Page 69 of Problematic

“Finally,” the man muttered. “Double espresso. Make it right. The last girl burned it.”

Liv’s jaw tightened, but she only nodded. “Coming up.”

He leaned one elbow on the counter. “And smile like you mean it. You people act like work is optional.”

Her hands shook when she reached for the next cup. She hid it by gripping the cardboard harder and asking the next customer what they wanted with the same tired courtesy.

She did this every day.

Demons with more money, magic, and social status walked into her workplace and treated her as though an apron gave them permission to scrape pieces off her. And every time, she absorbed the insult, finished the order, and refused to pass the damage on to whoever came next.

Her strength did not resemble mine. I ended threats before they finished speaking. Olivia survived them without becoming cruel. That required more control than most rulers possessed.

The man exited four minutes later with his espresso and no tip. He made it half a block. Then the alley beside the potion supply shop swallowed him whole. More accurately, I did.

One second, he was walking beneath the weak morning light, scrolling through his phone with the smug satisfaction of a man who believed being rude to women in aprons counted as a personality. The next, shadows wrapped around his ankles and dragged him sideways into the narrow brick throat between the buildings.

His cup hit the pavement and split open.

Espresso bled across the concrete.

He opened his mouth to scream.

I put one gloved hand over it and pinned him against the wall. I let shadows fall over my face and the red of my eyes bleed. My nightmares came out to play. Just a little. Just enough to make me look like something that would eat him alive and enjoy it.

“Quiet,” I said.

His eyes went wide. His knees buckled.

I held him up.

“Do you remember the barista you insulted?”

He nodded fast against my hand.

“Good. You’re going to go back inside.”

Another frantic nod.

“You’re going to apologize.”

His eyes watered.

“You’re going to leave a tip large enough to make her suspicious but not so large she refuses it.”

He blinked.

That was apparently too much nuance for him.

I sighed. “Fifty.”

He nodded again.

“And then you’re going to leave. You will never speak to her like that again. You will never snap your fingers at her again. You will never ask a woman making your coffee to smile again unless you develop a sincere desire to eat your own tongue.”

He made a small choking sound.

I lowered my palm from his mouth.