Chapter 5 Skadhi

"Quinn, I don't even have the glasses-"

"Unimportant. With the gross amounts of time you spend at the Daily Grind, that automatically qualifies you as a coffee junkie. I can't believe you haven't turned into one of those cigarette-smoking ironic rats yet. Ugh." She shuddered. "Hey. Let's go there after dinner and get something warm to drink there, then engage in caffeinated tomfoolery! That will give you source material. Eh? Am I right?"

I shrugged. "Anything to distract myself from the massive amounts of work I have. We have to read something called the Book of Enoch for History and Religion of Ancient Israel tomorrow. It's about fallen angels who sleep with women and have these monstrous giant offspring, called the nephilim, or something."

"And you wonder why you have these acid-trip nightmares?"

I shrugged. "It's a general ed requirement class. I need it to graduate. How was I supposed to know it'd have this weird esoteric crap? The text isn't even in the Bible- it's non-canonical-"

"Why? Mmm. Try the chicken. It's dee-lish."

"Because it has sex. With angels. That is like, unkosher or something." I munched on my beef-and-broccoli dish, savoring the spice of it.

"But the Bible has tons of begatting in it! That's why I used to fall asleep in church. The preacher would drone on and on about lineages in the Bible and I just couldn't keep my eyes open..." She squeaked. Her face turned red. "Chili pepper," she explained, coughing as she fanned herself with her hand.

I pursed my lips in sympathy. "Church does that to you, I suppose."

"Yeah, well, you know," she answered, stretching. "It all blends together in the end. Sermon, sing, pass around the collections bucket, kum-bah-yah, you're done. Let's bust, partner."

We did. As lowly sophomores, we had to walk car-less back to campus, denied parking permits until we were juniors. We passed strip malls and lanes of traffic that spilled like jewels across the night.

"This is city life. Williamsburg at it's finest," I said.

Quinlan yawned. "Would you like an order of fries with that sarcasm?"

"What sarcasm? Retirement communities and tourist traps equal a thriving night life. And don't forget Colonial Williamsburg: who else has overpriced taverns? Also, I don't understand how I can be cold in so many places at once."

"Simple. It's called winter."

Our banter continued until we entered the Daily Grind. It was at the heart of campus outside the main dining hall, a small brick structure chained off from the sidewalk. A half-broken neon light illuminated the front. The inside was cozy and hip, with students splayed out across couches and tables, chatting or attempting to work over the pumping indie music. We fell into line to order our respective drinks.

"Mmm," Quinlan said, clutching hers close to her mouth. "I could die now. Punch me, Fee, in the temple. Send me straight up to heaven on this Dirty Chai." She chugged it then grimaced. "Oh crap. I have to pee."

I waited on my hot cocoa as Fee disappeared to the restroom, scanning the room for seats.

"Cocoa?" the server called.

"That's me!" I said, hustling forwards to grab it. In my haste, I tripped into a stranger, spilling a bit on them. I scrambled on the floor, mouth agape, unable to fix the damage I'd done.

"I'm so, so sorry!"

Mortified, I looked up. They laughed in amusement, smoothing their coat. It was a tall, tall man with a shock of dark hair like a raven's wing. He wore a leather jacket, jeans, and a crisp white shirt. His face- his face was-

"No worries, dear. Here." He extended his pale, cold hand, with fingers long and tapered like a cellist's. I blanched, knowing them exactly. Instead of rising, I stared intently at his shoes. Doc Martens, polished to a sheen. The cocoa pooled on the tiles.

He bent over. "If you won't rise," he whispered, "let me help you." His voice was like wind through a mausoleum. I shuddered. Our eyes met, and his were the husky blue that- that- I looked away.

"N- No thank you," I stuttered, fearing urine would spew from my bladder like soldiers onto D-Day's beaches. I stubbornly rose, refusing to meet his face as I grabbed at napkins and sopped the mess up with them. Only a bit had skimmed over the top. He held the rest, as I'd practically shoved it at him. I heard him take a slow, savory sip. He spat it back out immediately, onto the floor near my hands.

"Tastes like sugared shit, as expected. Clean that up too, mind you."

I did, shuddering.

"So, Fee-ah-nah," he drawled, drawing out my name like it was a song. "Is that what your twit of a friend called you? What a charming name. Tell me, do you recommend the cappucino over the espresso? Or should I scrap that entirely and opt for black coffee instead? I'm a busy man, Fianna, and need something that will keep me up all night. Unless, of course, you wish to be my substitution for caffeine."

He passed the drink back to me. I took it, numb.