ONE

 Charlie tapped her foot impatiently. The steady beat of her sole on the dark faux wood flooring was drowned out by the hiss of the milk steamer behind the counter and the man two people in front of her loudly talking on his blue tooth ear piece, as though every patron at the coffee shop needed to hear about the “super hot chick [he] banged this weekend.’ 

Irritated, she shifted the weight of her body to the right slightly, assessing how much more time she would be stuck in this goddamn line. Ten minutes had ticked by since she entered the coffee shop, and the smell of roasted beans was making her empty stomach churn. Maybe she would grab something to eat while she was here — anything to delay facing the consequences of the many errors of the night before.

She closed her eyes for a brief moment; a loose prayer hung on her lips. It’s not that she expected the gods to listen — especially not her god — but silently wishing for things to be different had become an old habit, like returning home after a long journey. But nothing ever changed.  

Fatigue seared her eyes, making them water slightly. Instead of sleeping last night, Charlie had stared up at her ceiling, counting the number of bad decisions that had led her to the man in her bed sleeping next to her. The guilt was all-consuming enough to drive away any chance at a restful night.

The phone in her pocket vibrated. Without having to look, she knew who was texting her — or, more specifically, who wasn’t. Roan hadn’t reached out since she left him alone in her apartment that morning.

A coward, that’s what she was.

Her cheeks flushed, dulling the freckles splattered across the bridge of her nose. The distinctive feature was something she inherited from her mother, who once had a nearly identical patch in the same spot. Charlie like that they had that in common. It reminded her whose daughter she was every time she passed a mirror. It had become harder to look these days.

Shame settled like a pit in her stomach as she remembered sneaking out of her own home just as the sun gave off its first hint of watery fall light. She had abandoned Roan just hours after promising to do the exact opposite.

She had walked the Georgetown streets mindlessly, numb to the frosted air and her Washington, DC neighborhood’s usual charm, until time no longer had any meaning. The twirling hurricane of thoughts had fully overtaken her mind as she played out every possible scenario. None of them were good and all of them were complicated. It wasn’t until the sun had reached the center of the sky above that she managed to stir out of her head. That was when the texts and phone calls started; right after she missed her morning meeting.

She inhaled deeply through her nostrils and glared at the customers in front of her. This line must be some sort of purgatory for the sins of the night before — defying the laws of science by never shrinking, regardless of how many customers were served. Relief tinged her frustration; part of her was rather content to stew in her cowardice, hoping her unnecessary errand would prevent her from making the afternoon all-hands. She planned to “bump into” Julia later with some excuse and have her friend and mentor catch her up on what she missed. Anything to avoid him.

Charlie let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes again, this time to prevent spilling the salty tears that were already on the cusp of rolling down her hot cheeks, grateful that her golden eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. The thick black rims contrasted too sharply with her near-white hair and matching eyebrows, but she still liked how they looked.

She hardly ever took the dark shades off in public. Occasionally, when she did, someone would note the vibrancy of the golden rings that haloed her pupils, and then the questions would start. She hated it. She’d rather people didn’t know that she least partly Aos Sí, one of the several ancient races that had spread from their ancestral Ireland across the sea to the US.

But it was better to be associated with the Aos Sí than the Fomorians. If someone guessed at her heritage, they often assumed she was fully Aos Sí, and she never bothered to correct them.

Descended from mythological Celtic clans, the Aos Sí and Fomorians were the two most populous ancient lineages in the United States. Each had been granted specific sections of land within the DC area; these territories were considered to be their own sovereign nations, and each race was free to govern its territory however it deemed fit. It was when someone an Aos Sí or Fomorian went outside their specified territory that things got complicated.

But tolerance was waning for Aos Sí. Despite their Chiefs best efforts to spin the population’s impression in their favor, the Aos Sí supernatural abilities still scared the general population. And it didn’t help that the Fomorians, with their history of stirring trouble and causing riots, were often lumped together with the Aos Sí. Most people assumed the two races were a distinction without a difference. 

And Charlie was both. She was a rare combination of Aos Sí and Fomorian, which meant no one really knew what to do with her or where she belonged.

Impatience growing, she rolled her gaze over the rest of the coffee shop. A few people were tucked into corners on their laptops, clicking away on their keyboards; others huddled together drinking from large ceramic mugs talking in low whispers interrupted by the occasional giggle. One couple was practically groping each other on the loveseat below the shop’s largest window. She much preferred her poor choices to being a gross PDA couple.

