The Winter King (3 page)

It was a weird job, not one
you normally heard of people having, but one she fell into rather
naturally. She was just good at understanding people, and more
importantly, understanding what
they
would understand. She knew what
would help them comprehend instructions, and how to write it all
down so that it meshed. She’d received rave reviews for her manuals
and instructions in the two years she’d been working for RIW, and
it paid well enough that she had no real desire to change jobs any
time soon.

Even so, a call from her
boss that morning was the last thing she wanted. This was supposed
to be a day off. She
needed
this day off. She needed it not only because of
her pain, but to prepare for what was coming that night:

Dinner with her mother.

But of course Poppy had
told her boss she would do her very best. Then she’d turned around,
headed back to her apartment, and fussed with her computer until
she was forced to admit that she no longer had the copy. It was
always like this. You had ten copies of something you didn’t need,
and the one bloody thing you absolutely
did
need would simply up and vanish.
She had no idea why. She supposed it was just that kind of life,
and it was just that kind of goddamned day.

So, she said a lot of bad
words and settled into her chair. Then, migraine and all, she
re-wrote the whole thing. Fortunately for her, she had a very good
memory and typed 102 words per minute. The copy was twelve pages
long. It started out on page one with the words, “Okay guys, here
we go. The first thing you’re going to want to do is get a beer.
Seriously. Just get one. You’ll need it.” But it was this kind of
sense of humor that had reviewers raving on Amazon and had product
companies coming back to the company that employed
her
to get more
instruction manuals.

When she was finished editing the piece
hours later, she sent it off with fifteen minutes to spare, a note
to make sure the instructions were printed in a legible size; i.e.,
not tiny, and a prayer that she was typing in her boss’s email
address correctly, since by that time the screen was covered in the
wavy zigzag lightning streaks of a full-on aura.

Apparently, she’d gotten it right because a
few minutes later, her boss thanked her, and Poppy again donned her
coat and scarf and headed out the door, shooting her coffee maker a
dirty look over her shoulder.

But this time when her phone rang around
block five, it was her mother. She needed a bunch of stuff for
dinner and wondered if Poppy could pick it up on the way over. And
since dinner was at five because her mother went to bed around six,
Poppy realized she had to go shopping then and there. No time for
coffee.

Two hours later, she was sitting down to
dinner with her mother and trying her best not to get into an
argument that was either political or religious in nature. This was
supposed to be a holiday dinner, warm and inviting, filled with
companionship and love and what not. Not silent fuming hatred and
unshared fantasies about drowning family members in gravy
boats.

But then again, that was family. Perhaps
especially during the holidays.

By the time she kissed her mother goodbye at
fifteen-to-seven, she was a physical mess that was barely capable
of keeping down the food her mother had gone to all the trouble to
cook. Migraines sometimes made you nauseated. And, so did
family.

If she didn’t get coffee soon, she was going
to end up using her warlock magic to conjure some, and using her
magic in the mortal world was sort of forbidden. It wasn’t like
Harry Potter’s shindig, where using it at all would land you in
some sort of Ministry jail where you’d have all your powers taken
away. It was just that humans couldn’t really handle things they
didn’t fully understand, and when people didn’t understand
something, they automatically feared it, and that fear more often
than not brought violence and evil. So, it was a good idea to steer
as clear as possible. Plus, conjuring was advanced and dangerous
and would definitely be noticed by Lalura.

On attempted trip number three to the coffee
shop, she took her phone out of her pocket and used it to make a
call herself so that the damn thing wouldn’t ring again. She called
one of her friends, they agreed to meet her just outside the
Roastery, and for the first time that day, Poppy was able to take a
deep breath.

When she got to Starbucks, Angel was already
waiting for her outside. This time, when Poppy smiled, it was
genuine. But she was still punished for it by her headache.

“
Poppy, you look like
something is trying to push its way out of your head through your
eyeballs,” Angel told her as she approached. She tossed a lock of
her long black hair back over her shoulders and settled warm,
chocolate eyes on her with all the compassion Poppy knew she was
actually feeling.

“
There is. My
brain.”

Angel frowned and opened the door for them.
“You’ve had a migraine all day, haven’t you?” Angel could just
tell. She was like that.

“
Yeah.”

“
Why are you only getting
coffee now? You’ll have to drink so much of it you won’t be able to
sleep.”

“
I didn’t have
time.”

“
It’s a
migraine
. You
make
time.”

“
Long day.”

Angel muttered something behind her as they
entered the shop, but Poppy heard it. “Sometimes I really don’t
understand you.”

Poppy grinned. “You don’t need to understand
me. You just need to love me.”

Angel chuckled. “Fine. You know I love you.
Especially since you gave me an excuse to leave the family
dinner.”

Poppy glanced back at her as Angel scanned
the crowd, obviously trying to find them a place to sit. “You had
one of those tonight too, huh?”

Angel shook her head in
slight bewilderment. “
Everyone
had one of those tonight. It’s Friday. And ‘tis
the season.”

Chapter Three

They’d ordered their drinks and were
standing at the waiting end of the line as the people behind the
counter worked like an efficiently oiled machine, turning,
grabbing, mixing, blending, and pouring with amazing expertise.

“
So… did you get the
interview?” Poppy asked out of the blue.

Angel raised a brow.
“I
did
actually.
Leave it to you to remember that right now.”

“
It’s important. Because if
you get the job in Frisco, I’m coming with you.”

“
Then don’t call it
Frisco,” Angel teased. “I’m told they’re picky about
that.”

“
Nah.” Poppy shook her head
– gently. “I think they maybe used to be, or maybe it was really
just kind of a joke. But not anymore. They’ve grown up, I think.
They’re adults. Busy building computer systems that’ll be able to
take over the world and what not. No one has time to say the whole
damn name anymore.”

