Untouched (Untouched #1)(Old Work)

Chapter Twelve

The village district of Havenlock City was bustling with early-morning foot traffic. Professionals were traversing the streets like ants, holding steaming paper cups of coffee – delicious goodness and often revered liquid gold; students were walking in herds, laughing at jokes or dragging the balls of their feet on the floor and cursing parents for forcing them to go; and, seniors were deep in discussions with their friends over tea and a devilish slice of cake. They picked the soft sponge apart, jab by jab with the prongs of their dessert forks. The village itself was tidy and held significance to the region, the history captured largely within the historic buildings that lined the streets and in historians that took great care of their community. Due to the narrow distance between them, the streets were closed to vehicular traffic which added to the village feel that this district was renowned for.

Ellen and Rolland had arrived not five minutes ago, and were already seated at one of the many cafes. This one seemed to be popular with the locals as most of the tables were filled, and there was friendliness in the air. It had a coffeehouse feel to it, warm hues on the walls which were decorated with prints of a fictional newspaper, comfortable wrap-around chairs and benches, and the smell of roasting caffeine in the air. Despite the friendly atmosphere inside, the pair opted to sit outside where there were less people and the breeze could gently buffet around them.

He was giving her a quiet briefing of the situation at hand, using a hushed voice so those around them couldn't overhear them: a Tempusmancer had attempted to vanish in haste and had managed to splice off an arm and a leg. Before he had the time to correct himself, an elderly concerned citizen stumbled upon the floating body parts and quickly alerted authorities. She, herself, was in disbelief however, she convinced them anyway to have a look and at least listen to what she had to say. The culprit is already long gone but damage control still had to be done.

"And that's where I step in," Rolland told Ellen, pointing both of his pointer fingers to himself and giving a smile. "I'm the plain-clothes officer that will convince her that it was just a figment of her imagination. And she will believe me because that's the way I will direct things, if you know what I mean." He gave her a wink as if it was an inside joke.

A very lame inside joke at that.

The young, brown haired and blue eyed waitress that took their orders now arrived at the table, placing two plain white, steaming porcelain mugs in front of them. She immediately turned so she was facing Rolland, her back to Ellen. She was obviously interested in him. She tried hard, so hard that it oozed from her.

The hair playing.

The straightening of her shirt.

The battering of eyelids.

"Would you like anything else today?" she asked, flicking her hair behind her. Her voice was sickly sweet, forced and unnatural. It made Ellen sick, and it looked like it had that effect on Rolland too.

"No, thank-you," he replied emotionlessly, ignoring the waitress and refusing to look at her. Ellen didn't blame him. She let out a small chuckle but it wasn't silent enough. The waitress threw a scowl in her direction and trudged back into the shop, behind the counter where one of her colleagues was waiting. As if on cue, both of them turned to look at Rolland, completely disregarding that he was in the company of Ellen. The look on their faces – want, need, lust – was enough.

"How far away was the accident?" she asked, diverting her attention form the the waitresses and taking a sip from the tea she ordered. It was sweet, fruity, and fragrant. Just the way she liked it. The hot liquid warmed her insides; warmed her soul. It also calmed her nerves. She wasn't sure what to expect from today.