Frost

Further Education

He missed his magic. The front windows were practically begging for some beautiful ice designs and frost so thick they’d be opaque.

“Zach told me you’re not originally from New York.” Drew sipped his coffee.

Jack’s eyebrows rose.

“He didn’t mention where you were from. You’re staying with the Turners, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He eyed Drew, careful to keep his expression neutral. “Why?”

Drew shrugged and said, “Nothing. Just trying to be friendly.”

He shuddered. The bell above the door chimed and they turned together to see who it was. Jack flinched; it was the same lady that had been reading a book in the corner yesterday and giving him all kinds of looks he couldn’t interpret when she thought he wouldn’t notice. He shrank back from the edge of the counter when she came toward them, an extra swing in her hips.

“Hey, Sandra. You want your usual?” Drew asked, prepared to ring it into the cash register.

“Yes, thank you.” She turned big green eyes on Jack – who stood rigid, hoping to spontaneously disappear in a flurry of snowflakes and completely forgetting he didn’t have magic anymore – and asked, “And who might you be, handsome?”

It was the oddest thing – Jack’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he went cross-eyed trying to formulate a response that was within human parameters. His brain, usually quick, came up with nothing, and he busied himself instead with putting down his own cup and taking the one Drew held out to him.

“Skinny hazelnut latte, so use no fat milk instead,” he said quietly. “This is Jack.”

“Pleasure,” she drawled with a hint of an accent.

Jack listened as warmth flooded his face, trying to place where she would be from. His hands trembled as he waited for the espresso to fill the little glass cups, and he jerked his fingers back, sliding them deftly behind him so she couldn’t brush hers over his as she picked up her coffee.

“Wonderful to meet you, Jack. Have a nice day, boys.” Sandra sashayed for the door and Jack did his best to methodically categorize and interpret his new body’s responses. Sweaty palms and trembling hands were most likely an auto-response to certain stimuli. Anger? No, he didn’t have the urge to freeze her to the floor. Apprehension? Not quite. She didn’t make him feel like an angry Father Winter did, and that his very existence could be snuffed out without so much as a second thought. Unease? Though what was similar to apprehension, wasn’t it?

He needed a dictionary, damn it.

“She made me nervous the first time I met her, too,” Drew said as he cleaned the steamer like they were supposed to every time they made a drink.

Nervous? That might work.

“Her name is Sandra DeCroix and she’s originally from Montreal,” he continued without Jack’s input. “Moved here a couple months back from someplace further up north.”

Jack said nothing and mentally confirmed what he had already realized: Drew didn’t need a participating second party in order to carry on a conversation.

Taking another sip of his peppermint mocha, he let the other man’s words wash over him. This, he knew, was what drove other humans to drink themselves into oblivion.

It was going to be a very long winter.

Technically speaking Mari had a half hour lunch break. She rarely completely used it for lunch only, and ate with one hand while the other perused inventory lists or the tiny margin that kept Storylines Books in the black each month. Sometimes she was even nose-first in a book she couldn’t put down outside of work and brought it with her.