Her attention drifted to the television centered high on the wall to her right, and there he was. Even while getting coffee, she couldn’t escape him. The image of a man with caramel-colored skin and raven hair wearing a tailored charcoal suit played on the screen. He beamed a perfect white smile as he waved to a crowd of supporters sequestered behind metal barricades in front of the US Capitol Building.

Charlie watched him duck into a black town car with heavily tinted windows, seemingly keen to ignore the sign-waving protestors opposite his supporters.

She recognized the suit. It had been on her floor no more than a few hours ago. Roan hadn’t gone back to White Stag to change. Her eyes widened, suddenly realizing that if he hadn’t gone home, he most likely used her shower. That was not ideal; it had been several weeks since she bothered to clean it, happy to leave chalky buildup and stray hairs to their own fate.

As Chief, Roan acted as head and unifier of the Aos Sí race within the United States — including those who lived outside of White Stag, their ancestral capitol and Charlie’s current place of employment.

Because of his title, he was easily the most recognizable individual among them. And he had a reputation for being a bit of media hound. What might have appeared to others as vanity, Charlie understood as Roan attempting to buy back public support that had waned with the death of the former Aos Sí Chief thirteen years ago. After his death, there had been an uptick of clashes between the Aos Sí and Fomorians, which unfortunately had claimed a few human casualties who got caught up in the fray.

That’s why he hadn’t texted her. In her ever-consuming self-hatred, she completely forgot about his meeting. Roan went to save them all and try to prevent the passing of a new law that would restrict any creature with even the slightest arcane ability more than they already were. And she was worried about her shower.

Roan’s video leaving the Capitol played on a loop showcasing the protestors waving signs with painted faeries that had large red X’s drawn over them. It was hardly the first time she had seen such a crude symbol of hate, but the wings were a bit contrived.

She took particular offense anytime someone called her fae. The catch-all term barely allowed for the nuance of her actual identity and encompassed far too many creatures for it to be an accurate description, and she despised those who used it.

Her gaze drifted away from the television, and surprise jolted through her body. For the first time since she had been standing in the forever line, she took in the appearance of the young woman in front of her. Her sallow skin gave off a faint greenish hue in the late afternoon autumn sunlight that streamed in from the large windows at the front of the coffee shop.

The fact that Charlie hadn’t noticed the Fomorian in front of her was a testament to how distracted she was. Normally she would clock any creature with mythical blood in her radius immediately, and to not have spotted the girl irritated her.

Fomorians typically shunned daylight hours. It was rare to see one out in full public view — at least outside their designated territory within the city. She didn’t even need a glimpse of the girl’s sharp pointed teeth to know her heritage. Charlie was familiar enough with their kind, having been raised among them, to spot one in a crowd. 

As the news continued to loop, a few mumbles of agreement regarding the protesters’ position rose from the other customers who watched the same screen. Most individuals didn’t bother with the distinction between the Fomorians and the Aos Sí. To them, the ever-encroaching restrictions being placed on both communities were warranted.

Out of growing nervousness, she slid her glasses back up the bridge of her nose and made sure they were securely on her face. She flicked her focus back and forth from the news broadcast to the Fomorian girl in front of her. The gnawing in her stomach grew, now aching with anticipation for how this simple errand might end. Discrimination against Fomorians was common outside their territory.

All she wanted was to get a damn coffee.

Charlie leaned over once more, this time to assess if the barista looked like the particular type of asshole to make a scene. She pursed her lips, taking in the young man’s appearance working behind the polished granite-topped counter. His shaggy brown hair and patchy beard indicated he was most likely still in his teen years. He seemed nice enough.

The man in front of her continued to chat loudly into his earpiece, even while ordering, but stepped aside to wait for his drink. She considered it rude not to hang up your call when ordering, but her time working as a waitress biased her. Customer service was an ugly business, and it was one she was grateful not to be in anymore.

The Fomorian girl stepped up to the barista and Charlie held her breath, praying for a simple and normal interaction. All the young man had to do was take the nice girl’s order, and everyone would move on.

He didn’t, of course.

She let out her held breath like a deflating balloon. And here she’d been rooting for this kid. Instead, she watched him deny the girl service, and Charlie’s heart broke as the girl’s shoulders slumped.

