“Miss! Miss!”

  Jacinta was busy taking an order from a customer at the bar. She gave him an apologetic look—Mike, always there for a burger and coffee for his lunch break. She got what she needed, though; her sunken gaze flitted to the voice.

  Ugh.

  It was a duo. Older couple, white hair perfectly rolled and set, skin folded and thin. Man, woman. Long nails, both of them.

  Human. Definitely human.

  And definitely annoyed.

  “I’ll be back with your food in a sec, Mike,” she said to him, slipping the notepad in her apron. She worked at a small, '50s themed diner in the outer edges of lower Manhattan; close enough to draw some attention, but far enough to not be scrutinized by the masses. It was old, and not in an intentional way. The age was apparent in the torn red vinyl along the booths, the screech of every third swiveling stool. Still, it went on.

  But not without some bumps.

  “My burger has tomatoes. I specifically asked for no tomato! The woman hissed, glaring at her, blue eyes wide and wild. Jacinta waited for the woman to finish, frowning, staring flatly at her. “Are you one of those aliens? React! Look—this. Tomato. I asked—”

  Jacinta’s jaw tightened. She was winding up like a spring toy, but no—the customer was always right. Always right.

  Even if the customer asked for a perfectly medium-well dry burger with one strip of crisp green lettuce, three dots of ketchup and mustard along the top bun, two slices of bacon made into a lattice, one slice of American under the burger, not on top, and three pieces of ultra-thin onion. And a bun so lightly toasted that it was still soft. So…a warmed, buttered bun.

  Just for the hell of it, Jacinta wanted to see how easy she’d be to beat up.

  Very, very easy.

  “I was born right here in the city, ma’am.” Jacinta said with a lancet-thin smile, gesturing to the woman’s plate. “You can just slide the tomato off if you’d like to eat at the same time as your partner…”

  “No. We both need fresh burgers at the same time! Too acidic. You didn’t hear me properly. No hablo English?”

  “Of course, ma’am; I’ll get those burgers right out for you…” She grabbed a plate in each hand, returning to the kitchen. They were short-staffed; just her and Joe in the back, cooking away, burger-steam thick in the air.

  “It’s inglés…bitch.” She spat under her breath, setting the plates down on an empty counter, sneaking a fry. The woman’s burger would be her lunch later.

  “Joe, uh—I’ll need you to remake that last order. No tomato, god forbid…we have two customers that need it their way.”

  He glared at her but nodded, facing the flattop, slamming down two new burgers. “You mess up another order? Jace, please be exact. You’re the best girl I got but—”

  “The woman changed her mind. I promise.” Jacinta fiddled, re-tied her apron around her back. “Ketchup’s acidic, right?”

  “Yeah?” He asked, giving her a brief confused look. He looked like he’d be part-dwarf; dense, with thick arms and a short body, but no. Fully human. Rounded belly, thick neck, dark hair. He was kind, but if he punched her, she’d be dead. “You got yellowing teeth or something?”

  “No, the customer…I’ll explain later. Another one’s here.” The bell chimed in the front. They had a sign to seat yourself; menus were set at every empty table in case. “Oh, and Mike’s here. The usual.” She tore the ticket off her notepad and clipped it onto the wall.

  “Got it.”

  Jacinta exited the kitchen, handed Mike his cup of coffee, told the duo that their burgers would be ready in three minutes, and glanced down at the notepad, empty page, pen-click, ready—

  “Welcome to Joe’s Old-Fashioned Diner. Would you like any drinks to start off? We have milkshakes that’re to die for, y’kno—oh.”

  Her voice cracked. She looked down, focused—focused tight on his face, his eyes. Opalescent. Shimmery. What would maybe be pale blue to someone who didn’t recognize magic at all. His nose: broken. Hair: messy, brown; thick, flat brows to match. His gaze: on her face. Tight. Focused. He was squinting, He recognized her. She recognized him. Dammit.

  The SEE agent from before.

  Just her luck.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  She cleared her throat, struggling to recover. “Uh—sorry, sir; I feel my phone vibrating; I’ll need to take this call, yeah—”

  “No problem. I’ll still be here when you come back.” He grinned, revealing perfectly aligned teeth.

  He knew.

  Jacinta spun away, moving towards the kitchen. Joe had the two plates done; he handed them over—instinct made her grab them, but she first set them down, shaking her head.

  “I—I need to hide, Joe. Now. Shit, fuck—”

  “Hey. What’re you going on about?” He sighed, glaring at her. “This another one of those sellers you were working with? Or—”

  “No. A SEE agent—I did nothing wrong, but they—”

  He sighed and wiped his hands on the black apron. “Look. I don’t need to hear the story this time. Just keep working like usual, alright? If he gives you trouble, I’ll beat his ass for you. The more suspicious you seem, the more they think you did something wrong.”

  “No, y—”

  “You’re the only one working the lunch shift today, Jace. I need your help. This’ll make up for all the times you’ve shown up late. Deal?”

  She clenched her jaw and exhaled slowly. He gave her more leeway than she deserved, and she needed this job. Five years—he did treat her well; salary increases, extra days off, understanding—

  And though he was human, he understood. His daughter, fully human biologically, was a breakthrough case: a witch. Killed young. At puberty, twelve, her magic spiked; they took her Beyond.

  She reminded him of her. She knew that.

  “Deal.” She tersely replied. “If I don’t come to work tomorrow…you know what happened.”

  He snorted, assembling Mike’s burger. He turned, faced her for a moment. His eyes were soft. “Yeah, I got it.”

