The man who came through Charlotte’s front door was Black, and bald. He did not visibly carry a sword like the night sky, but Charlotte knew with dread that he had one.
“We’re not open, good sir,” she announced, mustering her courage.
The visitor introduced himself with a polite nod. “My name is Azlan de Borja y Velasco.”
“I am Charlotte Palmer. And I must reiterate that this establishment is closed.”
The visitor clapped his gloved hands together. “I am not here to patronize your establishment. I am here because I am looking for two men.”
“I see.” Charlotte stayed noncommittal, as she thought through her options.
“Will you please bring them to me?”
“There is nobody else here.” That was true, at least. The vampire and werewolf were off somewhere, investigating something-or-other they hadn’t bothered to tell her about. Summer was doing her best to live a normal life in spite of everything, which meant not being at a coffee shop 24/7. It was just Charlotte and her visitor.
“Very well. I will not intrude any further. Thank you for your time, and I wish your business endeavor every success. Good day.”
With another polite nod, the man turned and left.
Charlotte turned, as she had increasingly done so of late, to Lucius.
The old swordsman had been living upstairs of his own coffee shop, Has Beans, for quite a long time. As she arrived, she saw signs of transitions on the ground floor. Some of the old pictures had been taken down. Bits of memorabilia were missing. Nothing had been violently removed, and much remained intact.
It wasn’t vandalized. It’s being cleared out. He’s closing up shop.
Lucius welcomed her politely enough in his upstairs office.
“You and Blintzkrieg are both closing your doors?” she asked.
Lucius nodded sadly. “There’s a legal dispute about the property ownership. It’s that Tyran Enterprises! They’re doing this.”
He stamped his cane against the ground. “That’s how they’re taking over the city. But it takes money to fight it in court, and we haven’t got it. We’re just a small business, we don’t have that kind of cash laying around. What’s Jaycee going to do now…?”
Charlotte smiled gently. “It is a time of transitions. I know you’ll stay active somehow. And so will she.”
“Hmph. Well at least I know where I can sell some of my equipment, when the time comes.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ll do my best to purchase from you, though my own funds are quite limited. But perhaps you’ll indulge me some questions about an unrelated matter?”
With Lucius’ permission, she began relating the tale of Vermillion and Bodark. When she got as far as describing the swordsman, Lucius became agitated.
“Do not say his name,” he warned. “Not now. Not ever. Whatever you do, his name is taboo.”
Charlotte tilted her head. But the story continued.
At the end of it, Lucius nodded knowingly. “We know him as ‘the Dread Moor’. He is centuries old. A former wielder of Excalibur. Since his fall from grace, he has had one overriding desire. He wishes to wield the sword of power again.”
“And how can slaying supernatural beings assist with that?” Charlotte asked.
“I don’t know.” Lucius stood up with considerable aid from his cane. “I don’t know…”
“What should be done about him?”
Lucius turned to stare at her in surprise. “Done about him? You stay out of his way. Once, he was the best and brightest of our order. But those nearest Heaven have the furthest to fall. Since then he has not scrupled in his pursuit of power. Be mindful, and be polite. That is all you can do when a tiger comes prowling at your door.”
She warned Bodark and Vermillion that the Dread Moor had come calling.
“Well, that’s that,” the vampire had said with a shrug. “Perhaps it’s time for us to move on.”
“Yes. He is here, so we must leave,” the werewolf conceded glumly.
Charlotte had wanted them gone, early on. Their bickering, and then outright fighting, had been stressful.
She thought about it.
She shook her head.
“No. I am not letting someone bully their way into my shop and attack my employees,” she declared.
The two men turned to look at her in surprise.
Charlotte pointed at each of them in turn. “Now. I would appreciate if the two of you would tell me what magics you used to enter my front door the first time. That will help me shore up its defenses.”
The two looked at each other. “We used no magics,” said Bodark at last. “It was there. We entered.”
Vermillion was beside him, nodding in agitated agreement.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes.
She returned to the front of the shop. For several minutes, she worked, occasionally calling for one of the two to bring her some of the tomes in the back for consultation.
“The Dread Moor employed goetic demons to gain access,” she concluded. “There was a powerful invocation. So why did you…?”
She knew, as she spoke the words. The Twilight Grove, source of the enchantment that kept the cafe’s front mobile and concealed, had let them in. It had deemed them as worthy of entry as her friends Summer, Maury, and Daphne.
“Very well. Gentlemen, we are behind schedule. Let’s get back to work!”
The grand opening of Half & Half was a subdued affair, as was intended. Summer and other members of the Menagerie were there, as were the Ponies and some of their friends. On the spectral side, Charlotte had invited several associates from the cemetery - ghosts of her own time, or a little later, for the most part.
One guest provoked considerable interest. This was Manny the Skull, a former pirate who’d claimed to sail under a “Captain Quill” in a nebulously-defined voyage around the world. Charlotte was privately sure that most of the stories were fabricated, and those that weren’t were borrowed, but she was glad to see that they were entertaining to her other guests regardless. As a floating skull wreathed in flames, Manny had no need for coffee, but somehow his energy level never wavered either.
Summer was happy running the register and performing coffee prep with her usual speed and cheerfulness. Vermillion was his charming, dangerous self in serving customers their orders. Bodark spent his time in the back, restocking things on the front line as necessary. For a first-time business, it was going quite smoothly. Admittedly, everyone here was a friendly sort, willing to overlook hiccups that a random and impatient customer might become surly about. But that was the point.
Once people had settled in, Charlotte took a moment to go from table to table. Person by person, she presented her guests with her solution to the problem of admission. Taking a cue from Summer, she was handing out one-use coupons.
“Give these to people you think will make the shop a better place,” she told each person. “If they come, they’ll be offered a loyalty card. These tokens of admission will open the door for them. If you lose your way in, you can contact me in other ways for a replacement.”
The living were enjoying their warm drinks. The dead were enjoying a warmth of their own. Companionship, coffee, and genteel conversation were all flowing. Yes, Charlotte told herself, this is what I really wanted.