A thing to note; the place was always busy at night. But it was creeping up to three in the morning so our chances at getting a seat at this place we were going was likely. We walked up to a small café called ‘mug shot.’ I always found the name amusing. It was almost steampunk. Exposed, brick, piping and bulbs.
Walking inside I felt at home. At ease. Behind the coffee machine, was a burly tough man. He was built like an ox, with salt and pepper hair. His eyes were an intense shade of brown, with flecks of gold. His skin was place and his face was covered in stubble. The man was swaying along to the 1940’s jazz on the speakers. It was calming and relaxing.
Atlas and I made our way over to a table and waited. I watched as the man behind the counter danced. Finally, he noticed us and jumped, throwing a rag in our direction.
“Gods you two, a warning!” He growled as we laughed. He smiled and started making our usual. Hot chocolates, with whatever food was left over from the day. Today it was red velvet cupcakes. He comes over to join us at our table. Markova Topuzovic was like a father to me. He taught me how to check my drinks for drugs and break arms without bruising. Typical father things. He called me things like ‘Kiddo,’ or ‘Dory.’ Only three people were allowed to call me that, and one of them was dead.
The drink was warm and familiar. As we talked, the light snow turned heavy, and the café filled. It was warm and welcoming inside. I watched Echo and Crux, two members of Henbane, made their way upstairs, followed by Echo’s mother. They were holding bags of Chinese food and laughing. I was glad she had a night off. I waved to them as they left.
I saw couples sitting and holding hands, prostitutes trying to get work, and behind closed doors, deals were being made. It was a calming place where I could relax and unwind. No loud music, strobing lights, no guys trying to hit on me. Just Markova, Atlas, and smooth, hot chocolate.
“We saw O’Conner,” Atlas smiled.
“How was he?”
“Tight up the ass. Maybe you should loosen it,” I said, taking a sip of hot chocolate. Markova choked on his drink. Atlas stifled a laugh while Markova turned red. He’d mention to us his relationship with the new sergeant, a few days ago; I was overjoyed for him, but also afraid.
“You little,” He chuckled. It was a deep, guttural sound, more like a grunt than a laugh. Once again, he ruffled my hair and went back to behind the counter. Atlas sat back and enjoyed her hot chocolate.
I self-indulged people watching. I made up stories about their lives and what I thought they might be. I saw a balding man with a potbelly. He had a large red nose and reminded me of Santa Claus. He was drinking a steaming drink and if I moved my head to just the right angle, I could see the point in his ears. He was alone, no wedding band, hands calloused from working, smears of grease on his face. He smiled, and he met my gaze and smiled, giving me a slight wave.
We sat in that café until it was empty once again and bid Markova goodbye. The snow had become light once more. We walked down to the train station and hopped aboard the train. The cold mist curled around our ankles, and I knew the moss was under our feet. The seats were made of canvas and the windows showed us the journey through the fog, into the lost. The train I had called home for ten years hadn’t changed. There was still the food that was always fresh, and the comforting nature of the fog, that curled around you as you walked. Sometimes I took the train for hours just getting lost in that cold damp mist, before returning to the valley.
The station was just the same as it had been when I first arrived, broken, and left to rot. There was light rain in the valley that left everything wet and glistening the scent of damp bark and moss filled the air. It was bitter and cold as we walked out of the station and to the dirt track. We took our animal charms off our belts. A wolf and a fox. Aztec and Arctic. They grew to the size of Clydesdales, and we rode on our way home.
Aztec bounded through the forest, while Arctic and Atlas stuck to the path. He loved it and so did I. We jumped over streams and fallen trees, never straying too far from the path. I hear the laughter of children and see fireflies hovering over faerie rings. On the cool winter night, we rode, and I bathed in the bliss of that tranquil rain and bitter wind.
There was a cottage in the distance, standing alone in a clearing, next to a babbling brook, and further down that track was Lake Pam, frozen over in the bitter winter. It was a white stoned cottage with a titled roof. The cottage was usually covered in flowers and plants, with a great garden, but in the winter it was bare, and you could see the crystals and bones scattered around.
“Home sweet home,” Atlas said
“Home sweet home,” I repeated as we stepped inside.
Aztec and Arctic walked over to their respective beds and fell asleep quickly. Watching them, my fatigue set in, and my limbs turned to lead, and my eyelids became heavy. I walked over to my room to get out of the dress I was wearing, and over to my bed, when Atlas pulled me to her, and lifted me into a spin, out of my room and over to hers, before dumping me down onto her bed.
“Cuddles?” She asked I laughed.
“Absolutely.”
She smiled tackling me, placing a light kiss on my nose. “Kiss?” She asked.
“Of course.”
She placed a another light kiss of my nose, making me laugh. I think she likes my laugh because she made me laugh even more by tickling me. I could see the stars over her shoulder. When had she enchanted her ceiling? Her long, snowy hair fell over her shoulders and settled on the surrounding bed. She was smiling ear to ear, her green eyes glittering like ice in the sunlight. She looked so cold and harsh that people didn’t look for her beauty. She was cold, yes, but in moments like this, times like these, she was warm and beautiful.
Her bed was warm and soft. She pushed my hair behind my ears and peppered me in kisses; pulled the sheets up over our shoulders. She hummed as she combed my hair with her fingers. The stars above me swirled, and I realised it was the milky way. Atlas was humming an old lullaby from when we were children. But in that warm bed and the comforting motion of her hand running through my hair, her voice became distant as sleep claimed me.
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