Free Geekomancy by Michael R. Underwood Page B

been.
    Maybe it’s stronger, the more of it I watch?
    Ree walked out to the living room and saw Sandra lounging on the couch in her work clothes.
    “Hey,” Ree said. “Didn’t hear you come in.”
    “Mrr,” Sandra responded.
    “You okay?”
    “I don’t wanna cook.” Sandra rolled her head back around her shoulders, cracking her neck.
    Ree walked around the couch, gathering her energy. “Then we go out. Priya is free tonight, and Anya doesn’t have rehearsal.” Ree grabbed Sandra’s hand, trying to pull the tall woman to her feet. Luckily, Sandra relented and did most of the standing herself.
    “Do you have a master plan?” Sandra asked, stretching the day out.
    Ree raised an eyebrow and squinched up her mouth, thinking. “What’s the tapas place on Wilco called now?”
    “Oh. It’s . . . Bites . ”
    Bites was, by Ree’s counting, at least the fourth incarnation of a tapas bar at that one location, each folding after about six months. Inevitably, it would be reopened by another brave and/or foolish entrepreneur who came along and gave the place yet another makeover and slight thematic twist. Then they’d try once again to hit the critical mass of patronage that would let them stay afloat atop the astronomical rent of the U-District. There were other tapas joints in Pearson, but Bites and its predecessors had been the only ones in the area.
    Ree nodded. “Sound good? I can make with the wrangling, if you want to shower or change or sacrifice a goat or whatever.”
    “Fresh out of goats, sadly. They make such good cheese.” Sandra walked toward her bedroom, saying, “Mmm, goat cheese. Add almond shavings, dried cranberries, some herby greens . . .”
    “We’re going out ! They’ll have goat cheese salads, love.”
    Sandra made “yeah, yeah” sounds from her room, and Ree’s smile widened.
    Just what the doctor ordered. Girl time, with a side of sword. The sommelier recommends a pinot grigio from the Mariposa Valley with the emerald-crystal lightsaber  . . . Ree’s mind trailed off merrily into daydreaming, and when Sandra emerged in jeans and a sweater, Ree remembered to text the rest of the crew.
    •   •   •
    Bite’s version of a restaurant embodied the approach of New York simplicity-chic with an industrial design and East Asian/Spanish fusion cuisine, complemented by a kick-ass wine selection and art by the new owner’s husband, a painter in the tradition of Anselm Kiefer meets Gustav Klimt. Since it was on the far side of the U-District, Anya and Priya were already there when Sandra and Ree arrived. As she and Sandra walked inside, Ree felt the Buffy mojo fade.
    All right, so now I have to hope the furry doesn’t feel like tapas as an appetizer before chowing down on some broke screenwriter.
    She kept her coat beside her when she sat down, just in case. A bottle of merlot stood on the table, already one third empty. Priya Tharakan (Strength 8, Dexterity 13, Stamina 12, IQ 17, Will 14, and Charisma 15—Geek 5 / Professional 3 / Seamstress 4 / Steampunk 2) had the light brown skin of a North Indian, with awesome caramel eyes and an easy smile. Priya was five-feet-nothing on a good day, leading her to worship four-inch heels, which she managed with grace. The four of them walking somewhere together made quite a sight, with Sandra towering over the three of them like an elf among hobbits.
    Ree’s seat gave her a commanding view of the bar. Several scenes played out between various couples: from the old and comfortable to the middle-aged and tense to, best of all, the young and hilariously transparent.
    Anya poured Ree a glass of wine, which she downed in one long swig.
    “Whoa. Rough day?”
    Ree hrmed and poured herself more wine, then stopped. “How much was this bottle?”
    “Half-off $45,” Anya said, chuckling.
    Oh, my poor, poor credit card, Ree thought, remembering her expenses over this last week of flailing.
    “Oops.” Priya and Sandra traded a look.
    “Rough