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July 22 - July 22, 2024
“I’m in trouble! I’m being followed by someone… or something…” Professor Palmer blinked behind his glasses. A half eaten peanut butter sandwich lay on his desk with no plate beneath. Crumbs were everywhere. Kate waited, shifting her footing. She expected the professor to call security, but instead, he checked his watch, stood, collected his briefcase and coat, and said, “Finally. Follow me.” With one dramatic swipe, he flung his whole peanut butter sandwich into the garbage beside his desk.
grew up rich,” Shayne cut in. “I’m a Lord by birthright. But my brother took the family title after I kept getting into trouble. Dranian was hired by my parents as my fairyguard when I was twelve faeborn years old, but he couldn’t keep me out of messes, hard as he tried.” Shayne dragged a huge crossbow from beneath the counter, and Kate’s eyes widened. “So, my parents disowned me and sent me off to the High Court who hired me to kill Cress. The Prince.”
Just casually pulls out a large crossbow?!
“I’m cleaning,” Shayne said. “Well, I’m sort of cleaning. Honestly, I just flit around from corner to corner until Mor and Dranian do everything.”
Same
“Human literature,” he grumbled. “How preposterous.” Thirty minutes later, three assassins sat around the café sipping warm pumpkin spice lattes and flipping the pages of their novels quietly.
“Take your pick. I’ll set you up on a date—” “Human.” Mor appeared behind Kate. “We must leave before this situation escalates.”
“There’s a thing here among the humans that’s called, No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service!” Kate argued. Shayne’s face fell—he glanced down at his bare feet. “Just put on a shirt and I won’t make you wear shoes,” Kate negotiated, shaking her head in disbelief.
“The magic stairs want to trap us here,” he muttered when they finally leapt off. “How outrageous.”
“Which of my assassins is your least favourite? I want to see if we picked the same one.”
“Wait a faeborn minute.” Cress’s fist dropped to the tabletop, and Kate jumped. “You must pay taxes on the coin you earn, and then you must pay taxes again when you spend the coin you earn, and then you must pay taxes on—”
That's what I've been saying
“My mugs!” Shayne burst from the kitchen and sprinted to the door, flinging it open. He dragged the damp, snow-dusted box inside, and when the tape seemed too tricky to rip with his fingers, he bit the edge of the box and tore half the lid right off with his teeth.
“Yes. Those two mixed the batter with magic to ensure that every human who tries it is compelled to come back. The coffee is enchanted, too,” he said. “The bad news is that no one really came back here because they liked your coffee, Human. The good news is you have hundreds of lifetime customers,” Mor said, and Kate’s jaw dropped. Her gaze darted to Shayne’s writing in the window that said, COME TRY THE BUTTER TARTS. WE GUARANTEE YOU’LL COME BACK FOR MORE IF YOU DO.
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE HIGH COURT OF THE COFFEE BEAN MEET MOR: A HANDSOME, COLD-BLOODED FAE ASSASSIN IN A CUTE BURGUNDY APRON, READY TO STAB YOUR ENEMIES AND POUR YOU A TASTY LATTE AT YOUR BECKONING.
want to make you laugh, Human. Hearing your laugh is my highest obsession. And your smile, too. And for some faeborn-cursed reason, I’m fascinated by your lack of evil—” “Aaaaaand back into the closet you go,”
“Give me your wallet, Human,” he said. “I’ll buy that one for you.”
“What is this?” he demanded, turning the dessert over in his hands. “Lily brought those,” Mor said. “And what in the name of the sky deities are these?” Cress plucked out one of the chocolate chips to find it squishy. He made a horrified face. “What is it, Mor?! Why does it squeeze like a bug?” “It’s a raisin.”
