The Last Coffee Shop

Chapter 22: Trading Mistakes

"Mads, Miss Capot?" Graynard's voice seemed to be coming from somewhere very far away.

Graynard? So Mads wasn't dead after all.

Mads had been caught in a nightmare about an ocean that rose up and crushed The Shop and everyone inside. She was actually happy to hear the Atelian's grumbly voice in her chest.

Wait, what was it doing in her chest?

Mads opened an eye and winced. It was too bright, and she was rocking back and forth, like she was on a boat.

There was a pond in Springs Village – a pond that had once been part of something called a lake. A lake was a big natural basin filled with fresh water. Now natural lakes were just filled with sludge and debris and goo and thousands and thousands of bones. But there was a water-filled pond at home. Mads had been out on the pond before, in Alan's rowboat.

Am I out in the boat with Alan? Why's Graynard here? Why can't I move?

"Well you're not dead." Graynard sounded grim. "But you might wish you were when your senses come back."

Mads had no idea what he was talking about, but she found the grumble of his voice soothing.

"They gave you a shot of something, to numb you a bit. But I'm not your nursemaid, and it's your own fault. What was the Commodore thinking, stopping the fight like that? He didn't even offer to patch you up." Graynard continued complaining, more like he was talking to himself.

Mads vaguely remembered the Commodore. He was big, and dangerous, and he had dreadlocks just like her.

"This is his problem," Graynard muttered. "I'll let him deal with it."

The Commodore? Mads' thoughts were a confused tangle. Wait, was she actually in a boat?

The rocking motion stopped, and Mads was distantly aware of a throbbing in her chest. She couldn't feel her legs and arms, just a pin-pricking sensation, as if she'd been sitting on her limbs for far too long.

There was a thudding sound in the distance, and an answering creak as a door opened.

"Your. Problem," grunted Graynard, and Mads felt herself falling, falling, and Graynard's arms were gone.

Mads blinked, dizzy and hopelessly confused, but she saw four green eyes spiraling like a kaleidoscope before everything went dark again.

Her thoughts were a little clearer the next time she awakened, and she could feel her arms and legs. She wished she couldn't. The sudden onslaught of pain made her gasp, catching her breath and fighting back a scream. Her mouth was swollen, and her tongue felt heavy and too thick.

There was something hard under her, pressing on her sore tailbone and sending ripples of pain up through her spine. Maybe a chair? The floor spun in front of her, and Mads felt the bile rising in her stomach as she fought to breath in and out. Even her lungs were on fire.

"Here." A gentle voice drifted in from the side.

Mads blinked and focused on a hand, a hand with a cup that bumped her swollen lips. The cup was cold, metallic, and the goldish-brown liquid inside reeked like puke.

"Drink it." The cup tipped, and Mads was forced to choke down the liquid, or choke in general. She gagged.

"Good." The voice was familiar, and so were the finely shaped, scarred hands holding the cup, but Mads couldn't remember who they belonged to, or why she was hurting so badly.

"Am I, dying?" she gasped, the words barely audible.

"Hmph." There was a hint of a laugh — a laugh! — in the response. "No. Unfortunately for you, and fortunately for me. You aren't going to die. You just took a helluva beating." He sounded . . . impressed, and maybe surprised.