Page 22 of Amber: Deja Brew

Chapter 9

Julian

“I’m coming with you,” Amber shouts after me. She’s shifted back—since it’s her voice, and not the Angel’s or troll’s—and hearing her sounding this upset only makes me angrier.

How dare Mini leave a bunch of negative reviews for Jewels Cafe? And how dare she sabotage the business we’ve poured our heart and soul into?

And it’s not like I don’t get unrequited love. I’ve spent six long years loving Amber—wanting to be with her—but never, in all that time, have I considered hurting her. Or anyone else, for that matter. All I’ve ever wanted was for Amber to be happy, which is why Mini’s behavior makes no sense.

The witch who grew up next door to me—the one who was like a sister to me—would never resort to something this awful. She wouldn’t sabotage someone’s business even if she truly hated them. Which only goes to show that I don’t really know her at all.

“We’re going to get to the bottom of this,” Chase says, and I’m glad for the backup. At least, until I remember that someone has to stay back and watch the cafe.

“I’ll keep an eye on things,” Wes says, as if reading my mind, and his words are all the encouragement I need.

I slam out of the front door. It chimes angrily behind me, echoing my mood. The weather and I, however, aren’t on the same page. The sky is only slightly overcast, and there’s no thunder or lightning raging in Silver Springs.

Traffic on Main street is sparse, and I march diagonally across the road, heading straight for Minerva’s bakery. Unlike most days, it doesn’t have the usual line out front, and I don’t smell freshly baked pastries. Plus, here's the kicker... the lights are off.

I reach the front door, and part of me isn't surprised to find it locked. Another part, however, is shocked. Because even though Mini made it clear that she hates baking—and even though she’s clearly not the witch I thought she was—I'll be the first to admit that the girl works really hard.

The few times I’ve been up late, I’ve noticed the lights in Minerva’s bakery flickering on at around four. And since the day we first opened Jewels Cafe, Minerva’s Bakery has stayed open seven days a week, from sunrise to sunset, with lineups of customers the entire time. So, as weird as her rant about anti-blister, anti-sweat, and anti-whatever spells was, I’m not that surprised. Working that many hours without ever closing her doors, except the one hour she would take for lunch, couldn’t have been easy.

I shake my head and yank on the door again, but once again I find it locked. I bang on it for good measure. Nothing.

"Mini! Open up!" I shout. And wait. And wait some more.

The lights don't flicker on. No sounds emanate from inside. And Mini doesn’t come into view.

"Minerva Montgomery!” a man shouts so loudly that I swear the door rattles.

I spin around, and next to Chase is the burly vampire bouncer who usually hangs around outside Club Vee. And even though my Amber looks like a semi-bald, tattooed tough guy who’s almost as tall as Wes or any troll, my heart still warms at the sight of her. And it warms my heart knowing that I’ll always recognize my Bean, no matter what.

"Open the door right now!" Bouncer Amber shouts, her face contorting in anger. The look isn’t as terrifying as it was when she’d shifted into the troll, but it’s cutting it close.

When there’s still no sign of Mini, a wrinkle forms on Amber’s bouncer forehead, and she raises her hand. When she slams her flat palm against the door, it rattles, and I'm surprised the glass doesn't shatter.

When she raises her hand again, I grab it. But I'm no match for a vampire... any more than I’m a match for a troll. Unless I use magic, and then I’d probably be the one to blow up the door. "Hey, Bean maybe you shouldn’t do that?"

"Why?" Vampire Amber glares at me.

"Because you might break it?"

"So?" Her glare intensifies. "It's the least she deserves."

"Zoe can always fix it," Chase adds, like it’s no big deal.

"Not helping, Bunny!” I narrow my eyes at him. “Plus, it’s breaking and entering.”

“No, it’s not!” Amber shifts into a troll. A troll who just happens to be wearing a uniform.

“Are you trying to add impersonating a police officer to the list?” I demand.

“Technically, I don’t think she’s impersonating a police officer,” Chase says. “She just looks like one.”

“Which is impersonating a police officer!” I snap. “And she’s about to break down the bakery door while looking like one.”

“It’s not a bad plan.” Chase shrugs. “If anyone saw, they’d probably assume it’s official police business and walk away.”