Alico
I entered Respa Bakery early in the morning with three intentions: acquire hot tea, warm my hands, and leave without speaking to anyone.
“We’re still open!” the woman behind the counter said. The first thing she did was stare at my uniform.
“Oh? Are you here to arrest the cinnamon rolls?”
I glanced at the vivid pastry display.
“I don't know. Have they committed an offense?”
“Only the crime of being freaking delicious, officer.”
She gestured toward a cooling rack where several pastries of all shapes and sizes were cooling.
I approached the counter.
“Lapsang Souchong, please.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Is that a problem?”
“No. You just look like the stoic type who drinks tea that tastes like a campfire.”
I removed my gloves.
“That is an inaccurate description of a distinguished tea.”
“I’m more of a coffee person anyway.”
“Is that so?”
She turned toward the electric kettles.
I took the seat at the far end of the counter.
From there, I could see the front entrance, the kitchen doorway, and most of the purple-streaked street through the window.
A convex security mirror above the pastry case provided an adequate view of the remaining blind spot.
The bakery was warmer than I expected.
The ovens had already been turned down, but the air retained the scent of browned butter and cinnamon.
Outside, violet rain washed across Crescent Avenue. A tram passed beneath the intersection, its vibration briefly rattling the cups on their shelves.
The woman placed my prized tea before me.
“Here you go, Officer...”
“Argent. Alico Argent.”
She tapped the little glass name badge pinned to her apron.
“Ravenna Carmine. Just in case you need to file a complaint about something.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Thank you. The paperwork would be devastating.”
I studied her for a few seconds.
She had a rather strange manner of speaking to Respa law enforcement.
Not disrespectful. Entirely without fear or suspicion, however.
I found the distinction interesting.
My phone vibrated. Dispatch had nothing new to report, which was excellent news for me.
I had spent the better part of the evening dealing with an unpleasant situation involving Captain Corvin Rusk.
It was obvious the man was not fond of me. I did not like him particularly, either. Still, we had work to do.
The city did not rest from the occasional supernatural disturbance.
In this moment, all that I wanted was fifteen minutes of peace.
Ravenna leaned against the counter.
I took a sip of tea.
What an excellent brew.
She watched me for a moment, then returned to arranging the pastries.
The electronic bell chimed again.
A weary woman in a faded delivery uniform entered, her hair damp and her shoulders bent beneath the weight of a large insulated bag.
“Coffee,” she said, practically falling against the counter.
“Whatever’s cheapest.”
“Sit down. I’ll bring it,” Ravenna said.
The woman searched her pockets and produced a handful of coins. She counted them twice.
“So,” Ravenna said casually, “I’ve got a major problem.”
The woman met her gaze, unamused.
“What, what is it?”
“These potato rolls are going to waste if someone doesn’t eat them.”
She placed two bread rolls into a paper bag.
The woman stared.
“I can’t pay for those.”
“Great. Because I can’t sell them. Bakery regulations. Very complicated.”
I examined the rolls. They appeared fresh.
Ravenna caught me looking.
“Don’t you agree, Officer Argent?”
I had been employed long enough to recognize when someone was asking me to participate in a harmless deception.
“Extremely complicated,” I answered.
The woman accepted the bag and moved toward a round table beside the window.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Take your time,” Ravenna said. “You’ve got somewhere warm for a while.”
I watched the exchange without comment.
There was something endearing and familiar about it. The interaction between a person who needed safety, and another who offered it without demanding an explanation.
I looked back into my tea.
For several minutes, the bakery remained still.
The woman at the window eventually fell asleep over her coffee.
Ravenna made no attempt to wake her.
Instead, she lowered the music.
“You have a generous policy toward customers,” I observed.
“People get tired easily in this damn city.”
“Indeed they do, Miss Carmine.”
“And sometimes they need somewhere to sit and decompress.”
“That’s true too.”
She tilted her head.
“You’re very agreeable all of a sudden.”
“I am merely acknowledging your statements to be factual. Shit is serious out there.”
“Officer, you should really watch out. We might become friends.”
I nearly smiled.
The familiar darkness beneath my stool shifted.
I felt it before I saw it, an unpleasantly familiar warmth moving through the connection between my body and its manifestation.
I looked down at it.
A narrow extension of my shadow had stretched toward the counter.
How inappropriate.
I had not anticipated that and I forced it back beneath my boots.
Ravenna was occupied with a tray of cookies and noticed nothing.
Thank the stars.
“Would you like one?” she asked.
I returned my attention to her.
“One what?”
“Cookie.”
“No, thank you.”
She examined the tray.
“On the house? This one’s broken anyway.”
She placed half a cinnamon star beside my saucer.
I stared at it. My jaw twitched. So did my manifestation.
“Do I look like a man who eats sweet things?”
She had the audacity to ignore me and walked away.
I considered the situation. Perhaps she did not hear me.
The cookie was, admittedly, rather appealing, despite its damaged status, so I took a bite. It was pleasant. The darkness within me agreed.
Unfortunately, Ravenna chose that specific moment to return.
She said nothing. Her smile was considerably more irritating than any remark she might have made.
Yes, I had finished the damn cookie.
When I stood to leave, the woman at the window was still sleeping.
Ravenna was cleaning the counter, humming to herself.
I placed several Tacitran bills beside my empty cup.
“Thank you for the tea, Miss Carmine. And the uh, cookie.”
She glanced at the money.
“Officer, that’s a ridiculous tip! You cannot be serious right now.”
“Consider it compensation for the pastry.”
I reached for my gloves.
She looked at me with an expression I found difficult to interpret.
“Well, you’re welcome back anytime, Officer Argent.”
“I make no promises.”
I stepped toward the door.
“Stay safe, Miss Carmine.”
Outside, the rain had grown heavier. The streetlights flickered across the wet pavement, and my patrol car waited at the curb.
My manifestation stretched ahead of me. One of its smoky appendages leaned toward the bakery.
I had to drag it back. When it behaved again, I looked back through the bakery window one final time.
Ravenna was bringing a second cup of coffee to the sleeping delivery woman.
She placed it carefully beside her hand.
Then she returned to the counter and resumed humming.
I stood there longer than necessary but I did not understand why.
I had spent most of my life learning which places in Respa were safe, which people could be trusted, and how fast ordinary kindness could disappear.
Most places in the city required considerable effort to survive.
Which is why enforcers like me existed.
Others, apparently, survived by offering tea and broken cookies.
I returned to my patrol car.
The following night, I found myself at the bakery on Crescent Avenue again.
“Lapsang Souchong, please.”
“Coming right up, Officer Alico.”
Ravenna brought me my tea and a damned chocolate chip cookie.
