Prince of Wolves - Tasha Black Page 0,8

in the other, feeling a sense of accomplishment at her transaction.

The little town of Rosethorn Valley was sheltered between high ridges. She followed the treelined street, mechanical coaches zipping past her.

She supposed the houses were old by mortal standards, with thick stucco walls and decorative tiles near the windows. The roofing was terra cotta, as if these mortals had wanted their homes to look like they were topped with potted plants.

Smoke rose from a few of the chimneys, though it was not unseasonably cold.

She took a sip of the beverage and her eyes nearly rolled back in her head with pleasure. It was so sweet. It must have cost a fortune.

She took a bite of the pastry. It was crescent shaped and flaky, and she could taste the good quality of the butter it was baked with as it melted in her mouth.

So there was one more thing she liked about the mortal realm.

She walked on happily, finishing her decadent meal.

By the time she reached the diner, she was feeling quite energetic, though she was a little nervous about being late.

“There you are,” a woman said when she walked in.

“I’m so sorry,” Ashe replied. “I didn’t realize I had work duty today.”

“Didn’t you put it in your phone?” the woman asked.

Ashe noticed the woman had a tag that said Cressida on her blouse.

“I swear I watched you put your shifts into your phone when I posted them,” the one called Cressida added.

“I must have put it in wrong,” Ashe said.

“Let me see your phone,” Cressida said, hand out.

Ashe began emptying her purse onto the counter, pretending to look for whatever it was Cressida wanted.

“Jesus, Ashe, here,” Cressida said, snatching up the metal and glass contraption that had alerted her to her work this morning. “Touch the button.”

Ashe touched the round button at the bottom of the screen and the thing sprang to life.

She watched carefully as Cressida pressed a tiny image of a calendar.

Suddenly a calendar took up the whole screen.

“There,” Cressida said. “You did put it in.”

She held up the phone and Ashe saw the day with two items entered. The first said Work and the second said Weekend Backpacks. Each had an address and a time assigned.

“Hey, you’re volunteering with Eva Cortez doing backpacks?” Cressida asked, her voice suddenly more friendly. “That’s really nice.”

Ashe nodded and hoped that there would be exactly zero follow-up questions. Cressida didn’t ask her anything, but she did wrinkle her nose a bit and cock her head in a quizzical way that made Ashe think of the puppy. She hoped she hadn’t used too much of Willow’s scented bath products.

“Well, get to work,” Cressida said, tossing an apron at her.

Ashe tied it around her waist.

“You’re in the window section,” Cressida said, giving her an odd look. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Uh, sure,” Ashe replied.

The bell over the door jingled and Varik walked in, a large satchel over his shoulder.

“One please,” he said to Cressida in a bored way.

She arched an eyebrow at Ashe and then led him to a table by the window.

Ashe waited until Cressida scurried off, and then headed over to greet him.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

“I have to keep eyes on you,” he hissed back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Working,” she said proudly.

“Do you even know what you’re supposed to be doing?” he asked, looking incredulous.

“I’m… a serving girl,” she replied uncertainly. “I think. I may also be responsible for these windows in some way.”

“That’s actually pretty accurate,” he replied. “Not the part about the windows. That just means you will be responsible for the tables in this area. Do you know how to do it?”

“Not really,” she admitted.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” he said to himself. “Look, see this.”

She looked at the laminated sheet he held in his hand. It was yellow and covered in the names of food dishes.

“When people come in you ask them what they would like to drink,” he said. “Then you write that down.”

“How?” she asked.

“There should be a notepad in your apron,” he said. “And a name tag.”

Sure enough, she plunged her hand into the apron and came out with a note pad, pen, and tag. She affixed it to her blouse.

Willow.

She would have to get used to it sometime.

“After you bring the drinks, you’ll ask what they would like to eat,” he went on. “Whatever they choose will come from the menu. You’ll write down what they want on the pad, and then go back to the