2 Chapter 2

Don, left with coffee and a college-student employee and tables that needed cleaning and several preoccupied customers, exhaled. Leaned elbows on the counter for a second. Tried not to think of all the ways that could’ve gone better.

He hadn’t met a Cupid before. They weren’t the rarest of the Personifications, and he was a little surprised he hadn’t, now that he thought about it. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been Raine Amari, divorce lawyer and despiser of Valentine’s decorations.

Most Personifications tended to like their own abilities, to be proud of gifts that could coax forth sunshine or winter or harvest bounty. Most ordinary humans tended to like those gifts as well, especially because the officious but well-meaning Registry in theory kept everyone accounted for, aware of who and what might be in the area, and also because over the centuries most of the power had grown diluted enough that nobody was a threat. Don himself certainly wasn’t, given his level of magic, and anyway he enjoyedrunning a small coffee shop with steady corporate clientele, and cheerful employees, and oversized mugs that could briefly warm up his usually cold fingertips.

He might’ve found a different career. Something about weather, or winter entertainment, or ice-skating rinks. He was, he supposed, very mildly unconventional; but then his family had always told him to be happy, and he liked making customers happy too, seeing them smile. He had regulars who came in daily, including most of Raine’s law firm—or at least an intern picking up orders, if they were busy—and he had new customers all the time, human and magical; he greeted them all with a smile, and they smiled back.

If Don himself was mildly unconventional, Raine Amari was the more dramatic side of the word.

A Cupid who lived on sarcasm and black coffee. A Cupid working as a lawyer. As a divorcelawyer. A good one. Practically blasphemous, given his heritage and the amount of power that hovered in the air when he was nearby. Don had felt the shiver of magic the first day Raine had walked in—Personifications generally knew each other, a little tingle of recognition, an invisible nod—and had been prepared to smile and maybe to feel a ripple of desire, because rumor said that was often a side effect.

He definitely hadfelt desire. He still did. It fought with mild exasperation, every single day.

And Raine kept on coming by, a daily routine now. And Don handed over coffee and asked how Raine’s day was going because for some reason he always wanted to know what the answer would be, whether it landed sharp or wry or full of inventive descriptions about tiny yapping dogs. Whatever Raine answered, it would be interesting: different, unpredictable, a surprise.

Leaning on the counter, he considered his window art. Valentine’s Day was over, after all. And he had a reputation as a Frost, if not a terrifically gifted one, to uphold.

He went over and pressed fingertips to windowpanes. He let the cold ripple out: clean and crisp and familiar as a kitten, wreathing around chilled shapes. He was not the best artist; he was only a minor talent, one among any number of Frosts, omnipresent and dutifully recorded by the local Registry. Anyone could, in theory, look up the basic facts of his family and his location and his abilities; most people didn’t bother.

Frost was easy, simple, taken for granted. Donald Robert Frost, coffee shop owner and classic science fiction fan, would be especially uninteresting.

Kit, the very human college-student employee and Don’s current favorite barista, appeared at his side, balancing darkly steaming mugs in both hands. “Want me to order more mint syrup, if you’re going to start doing green things? For St Patrick’s Day.”

“No,” Don said. “I mean yes. Sure. Why not.” The windows bloomed: fields of clover, three leaves and four, happy and lucky and hopefully enticing customers. Most of their clientele came from the downtown corporate population, not just Raine’s law firm; two other regulars came in just then from the real estate office across the street and waved. Kit delivered the mugs and got busy with the almond milk.

Don regarded the window thoughtfully, and added a tiny puppy, an extremely high-pitched and excitable one, gamboling among clover. It was the least he could do.

* * * *

“It looks like a beagle, not a Chihuahua,” Raine said, two days later. This comment came without any opening hello; Don handed over coffee—black, plain, strong—and answered, “I wasn’t aiming for any particular breed.”

“So it was a coincidence.” Raine took the coffee. He was wearing grey and green today, a suit that’d likely cost more than Don’s yearly rent and made his astonishing eyes glow like bewitched sage and sugar. Both the Tooth Fairies—one male, one female, commiserating over the trials of the job across maple cream sugary concoctions—sharing the table in the corner had looked up when he’d entered. Raine had that effect. On humans andon supernatural beings. On everyone.