Snakes and Lattes (Jurdan mortal world au)

Cardan Tries Pour-Over

It was poetry.

He considered a coffee infused with the unshakable will of Jude Duarte. Now there was a drink that could alter a man.

'What are you smiling at?'

He blinked, and the woman standing before him came swiftly into focus. Her hair had been shaken from its practical bun to spool along her shoulder in smoky wisps. Her bare shoulder, he could not help but notice. The skin there was scarred in two places and dusted with brownish freckles. Following his line of sight, Jude hastily tugged the collar of her top up and repeated her question.

Cardan scanned the wall behind her in search of excuses. His gaze landed upon her menu board.

'Your riddle,' he said, smiling wider to imbue his answer with truth. 'I'm smiling because I think I've solved your riddle.'

She folded her arms in challenge. 'Yeah? Go on, then.'

Cardan mirrored her stance, straightening in his chair and folding his arms one atop the other along the bar top. He squinted thoughtfully at the riddle scrawled in chalk along the bottom of the board.

Whoever makes it, tells it not.
Whoever takes it, knows it not.
Whoever knows it, wants it not.

What am I?

'Oh, Jude. How very suitable.'

She returned his shrewd smile. 'Well?'

'Poison,' Cardan said, terribly proud of himself. 'The answer is poison.'

'Clever.' She ducked down behind the bar and returned with three paper bags, each bearing a unique roasted scent. 'And here's your prize. Pick one.'

He lifted each bag to his nose and sniffed. One was woody, one was floral, and one made his nose twitch. He selected the woody one, and Jude commended his choice. Apparently, he had chosen the beans that would be ground to make his coffee.

Jude measured out a portion of dark oily beans on a scale and sent them skittering into a grinding apparatus. Fresh layers of that earthy scent permeated the air with each twist of the grinder. She worked the machine until its little wooden drawer had been filled, then opened it to show him the fine milling of grounds. Cardan dipped a finger into the grounds and processed the texture between his finger and thumb. This, he thought, would make an excellent exfoliant face scrub.

'These grounds are coarser than the ones produced by your other machine,' he observed, wondering if it changed the flavour.

Jude brightened. 'Were you watching me work?'

'There was little else to amuse me.'

That made her go stiff and quiet. 'Right.'

She took a strangely shaped teapot and stepped away, her back set to him. There was a mechanical groan followed by a trickle of water. When she returned, the pot was full and steaming, but her expression had grown sour.

Cardan wondered if he had said something wrong.

'If my life is so unremarkable,' she snapped, 'then what are you still doing here? What's keeping you?'

Yes. Yes, he had said something wrong.

'I need to speak with Nicasia,' he reminded her, perhaps not as gently as he should have. 'I'll be out of your hair as soon as I've--'

'Just leave her a note and go.'

'Go where?'

'Home.'