Without thinking, she reached out a hand to hold back the Fomorian girl and prevent her from leaving. “What’s your order, hun? It’s on me,” she said. There was no chance she could stomach watching the acne-covered adolescent behind the counter bully this girl into leaving without her order. She hated bullies.

The girl stuttered, “M– medium blonde roast with room for cream.”

Charlie took a step forward and squared her shoulders, attempting to make the whole five-foot-two inches of her as imposing as possible. The kid behind the counter didn’t balk.

“Medium blonde roast with room for cream and a large Colombian with an extra shot…” She hesitated, remembering her painfully empty stomach. “And a banana.”

The fruit would assuredly stave off the impending ulcer from the sheer volume of caffeine in her order. She took a moment to congratulate herself on making self-care a priority for once.

“Ma’am, I can’t do that,” piped a young voice.

Her smile faltered.

“I don’t understand. Are you out of coffee —” she scanned the young man’s green apron for his name tag “— Greg?”

Greg stood a bit straighter. Even though she doubted he was old enough to vote, he still had a full foot of height on her. “No, ma’am, we — I have a right to refuse service to anyone. And we don’t serve…their kind.” He nodded in the direction of the Fomorian girl, who had wrapped her arms around her body, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Charlie understood the girls urge to fade into the background, she had felt that same desire many times- but this particular hill was one she willing to die on. With a forced smile, she said, “Of course, Greg. I understand that you’re making a choice here, but if you can’t get me coffee, is there someone else who might be willing to?”

A shadow moved into her line of sight, blocking out the sunlight that cut across the floor.

“Is there a problem?” asked the shadow.

It was the douche with the blue tooth, who was still waiting for his order. She didn’t have the patience for this scene any longer. “Nope, just trying to get some coffee.”

“Well, it seems to me that the young man told you no.”

Her gaze narrowed on the man’s black suit and designer bag slung over his shoulder. In an instant, she sized him up — as a self-important asshole who was going to become a big problem. “I don’t see what business it is of yours,” Charlie said.

“I’m just trying to help a hard-working guy out, and you’re preventing other people from getting on with their day.”

Yeah, he was going to be a problem.

“And I’m just trying to get my order so that I can get on with my day,” she said.

“It seems like that won’t be happening, so why don’t you just go.”

Every eye in the coffee shop immediately clamped onto her, and her skin burned. This was hardly the first public scene she’d made. And no judgment from strangers would force her to back down. “Listen, you cocaine-addled frat boy, I’m not leaving without coffee.”

A sizeable hand reached out and clamped down on her shoulder. His fingers dug into the skin below the thin t-shirt she wore. “You’re going to leave if I have to throw you out myself.”

Breathe. She reminded herself. Just breathe.

The last thing she needed was to lose it in front of everyone. This place was far too public, and the stakes were too high. “Please take your hand off me. Sir.”

When she felt him squeeze her shoulder even harder, Charlie reached her right hand across her body to remove it. His reaction was immediate. A strong yelp issued from his mouth the moment her frosted fingers touched the back of his hand.

“You bitch,” he screamed and took a step back, fear replacing anger at the realization of what she had done. “She’s one of them.” 

 “Shit,” Charlie muttered under her breath as she watched white replace the reddish-pink hue of his fingers. The man began to howl in pain, bending at the knees. A bit of an overreaction in her opinion. It was only a touch of frostbite, something he would assuredly recover from in a few minutes with the right treatment. But she wasn’t willing to wait out those minutes.

Charlie bolted past the other patrons, noticing that the Fomorian girl was long gone. Smart of her.

The bracing chill of the wind cut across her cheeks as she opened the door and ran into the street. If she could make it to the metro, she would be fine. All she had to do was make it to the nearest Metro stop. There she could blend in with the afternoon rush hour crowd.

Shit, shit, shit — the mantra repeated in her mind while she ran, one block than another, not bothering to check behind her.

A square black pillar with a large white M painted across the top of its four sides stood like a beacon drawing her to it with every step. She was nearly there. All she had to do was make it through the next intersection. She wove around a large tour group cluttering the sidewalk with expert precision. Her eyes fixed on the metro sign.

She could make it.

Once she was safely on the metro, she could text Julia and lay low at White Stag for a while. But that meant telling Roan about the incident. Maybe she would just hide out in her apartment.

Those were her last thoughts before a heavy body tackled her to the ground, knocking the breath from her lungs and her sunglasses off her nose.