Book of Wishes - House of Blood

Chapter One

There it was again. The strange, wet moss and metal scent that always dizzied her senses whenever he walked through the door. It clung to him like a heavy cloak, a surreal and unsettling combination that had been lingering in her mind for the past month. It was as if Lorelei had encountered this smell before in a dream or a forgotten memory.

The stranger could blend in with any other patron if not for the quasi-military garb and the way sunlight occasionally caught his skin, illuminating it like dusk sweeping a hillside - nothing like the wrinkles and imperfections Lorelei constantly edited from her photography clients.

Black, one sugar cube, no cream.

That was always his order. Before Lorelei could request his name, he would walk off to wait by the pick-up counter, keeping his head down and his shoulders tensed. Lorelei could have sworn she glimpsed pointed ears the other day but wrote it off as a trick of the café's unflattering lighting and her caffeine-fueled imagination.

Little excitement found its way to the small town of Rocheport, nestled by the Missouri River. After high school, Lorelei Clavell decided to take a gap year, dreading the day she had to choose an area of study that would dictate the rest of her life. It had been three years since then.

"Nice weather today, huh?"

She jumped and focused on the strange man standing in front of her. His tone was always polite and soft.

She must have stared for a while because he raised his brow and cleared his throat.

"Uh yeah, sorry. What will it be?" she asked.

His cheeks reddened, and he cleared his throat.

"Black, one sugar cube, no cream, please."

He handed Lorelei some bills for his coffee and dropped the remainder into the grimy donation jar beside the register. The jar's torn tape read 'Ti ar' after years of use. With only a meager part-time barista's salary, Lorelei relied on those donations to fund her dreams of attending photography school.

The stranger took his coffee and left without another word, his black cape flaring like the wings of a bird about to take flight. The cape and the weapons belt she spotted underneath were new additions to his attire. Maybe he was finally going off to fight for whatever war he was cosplaying. No one else in the café seemed to notice or care. In fact, it was as if they didn't really see him at all.

"Small mocha latte with oat milk, extra hot," said a shrill voice. Lorelei focused her attention back on the line of people waiting to order.

"Sure thing, Mrs. Kramer."

As the last hour of the workday passed, the worn, red leather chairs sat empty, their cracked and fissured surfaces giving the impression they could collapse at any moment. The clock on the wall released the little yellow bird, and with each swing of its pendulum, its call sounded like the harsh, rasping breath of an old smoker.

Lorelei sighed in relief when the doddery bird finished squawking because it meant it was time to close. Typically, that was her boss, Mr. Jerry's job, but he was still on vacation, so she volunteered to work a double shift.

Ceramic mugs, torn Splenda packets, and crumbs from pies, muffins, and sandwiches littered the café tables. It looked as though a band of mice had ransacked the place, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. It always amazed her how little people cared about tidiness when they didn't have to clean.

"Night, Lorelei!"

She turned to face Roger, a sixteen-year-old busboy who had started working there a week ago. Sometimes, the other staff would take bets on how many cups he would drop during his shift. The running record was eight.