BRENNAN’S PHONE
Cole
You on your way??
Brennan
On the commuter line now. I’ll let you know if I die.
Cole
Not dying is preferred!
Brennan
You can’t always get what you want.
Brennan’s backpack held a jar of marinara sauce, a silver pocketknife, and an oven mitt to wield it.
He fit right in. The magic of Boston being a city of students meant that he was basically invisible, another white guy with a backpack.
The café was unbearably trendy, all exposed brick and string lights and leafy plants on every surface. The menu was written on a chalkboard. The little storefront was crowded, the outdoor tables full of students talking or studying, the inside just as bustling behind the big glass windows.
If there was a vampire and/or vampire-hunter ambush planned, this wasn’t a great place for it. It was very public, and very full of girls taking pictures of their food for Instagram. Brennan’s rampant nerves settled down infinitesimally.
His daily dose of blood kept his senses in check, but he felt much duller than when he’d drank a lot. He’d have to note that one ounce a day wasn’t enough. Even if lights and sounds weren’t piercing anymore, there was still this dry itch under his skin that served as the constant reminder that something was wrong with him.
He scanned the room for anyone who might stand out while he waited for the host. Everyone looked… normal. A group of girls studying, a couple outside with a dog under the table. No one who screamed “vampire adjacent.” If Brennan blended in, anyone could.
When the host returned, Brennan asked for Sunny. A part of him hoped she’d have no idea who he was talking about, so he could leave quietly and write the texts off as badly timed spam mail. But his (dead?) heart skipped in his chest when the host immediately turned to lead him across the restaurant.
He followed her through the café. She beelined through the small main space and went to a door with a sign that saidDO NOT ENTER. Brennan braced himself again to be ambushed or murdered, and when she opened the door, she revealed—
A private room. A large circular table with endless plates of food and pastries. It must have been one of everything on the menu: brioche French toast with fresh strawberries, spicy shakshuka with crusty bread, spinach and feta quiche, a pear tart, chocolate mousse cheesecake.
More importantly, two girls, just as college-aged as everyone in the building. One had pale skin and dark hair, the long limbs of a model. She wore a crop top and cargo pants straight out of an Instagram ad, and was taking pictures of the food. She expertly dual-wielded the latest iPhone in one hand and a DSLR camera in the other. The other girl had brown skin, a pixie cut with coiled curls, and a binder so full of papers it probably equaled her in body mass.
The host quickly went back to her post, leaving Brennan hovering over the table when the girls looked up in perfect unison.
“Oh good, you found us.” The girl with the binder smiled. She set down a chocolate croissant and wiped her hands on a napkin, standing up to offer a handshake.
Brennan blinked, taking in her straight-out-of-the-nineties bomber jacket and earnest smile. Brennan shook her hand. She gave his a firm shake, a bit aggressive, and immediately began an enthusiastic ramble.
“We can never agree on where to do these things, and for the record”—she leaned forward, waggling her eyebrows—“I wanted to do laser tag. But we agreed that was more of a second meeting thing. For now, we figured we’d let Sunny get us brunch with her fancy Instagram superpowers. Sound good?”
Sunny didn’t look up from her camera, the click of the shutter punctuating the moment of silence as Brennan took in the scene.
“Not that I don’t love this energy, or, like, free food, but”—Brennan looked between the two girls—“what the hell is this?”
Sunny took one more picture of the food before peering at Brennan with a thoughtful frown.
“Oh shit,” said Sunny. “He’s the one who didn’t RSVP.” Her nose wrinkled.
“RSVP towhat?”
Binder Girl pouted. “Don’t you use Facebook?”
“I mean, IhaveFacebook,” Brennan said. “But it’s kind of like a phone book nowadays, I don’t really keep up with it—”
