Free Magic in the Blood by Devon Monk Page B

that light feel warm.
    “Hey, Jula,” Grant called out. “Get me a Shot in the Dark, would ya? And a towel?”
    She looked up, the piercing in her eyebrow flashing blue and then pink as she looked from Grant to me. “Oh. Sure.” She put down the tray of scones and reached for a big mug from the shelf behind her.
    Grant, his arm still over my shoulder, steered me farther into the shop, back to a table nestled against a narrow window on the other side of the counter. It was far away from the door and out of sight from most of the people in the shop but close enough to the counter that Grant or Jula could keep an eye on whoever sat there.
    I had the distinct impression Grant didn’t think I was doing so hot.
    “Here now,” he said. “Best seat in the house.”
    “Thanks,” I said. “I’m okay.” The heat of the place was working wonders for me, easing some of the ache. Even the intense sunburn sting from the watercolor people touching me was fading some. I was soaked through my coat, but still cold enough that I didn’t want to take it off. Once I got home I really would have to wring out my underwear.
    I tugged my hat off and ran my gloved fingers through my hair. Another good thing about short hair is it handles the wet pretty well. I tucked it back behind my left ear, but kept it loose on the right so it would swing forward and cover the whorls of colors that licked beneath my jaw and up to the corner of my right eye. I was feeling a little touchy about the whole marked-by-magic thing at the moment.
    Grant sat across the small table from me.
    “Rough morning, huh?” he asked.
    “I’ve had better,” I said.
    Jula stopped by the table. “Here you go.” She placed a mug of coffee and a plate with a hot scone in front of me. “The towel?” she asked.
    Grant pointed to me.
    She handed me the towel. “Anything else I can get you?”
    “No,” I said. “Thanks.”
    She looked over at Grant again. He was leaning back in his chair, his own short hair wet enough that it looked as black as mine instead of the light brown I knew it was. Drips of rain caught on the edge of his spiky bangs and ran a wet line down his temple and jaw. Grant had dark, dark blue eyes and that sort of rough and ready look that always made me imagine him in a cowboy hat.
    Even though all I wanted to do was dive into that cup of coffee, I took the towel, pulled off my gloves, and inspected my hands. Black bands on all my left knuckles, whorls of metallic colors over every inch of my right hand. The black bands looked a little swollen, like they were bruising beneath, and the whorls of colors were darker than normal, dull, like someone had sanded the metallic shine off of them.
    Or several someones.
    I dried my hands carefully, though they weren’t really hurting. The ache and sunburn had faded fast, leaving me cold. Just cold. And wet. I wiped my face. The towel was white, soft, and smelled of lemon dish soap.
    “Thanks,” I said again, lifting the towel a little before handing it to Grant. He rubbed it over his face, wadded it up, and put it on the table.
    “You had me worried.”
    “Sorry.”
    “Want to talk about it?”
    Oh, I so did not. I didn’t like telling people I was going crazy.
    “That’s really nice. But trust me, you don’t want to get involved in my troubles.”
    “I don’t know. Everyone needs a little trouble now and then. Keeps things spicy.”
    “Running the coffee shop isn’t spicy enough?”
    He shrugged. “Business is business. But I want my friends to know I’ll do what I can to help. Be there if they need me.”
    I shook my head but smiled despite myself. I’d been coming to Get Mugged for years, and I didn’t know Grant considered our casual morning talks the basis for a friendship.
    “Friends?” I asked.
    “Anyone who gives me tickets to the Schnitz for my birthday two years in a row is officially my friend.”
    “I did that?”
    Grant gave me a funny look. I knew that look—it happened