The deep voice on the other end of the line chuckles. “I can’t imagine any other reason you’d be calling.”
“Meet me at Habesha Café in twenty minutes.”
A surprising response makes me immediately suspicious. He answers quickly. Too quickly. “See you soon.”
Chapter Seventeen
Darius
Nineteen minutes later I’m sitting in the familiar coffee shop, watching the largest male on planet Earth step through the glass front door. He has to duck in order for his horns to enter, just as I did one minute earlier.
Amid the crowd of mostly East African patrons—none of whom seem to be interested in taking either of our pictures—it takes him exactly no time at all to find me seated alone at a table that, relative to our sizes, looks like it was made for children. I sit in the wooden chair, my body overflowing its edges. I gesture to the Wyvern to take the only other seat at the table available to him, an obnoxious hanging macramé chair shaped like an egg that swings from the ceiling.
The Wyvern approaches me with one black eyebrow cocked, his eyes a pleasantly light pink as if he’s the happiest motherfucker on this blue rock. He points a black-and-red claw at the hanging egg seat, while I wonder what kind of deranged sociopath of a woman lets this repugnant offspring of Hellboy and a shark marry her and whether I can get my woman to do the same.
“I’m not gonna fit that.”
“I got you this.” I kick a small wooden block nested beneath the intricately tiled tabletop toward him. It’s about one foot square. Hefrowns at it and opens his dark-pink mouth, but a female voice beats him to it.
“I have another chair, sir, if you need something a bit larger?” A woman speaking in slightly accented English steps up behind the Wyvern, lifting a sturdy-looking wooden chair.
The Wyvern looks surprised. I imagine it’s because she called himsir. Every idiot on this dumb planet knows his name. More than mine, even. I mean, he’s recognizable as ever, looking like a gigantic, vengeful pink Easter bunny.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replies after his shock wears off.
She grins wide enough to reveal her white teeth. The front two have a little gap between them. She sets the chair down, removing the little stool, then takes our orders without using a pen and paper. I try to make mine extra complicated just to bother her, but she’s seemingly unfazed. Her long braided hair sways near her low back as she turns with that stupid smile still on her face.
The Wyvern glances over his shoulder as he scoots closer to the table. “Why’d you want to meet here?”
“They don’t stare here.”
The Wyvern’s eyebrows scrunch. He sweeps his gaze over the coffee shop’s dozen-plus patrons and, seeing that they’re all engaged in conversations of their own—or heatedly playing backgammon—he makes an impressed face. “Okay. But why not at the COE?”
“Those nosy morons don’t need to take pictures of every fucking thing I do, and I’m not here on official COE business. I’m here to talk to you.”
The Wyvern’s expressions are too fucking expressive. I can’t stand it. I can’t stand him. He’s smiling slightly, his fangs pressing against his bottom lip. He looks like an idiot. If he weren’t pink and enormous, I’d think he were human for all the goddamn stupid looks he’s giving me.
“So, I take it you want to talk to me about your reversion?”
“Obviously.”
“A woman changed you too?”
I feel my cheeks burn. “It would seem.”
“Cynthia, right?”
“Yes, right,” I say, distracted when the barista or owner or whatever deposits our drinks on the table in front of us. I wonder about something as I watch the tall, willowy woman move away from us, tripping twice on chair legs.
“It was a good thing you poached Monika, then, I guess, since she introduced the two of you at the event last night. Was that the first time you met?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Monika ... What?”
The big oaf shrugs, looking amazingly stupid sitting in that perfectly normal-size chair, reminding me that I’m only just smaller than he is and likely look equally as stupid. “The pictures she took last night were pretty cool. It was insane to see you revert on camera—at least a little bit of it. And Cynthia seemed thrilled too. Totally over the moon for you.”
My own expression screws up as I try to make sense of his English, if that’s what he’s even speaking. Wondering if things might be clearer if I speak to him in Tratharine, I do. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
His eyes widen. He makes a face. “Tratharine?”