“
Fair enough.”

They got their coffee and somehow lucked out
enough to get a seat by the window. It wasn’t by one of the fire
places, which Poppy would have preferred, but at seven at night in
the busiest Starbucks in Seattle, you really couldn’t afford to be
picky.

“
So, you want some advice
before you head into this interview?” Poppy asked.

“
Always,” Angel said,
rolling her eyes.

“
You’re getting some
anyway,” Poppy said. She leaned over the table toward her friend.
“My mother tells me that when I was a baby, I never stopped crying.
She claims that for the first three years of my life, I couldn’t be
satisfied, that there was nothing she could do to make me shut up.
She had three kids after me, and apparently my little sister was a
walk in the park as an infant. Never made a fuss.

From that moment on, there was nothing I
could do right, and nothing my sister could do wrong that would
cause my mother’s adoration to shift. I never smoked, never drank,
always followed my curfew, and called my parents frequently to let
them know I was safe. But regardless of the fact that she engaged
in all the vices I refrained from, it was my sister who was my
mother’s favorite. And still is.”

Angel’s brow furrowed. She blinked. “Are
you… telling me that if you’re a colicky baby, you’ll be paying for
it for the rest of your life?”

“
No, honey.” Poppy turned
her cup in her hands so the little hole at the top was facing her
and prepared to take a drink. “I’m telling you that nothing sticks
like a first impression.” She raised her cup in a mock toast. “So
make sure it’s a good one.”

She took a sip.

She nearly spit it back out
again. “What the fuck?” she hissed as quietly as she could. “This
is
cold
.” It
wasn’t just luke warm. It was actually as cold as if it had been in
the fridge.

Angel made a face and reached across the
table to give the outside of the coffee cup a feel. “Bizarre! Mine
is too hot to drink, and they were made at the same time.”

They sat there for a minute in mutually
confused silence, and Poppy knew Angel was debating offering Poppy
her own coffee. She knew she wouldn’t though, because Poppy and
Angel had very different coffee tastes and Poppy hated hazelnut.
Still… coffee was coffee.

“
Girl, either drink it
anyway because you desperately need the caffeine, or just buck up
and take mine, hazelnut or not.”

Sometimes, Angel reminded Poppy a lot of
Violet. The girl had so much empathy, she could almost read
minds.

“
Thank you anyway,” Poppy
sighed miserably, giving her friend’s hand a thankful squeeze.
“I’ll just chug this and try again.”

Why did this keep happening to her? She
hadn’t been able to have a single warm drink that entire day!

“
Maybe if you hadn’t spent
so long lecturing me on first impressions, it would still be hot,”
Angel joked lightly as she sipped her own steaming coffee. But
Poppy knew she didn’t mean it. She was just trying to lighten the
mood. “By the way, why didn’t you get coffee at your
mom’s?”

“
She had a bunch of other
stuff sitting out, like cider and eggnog. I know better than to ask
her for something she didn’t think of first. She’s way sensitive
like that. One time, I was dating this boy who didn’t like Pork and
Beans, and of
course
that’s what my mom offered him for lunch. He made a face,
said, ‘No, thank you,’ and she sulked for two freaking weeks over
it. Of course, he didn’t have to make a face, either. But boys will
be boys.”

Poppy looked down at her cup, gritted her
teeth, and swallowed down as much of the cold coffee as she could
with a stomach that felt like it did. Then she reached into her
handbag and pulled out her bottle of Excedrin, popping two more
into her mouth before gulping down the remainder of the coffee.

“
There now,” Angel said
with a hopeful expression. “It’s going to get better from here on
out.”

“
Uh-huh,” Poppy
noncommittally agreed.

“
You…
have
eaten something today, right?”
Angel asked.

“
Really?” Poppy shot her
friend a warning look.

“
Just making sure. That’s a
lot of aspirin and caffeine for an empty stomach.”

“
I’ve got my mom’s yams
inside me,” said Poppy, and a wave of queasiness washed through
her. She exhaled slowly, leaned over the table, and placed both
elbows on it so she could cradle her head.

Angel’s phone rang. Poppy looked up,
surreptitiously glancing at the screen. It was Angel’s mother. She
was probably in deep water for having left the dinner.

“
You can go, sweetie,”
Poppy said before Angel even answered the phone. “I swear I’ll be
fine. I’m going to get another cup to go and head home to bed. It
really has been a long day and I’m not good company.”

Angel chewed on her lip. “I’m sorta scared
to leave you alone.” She glanced out at the darkening streets and
lengthening shadows, and Poppy knew exactly what was going through
Angel’s head. “You always walk instead of taking a cab, and you’re
not exactly at the top of your game.” She tapped silence on her
incoming call, deigning not to answer her mother at all.

“
I’ll be fine,
promise.”

What Angel didn’t know was
that Poppy might not be at the top of her game, but what game she
did have involved
magic
. Black magic. And lots of it. “Go be with your family,
Angel. Thanks for meeting me.” She smiled warmly, and it was a
little less painful this time; the medicine and caffeine must have
finally been working. “Say ‘hi’ to your mom, and kiss your abuela
for me.”

“
She’ll be pissed that I
met with you and didn’t invite you over.”

Angel Carona had a very large family, and
most of it was likeable. But Angel’s abuela, Calliope, was
definitely Poppy’s favorite. She had spunk. She reminded Poppy of a
non-magical Lalura.

“
Tell her I’m sick. It’s
not exactly a lie.”

“
True enough.” Angel pushed
out her chair and they both stood. They hugged over the table, and
Angel headed to the door. “Text me when you get home,
okay?”

Poppy nodded and waved as Angel left the
coffee shop. Then she sighed, pulled on her gloves, took her cold
coffee cup, and dumped it in the trash before making her way back
into line to order another one to go.