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“How do you even know about —”

“I’ll let you get on. Lots to do.” The line went dead. Mirelle frowned at her phone. The raccoon stared at her.

Okay then.

Valene answered on the first ring, which meant she had been expecting the call. She could tell a how-are-you call from a come-immediately one before anyone spoke.

“Something happened,” Mirelle said. She used her calm, informational voice — the one she had developed for school nurse calls and pediatric emergencies, when losing it would not have helped anyone. “I need you to receive this without exclamations. Four creatures appeared in my kitchen. One of them is a glowing raccoon who has already cleared my counter of its assets and is currently assessing my coffeemaker. Also, Gerri Wilder called me on a number I never gave her and told me to bring the raccoon to you. Specifically. The raccoon.”

“Do any of them have tails?”

“The raccoon has a tail. The others are round and glowing, and one of them is vibrating. I don’t know what that means.”

“Come to the café. Straight through the residential quarter. Don’t stop on the boardwalk.”

“I can’t bring the raccoon, Val, it’s not portable, it has strong opinions about —”

A sound from the entryway made Mirelle turn stiffly. The raccoon sat by the front door, tail wrapped around its feet. It peered over its shoulder at her, waiting. Mirelle glanced at the raccoon, then back at the phone. “It’s at the door.”

“Of course it is.”

“It walked through the house without me seeing it move.”

“Yes.”

“Valene.”

“Come to the café, love.”

Mirelle grabbed her cardigan from the hook. “If this becomes my life,” she told the raccoon, which seemed unbothered, “I’m billing the universe for the fruit bowl.”

The raccoon waltzed out the door like it owned the street.

The Cauldron and Cup smelled of cinnamon, espresso, and Valene, who had a scent all its own. Jewel-colored chairs by the wide windows. The copper counter. And the raccoon, already inside and already on the espresso machine. Teleportation was also on today’s agenda, and Mirelle added it to the list.

Valene eyed it, arms folded and head tilted. “That,” she said without turning to Mirelle, “is my equipment.”

The raccoon surveyed the row of corks along the back counter. Selected one. Examined it. Set it back. Moved it two inches left.

“I see.” Valene reached under the counter, pulled out a piece of croissant from the morning bake, and held it out. “Territorial boundary negotiation. I offer this in good faith.”

The raccoon accepted the croissant. Relocated four additional inches to the left. Valene’s eyes cut to Mirelle. Mirelle kept her gaze on the raccoon. “It took the offering and then expanded.”

“That’s a violation. I want it on the record that I offered reasonable terms, and this creature has no regard for the spirit of the agreement.”

“There is no agreement, Val. You gave it a piece of croissant, and it moved.”

“There was an implied agreement. Croissant implies good faith. This raccoon has no good faith.” Valene set her hands flat on the copper counter. “I am going to need a security deposit.”

Mirelle sat on the stool Valene pushed toward her and accepted the mug that appeared, already made, already at the right temperature, because Valene had started it before Mirelle even arrived, because Valene was this kind of person. The knot in her chest loosened. Not fixed. Not better. But not alone with it either.

I don’t deserve her. I should tell her that more often. Not right now, though. She’s in a territorial dispute, and her focus is admirable.

“How long,” Valene asked, eyes still on the raccoon, “has it been building?”

“The loneliness?”

“The underneath part.”