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And now, I didn’t have a stalker. If he was telling the truth, he’d wait to contact me tomorrow. I should be relieved, actually.
A text vibrated in my pocket. I pulled out my phone and read:
Azra: We’re out of change. Pls back up Jaz while I’m at the bank.
Azra: Damn. We’re short on cups and cardamom. Promise I’ll be fast.
Azra: PLS TELL ME YOURE ALIVE
Oops. Guess I wasn’t focused while facing off with the stalker.
Me: Course I’m alive. Be there in ten. Apparently, the stalker wanted to hire me. Tell you about it tonight.
When I entered the cafe, Jasmine practically melted with relief. As did the seven customers in line.
“Missed me?” I teased, jogging behind the counter and ducking into an apron.
“So much,” she replied, her voice pitched high with her stress.
For the next hour, we switched off between taking orders and brewing. Wearing customer service smiles until our faces hurt. Boiling water and ground coffee in the brass cezve pots. Trying not to spill when we poured them into cups. Trying not to mix up the spices between orders. Preparing the trays with water cups, sugar cubes, and a delicate tea plate of Turkish delights. Trying not to eat said Turkish delights ourselves. Sometimes failing.
When Azra bustled back into the cafe, her arms weighted down by canvas bags full of supplies, we were eternally relieved. I didn’t have any clients lined up today, so I hustled with the two girls through the world’s most epic rush period.
It was nice. It gave me a time of peace where the stranger’s words didn’t coax my curiosity. It gave me a moment where his eyes didn’t haunt me. Where his warning didn’t make me uneasy.
All of those feelings were there still. But in the plume of coffee and cardamom, I could forget for just a little.
Azra kicked me out when the stream of people calmed, and I huddled at my usual table, laptop open to a line of sixteen tabs.
“Hartfall University reports that a student’s car, owned by one Nathaniel Harlock was set ablaze in a suspected arson attack on May first. The family wishes to handle the matter and investigation privately.”
“Students cry for help as classmate Sydni Valinas goes missing from June first to June third and is found in a campus storage room with severe dehydration, no memory of the incident and a nearly fatal stab wound… the family will be looking into the attack privately.”
“Hartfall University threatens to close its doors as a third horrific attack strikes on July first. A young man, Yariel Stone, was flown to the Intensive Care Unit after a severe attack that left him traumatized and psychotic with nearly ruined eyesight… the family requests privacy.”
Beyond the bare minimum description of the attacks, virtually no other information was available. Nothing. Sometimes, articles described seeing the student walking on campus. Blog posts discussed the gross negligence of the city officials and the school itself.
But for the life of me, I couldn’t find any updates beyond “investigations are underway.” It was as if the families and the school were purposefully sweeping this under the rug.
Why?
My teeth sank into the gnawed wood of the pencil while I dug for an explanation.
Anytime archangels experienced an iota of misfortune, they were up on their podiums at their press conferences, swearing that justice will be served. Yet they were pretending like these attacks were an average case of stolen gum at a convenience store.
My intuition tingled. If only I could talk to them. I wondered what they would say under my questioning.
I sighed and shut the laptop. Green eyes and white wings flashed in my memory. His voice echoed in my ears as a sick, uneasy feeling twisted my insides.
Tonight, something terrible will happen. I don’t know what or to whom. When it does, I’ll be expecting an answer.
Chapter Seven
Even though I knew the angel wasn’t a killer demon trying to destroy me, I wanted to stay at Azra’s again. Being close to her comforted me, and my shock still hadn’t worn off.
When we came home, I told her about the angel’s proposal while Dhalia sat at the kitchen table, laser-focused on her studies. Her tiny frame hunched over the pages while she scribbled her notes.
I lounged on the couch while Azra leaned forward, rage boiling from her. She was in full-menace mode. “The bastard could have flown you down!”
