Page 4 of Icy Heart, Empty Chest

D amien: I need your help. Can you meet me?

History told me that trusting him or working with him was a phenomenally bad idea.

I thought about not replying but he knew where I worked and whatever it was was likely better handled in private.

Anything with him or his family would leave a bad taste in my mouth.

I could hold a grudge like no one’s business. In the end, curiosity won out.

Your place? It’s kind of sensitive. I was trying to rack my brain to figure out what he could possibly need. I hadn’t spoken to him in literal years. Not since I graduated high school and never after my subsequent failed attempts at college. Well, OK, excluding work.

No. More public. As a personal rule, I’d like a few more cameras to observe this interaction, maybe get food out of it.

The diner on fifth then? 6:30? I could almost hear the frustration in text form.

Sure. You’re buying , I responded. I looked at my phone for several minutes after to see if there were any other follow up messages. There weren’t.

He’d been with the police department for several years and I worked at a coffee shop. He could afford my food retainer fee. It was all just...odd.

The hours crawled by as I racked my brain with what he could possibly want.

Was this related to my dad? Did he want to ask Marie out?

Did he want to reconcile? I thought I had burned that bridge to ash already.

I thought back to my father’s funeral with a wince.

I scrolled down the past messages I had from him. Years had gone by.

We were twelve. Mom had died a year ago and Dad kept pushing me to have more fun.

Damien had just finished his swim lesson on the hottest day of the summer.

I was looking at the flowers outside of the club where the pool was.

“Cora!” He called, waving. We started walking towards the festival grounds on the other side of the school.

“You know I can teach you, right? It’d be easy! We’d go slow.”

I grimaced. His offer to teach me to swim sounded tempting but I never got over the fear of the water. “Maybe one more year,” I hedged.

He smiled. “No pressure, Cor. Just fun.”

Jenna noticed I was distracted, almost itchy to get going.

“What’s with you today?” She was restocking beans as I leaned over the counter staring at my phone. “You know just looking at it won’t make it ring.”

I sighed. “Long story short, I got a weird cryptic message from an old acquaintance and I have no idea what it’s about.”

A little flutter went through her folded pixie wings. “Huh. Weird. Are you going to meet up with them?”

“Yeah, after this.” I clicked the screen off and put it in my back pocket, sighing. “Might as well be productive.”

“I think you already were.” Her orange hair shook and she turned back to the register. “I think you stress cleaned the entire back room. It was like you were in a trance.”

“Huh, so I have. At least Amy will be happy tomorrow.”

“She’s never happy. Only moderately less disgruntled.”

I grinned. Marie was cute but Jenna was a little closer to my style.

She was closer in age and knew the world was occasionally not all sunshine and rainbows.

I got back to work reorganizing, letting my brain wander to my mother.

She’d died when I was younger. Sudden illness but as kids often do, I blamed myself for her absence.

I hated what it did to my father, breaking him down all the way until he could be put back together.

What was a girl to do but take care of who she had left?

It’s what I learned from an early age; be able to survive with what you got.

It wasn’t easy to pull him out of it. Took months to realize that he had a job to do and a life to get back to.

Nymph blood can run a tad bit melancholy.

We also tended to be imbued with the healing arts.

Typically that sort of thing runs through blood and she was a great healer.

Many who knew her said I had similar. I didn’t know how they knew but they did.

Mom discovered it early on. She had been washing dishes and cut her finger on a knife.

Instead of healing herself, she held out her hand to me and I desperately tried to call forth the sparkles, like she had.

She shook her head and told me to just relax and let it flow.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them, the blood was gone.

She had smiled her beatific smile and called my father over.

I remember he twirled me around while she dried her hands, saying his little girl was a prodigy. I was just happy that it worked.

At five of six, Jenna gave me a tug on the navy braid. “Get out of here. I’ll punch you out at six.”

I shot her a grateful look and gathered my coat.

Once outside I started toward the diner.

It should be about a fifteen- minute walk.

I was fine with being there early. I could always say hi to Merv, one of the chefs.

