She sat in the window of a busy Starbucks, cradling a coffee she had no appetite for, which she'd bought on the card she'd slipped out of the stranger's phone case while handing it back. She watched the crowds for her pursuer, who seemed to have vanished entirely, but that didn't mean she was safe. It only meant she had lost track of him for the time being, and undoubtedly he still knew exactly where she was.
Her fingers smarted at the heat as she held onto the cup for too long, and she hissed, wiping them on her trousers to little effect. Her heart was in her throat and it had lodged there, making it impossible to swallow as she tried to find a way out of her predicament that didn't involve anyone else. She knew what would happen now she'd let Coran save her hide.
She wasn't even sure whether she didn't want it to happen after all. Coran didn't make her happy, but he did make her safe. And that counted for a lot with people like her. What had she done to deserve happiness, anyway? Tried not to steal more than she needed? Broken as few hearts as possible?
She would have laughed if she hadn't been so close to crying.
The coffee shop was starting to empty out as they approached closing time. She took a scalding sip and another nervous look around. Her wig itched, and the shoes of her outfit didn't fit very well. She felt exposed without a full disguise on.
She looked around sharply at sudden movement in her peripheral vision, and sagged when Coran stepped through the door. He glowered at a man waiting to get through after him, and then stalked over to Chameleon. His eyes were red-rimmed and circled with dark bags, and he had his hood up and badly needed a shave.
"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. His familiar smell washed over her, along with a heavy whiff of booze. "I've been looking for you for the last two days!"
She looked at his greyed complexion and felt reluctantly guilty. "You shouldn't have."
"Yeah, I know. Because the next thing I know, you're calling me up like nothing happened."
She flinched and pushed her almost untouched coffee over. He glanced at it, and then took a long swig. He grimaced.
"One shot, Cham? Seriously?"
"I was trying to be nice." She looked around at the shop, and realised there were only a few people left in there, and the baristas were preparing to close. "Did you find him?"
"My boys are questioning him." Coran glared at her from under his hood. "Have you pissed off the Nocturnes?"
"The Nocturnes?" she said. "Never heard of them."
"It's not them, then," Coran muttered, seeming reassured. He stared thoughtfully out of the window for a moment, and then said, "So what's your grand plan now?"
She scowled. The relief was sinking in, but she was still tense. She eyed the black cloud over Coran's head and decided against a sharp retort, instead offering, "I needed some space."
"I can give you space," he protested. "You got to tell me, though. Not everyone can read minds."
"Neither can I," she argued, but it was lost on him. He was in a mood, and probably would be for a few days. Her fault again. With a sinking heart, she already felt herself settling back into the familiar rhythm, but the vampire had badly shaken her up. She'd managed to get away for two days, and then stupidly found herself here again.
"Next time you want to storm out like that, find a safe house." Coran drained the coffee and stood up, the stool screeching obnoxiously on the tiled floor. "At least so we don't end up in this situation again."
"Yes, sir," she muttered, but was too exhausted to argue. She should have known something like this would happen, now she thought about it. She hadn't been thinking straight that night; there was a reason she and Coran moved around so much.
Still, it was hard to admit to herself just how comforting it was to have his bulk beside her as they stepped back out in to the street, which was now much quieter in the blue dusk.
"Where were you then?" Coran grunted, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket and falling back to walk beside her as she struggled along in her ill-fitting heels. He made an effort to temper his tone, but the irritation was still there. "You never answered me."
"Charing Cross," she said evasively, "And then I called...a friend. They let me stay over."
"What kind of friend?" he growled.
"A normal one," Chameleon snapped. "I wasn't kidding about not being in the mood, you paranoid mutt."
He relaxed, taking in a deep breath of city air and smiling, "I didn't think it was possible to miss being insulted every five minutes."
"That's called masochism."
He grinned at her, showing his sharp canines. She couldn't help comparing him in her mind to Lilac; she didn't think she'd ever met two more different people. Lilac was light; small, energetic, confusingly joyful, despite the annoying fact that she had no sorrow cloud. Coran, however, was all rugged angles, most comfortable in the dark. Capable of things that Chameleon didn't care to think about too hard.
Only now she couldn't stop.
He took her to the safe house she had been trying to reach ahead of the vampire, a small third-floor flat above a sandwich bar. It was one main room only, with a tiny bathroom and a kitchenette. The rest of the space was taken up by a mattress on the floor. On the countertop in the kitchenette, someone had left a folded square of kitchen towel, stained crimson, with two razor-sharp vampire fangs nestled in it. Chameleon gawked; they were huge, and they could have been lodged in her neck if she hadn't acted fast enough. A little note next to them read, Got good answers. Squealed like a pig. Dante.
Nauseated, Chameleon looked away. She knew this was part of what Coran did – she did the 'harmless' jobs, and while she wasn't around he did the roughing up and the serious money. It was hard to believe how long she'd gone along with it.
These things don't go away just because you aren't looking at them. Lilac's words from their session echoed back at her. She could picture the woman's face now, earnest, serious, willing to help. Another failed attempt at getting Chameleon to open up. Trust me.
Trust. Something Chameleon had very little of to spare.
And yet still she was here, living with a werewolf whom she'd once witnessed break a man's fingers for access to an abattoir.
"I'm going to shower," she said weakly. Coran looked around as if he'd forgotten she was there, a beer already in his hand. "Do you have any spare phones I could borrow? I didn't manage to nick one today."
"Sure... What for?"
"Set up a date," she said evasively. "I need money. That bloodsucker interrupted a job."
"Shouldn't be running jobs alone," he grunted. "But sure. Have this one."
He handed her a phone, one of five he kept around. The others were spares in case one was compromised. She took it, offering him a smile that she hoped conveyed good intentions, and then shut the bathroom door in his face.
She sank to the floor with her back against the door, mind racing. Then she opened up Messaging and pulled out the slip of paper with the address to Lilac's art class. She hoped the phone number on it was a mobile, as she texted, Can we meet before the class? A bit early?
She sent it, and then chewed on her lip and sent a second one. I really need to talk about something.
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Chameleon | ONC 2020
الخيال (فانتازيا)|ONC LONGLISTER| Chameleon Jones is never the same person twice; a mastery of disguise comes in handy for the day job - conning the miserable. Chameleon has been able to see people's sorrow all her life, and sad people make easy victims. She just w...