  Jacinta grabbed the plates again, swallowed her panic, and set them both in front of the rude patrons. The woman’s lips were pinched and pursed; she nudged the bun away with a fork, disassembling it, staring down in dissatisfaction. Jacinta waited, hands on her hips.

  Minutes passed. Bell from the kitchen—Mike’s burger was ready.

  The woman’s partner began to bite into the second burger, not bothering to wait for her.

  “I…suppose it’ll do. Now shoo. It’s rude to stare while I’m eating.”

  Oh? She was the rude one?

  Jacinta felt the flicker of anger bloom within her chest. Pain: a deep sizzle of her veins. No. Inhale. Swallow. Magic would follow, if she wasn’t careful.

  And she especially couldn’t afford an outburst right now.

  She walked away, cursing under her breath in Spanish. The agent was staring her down. Jacinta swallowed, shuddered; sweat beaded along her brow. Focus. Breathe.

  She set Mike’s meal down and set a hand against her hip. “That good?”

  “Good as always. Thanks, Jay.”

  She nodded, smiled. Nobody ever said her name in full: Jacinta. She swallowed that, buried it. There were so many battles to wage; that wasn’t one of them.

  The SEE agent? Yes. Sort of.

  Tweets and protests of two people, no more, in the streets; that was all she could do. That should’ve been enough.

  Never.

  “Alright. What do you want?” She asked him, standing, poised. Her wand was across the underwiring of her bra; she could grab it at a moment’s notice. The ring was still on her finger.

  The guy was wearing a button-down white shirt; no tie, few top buttons open. Slacks, pants; normal semi-business attire, but there had to be something more. She was about to flick on the Atlas to see—

  “Your number.” His tone was flat, matter-of-factly. She laughed louder than she should’ve and closed the notepad, jamming it into her apron.

  “Yeah, right. Stalker.” She mumbled, waiting. His expression was flat. He was…serious? No, he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

  “I wasn’t stalking you. Seriously. I came here on my lunch break for a burger…and here you are. Are you stalking me?” His smirk remained.

  Jacinta sighed and sat in the booth across from him, leaning forward, toes curled in her sneakers. “Cut the jokes. No, my friend and I did nothing to that…witch you came to investigate. She—”

  “Is a figurehead in one of the largest covens in the city. And a blood witch. So yes, we had reason to investigate her sudden disappearance.”

  The way he hissed 'blood witch’ made her skin crawl. While certain supernaturals were localized to specific areas, like Peri being from Persia and the Middle East, while fairies were more common across Europe, others were common almost everywhere, like witches, which came from shamans and spirit healers long ago. Their terms got muddled, complicated, thrown around—but blood. Blood witch.

  Taboo. It had been warped just as Haitian Vodou had become evil in the public, uneducated eye; people sticking needles into dolls, which wasn’t even true, initially. Voodoo was a belief system, a religion, just like any other, full of ritual and culture and love. It was an adaptation; surviving religions of peoples that were forced into slavery, forced to believe in gods that weren’t theirs. Same with Santería, Obedah, Espiritismo, and that was just in the Caribbean alone. Magic was in everything, but humans refused to acknowledge it. To be a part of it.

  They would rather scapegoat, as always.

  Blood Witches were witches that were female, able to use blood in their rituals. It honored the body, honored birth and creation and femininity; even non-biological women could join, work—but it had become confused, twisted, turned evil. Inverted. Even among witches themselves. Media, perception—

  Focus. SEE agent.

  Doña Francesca helmed a coven. Covens were likened to gangs, vehicles for crime—

  Lies. All lies. Covens were found families, networks, for people who lacked support otherwise.

  “What do you mean, disappearance? She was right there when we spoke to her.” Jacinta spoke, brows furrowing. She feigned confusion, frowning, lips twisting. The agent laughed.

  “You want to get info out of me? Seriously?”

  Jacinta shrugged, trying to think, focus. Okay. If she fed him and left, he’d…know where she worked. And he could run a search in the nearby area for her, check, find her, take her, chain her…

  “Worth a shot.” She mumbled, attempting to keep her cool. The wobble in her voice gave it away. “I’m not a part of her coven. I just clean her home every so often.”

  He squinted, trying to see if it was a lie. His eyes continued to shimmer.

  “I thought they didn’t let supernaturals into SEE.” She stated.

  “They don’t. These are contacts: help me scope out supernaturals like you.” His tone was flat, steady. Charged.

  She exhaled. No, there was something else about him. He wasn’t…right. It was as though he was displaced—maybe it was the ever-so-slight shift in his position, the way that he was glitching by a millimeter…or maybe she was hallucinating.

  Something clicked. Jacinta’s eyes widened—she looked down, realizing that both of the agent’s hands were below the table. He must’ve been holding a gun.

  Shit.

  “Go back to work and come back, alright? I’ll be the one to ask questions next.”

  Jacinta’s knee wobbled. She glared at him.

  “I’m not pointing my wand at you, you ass. So put away the weapon.”

  He didn’t move; all that changed was the slight tilt in the left side of his lip, the crinkle along his eyes—

  And the nudge of the gun against her left knee.

  “You try to hit me with any funny business, I go boom. Everybody around you dies. So be smart and sit back down when you’re done with these customers.” He was bluffing; that she knew. But she wouldn’t take any risks.

  Her jaw squeezed. She stood, slowly, hands raised.

  Jacinta couldn’t be stupid. His button-down shirt was opaque, but he was slightly thicker than he should’ve been along his torso, considering that he was a leaner, taller guy. Maybe he was bluffing, but…she wouldn’t wait and find out.

  “Drop the gun.” She spat, about to ask again, but nicely—

  Before someone called her full name.