Chapter Twenty-Two

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Scattered, light applause and a sprinkling of snapped fingers filled the scorched-coffee-bean tainted air of Java Jones' cramped seating area. The adrenaline after a finished setlist that one was proud of was the only thing that provided Simon a fine distraction from the predicament that nipped at his brain. He was grateful for it, even if a gnarling discomfort kept his shoulders tight throughout his performance. He just had knowledge that he couldn't share with anyone else about a detrimental threat that seemed unstoppable and would probably destroy everything. No biggie.

If only his anxieties were that easy to shake away. His eyes found the small, round table where he knew a certain werewolf sat among the small cluster of early morning patrons across the narrow room. Maia clapped louder than the rest, the brass buckles on her army green jacket gleaming in the soft light, her bright teeth on display within the wide grin that sweetened her deep brown eyes. Her hands worked at the edges of a biodegradable coffee cup. Simon's heart made a purposeful, unneeded effort to skip over itself as he managed the best smile that he could in return. It was taken over by a grimace that blended into his awkward exterior too well; it had his girlfriend's shoulders raised in a chuckle and her tongue spared a sweep across her lips as she finally stopped her applause, the rest of the room long past the musician's performance.

Simon secured the guitar to its holdings on the makeshift stage and fumbled back over to Maia. Her head had craned to watch him, the bits of his skin that he dared to show outside of the long jeans and zipped up jacket were whiter than paper against the brown drywall. Maia's foot swung out and kicked the bottom of the chair across from her, causing it to slide out from under the table. Simon's gaze crinkled when he reached her and he accepted the seat.

She couldn't hold her praise until his butt was in the chair. "That was amazing, seriously." Her thumb jammed over her shoulder to a couple behind them. "They were all frown-y at the saxophone guy but they were moving when you sang." There was a genuine enthusiasm in her words that gained a warm laugh from Simon. He was incredibly thankful that Magnus had finally broken his resolve and allowed the vampire to leave with the promise to be extremely careful and touch no one. It would be better to know where the vampire was than to have to chase him down. The warlock had been assigned babysitting duty again after it was decided by the others that Simon shouldn't try to help. He needed to stay hidden. Simon could hardly find offense in it; he didn't know what he could do to help besides, what, risk getting attacked?

But it left him with a kinetic urge to do something, which he tried to push aside as he thanked the woman he was with and asked if there was any room for improvement. After all, Magnus had scolded him during his attempts to leave that it was no big gig to play in a small coffee shop at eleven in the morning. The warlock had slipped in that he should know, having apparently spent "lovely week-long relations" with The Freddie Mercury himself. Simon couldn't quite tell if Magnus simply meant to brag or insult him when he brought up those he knew from the past.

"Your music's good. It'd be better if I could listen to you practice." Maia brought him back to the present, the warbled mess of quiet conversations surrounding them. She stared at him pointedly, her curls bouncing as her chin turned down. Simon's face twisted into a dismayed, apologetic frown. After being kicked out by his mother - who was convinced he was satanic - and turned out of the boat house by angry werewolves, he'd been forced to pick into his savings and find an apartment.

Except he had some of the worst luck. "I know, and I'm sorry." He stressed, unable to keep the strain from showing off his teeth as he rambled. "If I knew the only convenient place to move into was with your creepy ex's, I would've just slept on an underpass." He met her halfway as he reached his hands across the table.

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