Page 2 of The Midnight Order
I’m reeling in my head when I notice something moving on the road and slam on my brakes. The Tahoe moves back and forth as the tires grab for purchase on the cracked asphalt, screeching like an owl caught in a trap.
“What the fuck?!” I breathe, leaning forward and gazing over the steering wheel as my leg shakes again.
A white snake is lying on the road, lifeless.
A black bird is pecking at it until it cranes its head in my direction, cawing in warning as if I’m going to get out and fight it for its dinner.
Not a chance, Hun.
Turning the wheel, I steer around the roadkill and the bird from hell as I pick up speed, looking back in the mirror at the bird as it looks up and glares at me.
As I finally enter a small town, my breathing is erratic, and my heart is racing.
Blackmoore isn’t much, but it’s spooky.
It looks like Halloween threw up all over the town, and the townsfolk were too lazy to clean it up.
Everywhere you look, it is overly decorated and lit up.
Even though the people walking its streets look normal, I wonder if they are.
There’s an energy here I can’t quite shake as I drive the posted twenty miles per hour through the town, as the GPS instructs, only pulling off the road when I see a sign for a coffee shop on my right.
I tug the Tahoe into a spot, throwing it into park as I take a deep breath.
The shop in front of my Tahoe seems unassuming, nestled between two other local businesses. It blends into the fall decor surrounding it until you face it head-on. The vintage furniture and unique art give it a warm and inviting feel, thanks to the massive outward-facing windows. A peaceful calm seeps into my veins as I take in its atmosphere momentarily, and after the incident with the bird, I need that.
Grabbing my purse, I step out into the chill of Massachusetts fall, shutting the door behind me as I enter a new world.
Even as the bell over the door of Spellbinding Coffee sounds, I can’t get my mind off the snake and the bird I saw coming into town.
It’s like it was an omen.
If I believed in that kind of shit, that is.
“What can I get ya’?” a woman says from behind the counter.
Looking up at the menu, I see no options for what I add to my coffee back home and sigh.
“Do you have oat milk?” I ask her, flicking my eyes back down to hers.
Disappointment in the question spreads across her face. “You won’t find any fancy swanky coffee here, ma’am. Only the fine flavors of fall blended to perfection,” she tells me.
Her cheeks are plump and rosy, and her smile is almost too full.
Something about her puts me on edge, but I know it’s got to be that she’s nothing like the people I encounter in the city.
“Uhh, okay. Well, let me try your Pumpkin Cheesecake Latte,” I tell her, knowing it will be too sweet the moment I order it.
Nothing else calls to me on the menu, though.
“Ooh, good choice. Coming right up! Name for the order?” She picks up a cup and holds a marker over it, even though there’s no one else in the coffee shop to get my order confused.
“Silver,” I tell her, ready for the all too familiar lines about my name being so strange or unique.
“Silver. Got you. That’ll be five seventy-five,” she says.
“Oh, I wanted a large; I forgot to say, I’m so sorry,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet from my purse and pulling out my debit card.
