Servants of the Storm by Delilah S. Dawson Read Free Book Online

busted-up lock. The sun’s going down fast, the tall buildings cutting what little light is left into blocks of shadow. Only half the streetlights work anymore. I hurry, anxious for the warmth of my favorite place downtown.
    I push through the glass doors into the softly glowing Paper Moon Coffee Shop. Christmas lights twinkle around the sky-blue tin ceiling year round, and lanterns bob at varying heights, keeping the shadows outside at bay. The bare brick walls are snug andsteady, complemented by big paintings that look like honeycombs. My hunched shoulders relax, and I shake out my hair and take my hands out of my pockets. Despite the fact that I’m excited and scared and possibly seeing things, I can’t help feeling comforted.
    “Usual?” Rudy calls from behind the counter, and I nod with a grateful smile. Of all the places I’ve purposefully avoided since losing Carly, this is one place I couldn’t give up.
    I sit in the same place I was sitting last week when I saw her. I was supposed to be studying but was mostly zoned out, and I just so happened to look up as the back door opened. And I saw her. Half in the darkness of the alley and half in the light of the café, it was Carly. My best friend, the girl who’d been like a sister to me since we were babies. Her profile was unmistakable, from the carefully tended braids to the exact slope of her nose to her favorite jacket. Although I couldn’t completely see her eyes in the shadows, I felt a jolt of recognition, and I knew that she saw me, too.
    I didn’t catch her. But I found the pink bead, and later I found the note I wrote to myself before the fog could envelop me again and make me forget. Saw Carly at Paper Moon. Have to find her. Have to quit the meds.
    And even though I then returned to what passed for normal, to the numb fuzz, I couldn’t help carrying the note with me. Taking it out of my pocket. Unfolding it. Seeing the words there, and rolling the pink bead between my fingers. Having a brief second of clarity and then slipping back down into the easy stupor.And then, yesterday morning, after waking in a cold sweat from a dream already forgotten, I found myself spitting my pill down the disposal as soon as my mom turned to the fridge. It was gone before I could change my mind.
    So here I am now, back at the Paper Moon. Not even two full days off my meds, and I feel like an entirely different person. Rudy brings me a chai latte with extra whipped cream, and I slide him two bucks. He gives me a weird look, but I’m pretty sure he just feels sorry for me, sitting here alone where I used to sit with Carly. As the owner, he’s been chatting with us for years and always sponsors the school plays.
    The coffeehouse is mostly empty, which is normal for early evening. Rudy pretends like he’s not watching me, but at least he doesn’t try to talk to me anymore. I sip my chai for a few minutes, until all the whipped cream is gone and the liquid is cool enough to drink. I watch the back door with single-minded intensity, willing it to open. But it doesn’t.
    Halfway done with my drink, I get up and walk toward the bathroom, my eyes never leaving the back door. I push into the dark blue room, step into my favorite stall, and scan the walls for new graffiti. They leave a silver Sharpie on a string, just to keep things interesting. Josephine ate my baby is on there, as well as Savannah: It’s NOLA for losers . My eye is drawn to the number 616 drawn raggedly with a jerky hand, and I wonder if they’re talking about Café 616 or something else. It kind of looks like two eyes and a nose, like it’s looking at me while I pee, which isunnerving. For once, I’m glad that there’s no mirror over the sink, just a print that says You’re perfect .
    When I’m done, I wash my hands and head back to my drink and my staring contest with the door. I pass an older woman in the hall, and she stares at me like I’m a freak, and I breathe out through my nose and try to