Small-time fry cook, good source of information of anything going on in the city.

It’s amazing what can be gleaned when people aren’t paying attention.

A cold breeze ruffled my hair and I grimaced.

Spring and summer were my happy times. Fall and winter, not so much.

I passed by the old brick building and apartment complexes, waving occasionally to regulars at The Magical Beans.

My father was well known within the city, which made his incarceration and subsequent suicide hard for many people, including me.

The old-style diner stood out among the more recent high-rises.

The old red neon flickered in places and the indoor furniture hadn’t stood the test of time but I loved this place.

Everyone who worked here was salt of the earth, would give you the coat off their back.

When needed, they protected their own. Despite his plea for privacy, I wanted a few extra ears open.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

“Cora.” His tenor voice hit me immediately.

He was already here, two tables down on my right. He was in plain clothes, a dark green quarter zip and jeans. He had the ability to look stunning in anything, a trait I was wholly jealous of. Is there an unwritten rule that people who ruin your life have to be painfully attractive?

I made my way down the aisle, basking in the smell of fries and the tang of burnt coffee, sat down across from him and looked down at the table.

“How long have you been here?”

He started slightly. “How did you know?”

I tapped a manicured black nail on the table near his cup. “The cup has a ring around it, which you only get by ignoring the coffee for a period of time. Which tells me you’re not really interested in it. Which clues me into your nerves right now.”

I shoved my bag beside me.

He shook his head and laughed briefly. “I forgot how observant you are. It’s good to see you.”

“You see me every day.” I didn’t take my coat off. I was still defrosting from being outside. I was perfectly amenable to a quick getaway. Meeting up with your ex-best friend turned enemy was slightly uncomfortable.

He shot me a disbelieving look. “I see your coworker face to face every day. You sequester yourself behind a counter somewhere.”

“Just part of the job.” I shrugged. It would be stupid to actively avoid someone every day. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.

“Anyway, it is genuinely good to see you.” He ran a hand through his shaggy dark seafoam hair. He regarded me with his coal-black eyes over the rim of the coffee cup. I was chomping at the bit to get to the point though.

“I was a little bit curious to get your message. I’m not sure what a barista can do for a police officer.” I cocked my head slightly to the side.

“Are we really doing this?”

At his flippant tone and raised eyebrows, I frowned. “Damien, I have no idea why I’m here. Can you spell it out for me please?” I was starting to get annoyed by the stonewalling. It didn’t help that I was hungry either.

He folded his hands and put them on the table, arching an eyebrow delicately. “Let’s just pretend we’re two old friends catching up and that I’m not conversing with one of the most prolific smugglers in the entire city.”

My face went stony as my heart started to do wind sprints. Fuck. I was burned. I’m not sure how but I got burned. Finneas was going to kill me. Heat rose into my face. I started to unbutton the jacket; I didn’t think I would need it now.

Stay calm Cora, stay calm.

I folded my arms to mirror him. Any good will I had towards this conversation was gone.

“That’s a nasty rumor to spread. Also, conjecture,” I replied, indignantly. Also, true.

He gave me a frank look. “Do you remember a few months ago, when the Rowlands thought one of their paintings was missing, made a fuss all over town, sent the department scurrying for days until it mysteriously showed up in their basement?”

I kept my face passive. “How clumsy of them.” Not only had I heard of them, but I precipitated most of that deal.

When the MF got involved, Finneas thought I was sunk.

I told him to have more faith in me. I put the forgery back into the basement while the police were interviewing the couple for the third time.

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure you were involved.”

My back stiffened more. “What proof do you have, officer? I’m no painter.”

He shook his head and sat back. “I didn’t think you painted the forgery, and it was a very detailed forgery.

Too bad the forger forgot to age it up a bit.

” He shrugged and pulled a bag out of his pocket.

An evidence bag containing a few strands of blue hair.

“I sat behind you for years in class. Don’t you think I know your hair? ”

Damn it. Gods damn it. He was right. Nymph hair ran in a spectrum of blues and I was one of the only ones in the city.