we made it to the floor, Addy set the beans on the table, dusted her hands off, and wiped her shiny forehead with the back of her arm. “I need to get a hoist or something.”

“You could have called one of the baristas back,” I chided. My boss was a small woman with hair so pale it was almost white. She had the fey look of a Faerie resident, though she never claimed to be one thing or another. The only time I ever asked, she’d given me a look so withering that any future questions I might have asked had shriveled up and died in my throat.

Some people were sensitive about their roots. Asking wasn’t exactly polite, but Addy and I had worked together for at least three months before I even broached the subject. Apparently, with her, there was never a right time to have that kind of conversation.

Addy lifted a thin shoulder. “I had it. Mostly.”

We laughed. I’d worked at her shop for a while now, and Addy had only started asking for more help a few weeks ago. I was glad to chip in. I liked my boss, but I liked money more, and she tossed a little extra in my paycheck during the weeks I was more helpful than usual.

Addy rarely hired new baristas. Attrition was low in her shop, but eventually, people had to move on to grow. Her hiring process was glacial, but I didn’t mind because it meant extra hours for me.

I understood her reticence in bringing on new employees. When magic was an integral part of your success, and you were secretive about your origins, hiring the wrong person could tear down everything you worked so hard to build. No one freely discussed their abilities. In a society where power dictatedstatus, few gave up any information another could use to harm them.

My boss was a perfect example of this. She knew I was a witch because she’d done a thorough criminal and magical background check. I suspected she was fae, but there was no way to confirm unless she told me. Hiring me, even with my less than stellar history, was a no-brainer. Few witches could truly be deemed as dangerous.

My registration as a lower-level hedgewitch meant I was no threat to anyone. On paper, at least. Plus, I didn’t like talking about where I came from any more than she did, and I didn’t even have any major skeletons in my closet.

A few bones, maybe, but none were my fault.

I carried some generational trauma around, but didn’t we all?

“The roast smells wonderful.” I snagged my purse from the table where I’d dropped it and fished out the rest of my uniform.