Dragon Beans

Hooves clacked across the tile. Waging a war against the espresso machine, Clover didn’t notice until a shadow fell across her mortal enemy’s shining bulk. Velvety ears flicking in surprise, she looked up to find a satyr smiling at her in amusement.

His horns gleamed in the café’s lights, soft fur peeking out from his cozy sweater. His smile scrunched up his button nose, raising the moon-round spectacles higher on his weathered face.

“Having trouble?”

Clover sighed, wiping coffee grit off her hands, and stepped up to the register.

“The only thing stronger than our espresso machine’s coffee is its hatred of dragon beans.” She glanced at the pile of scaly beans on the floor, sparking gently, just where the espresso machine had spit them out.

The satyr toyed with the instrument strapped to his side, idly plucking a string.

“Dragon beans? How interesting.”

Remembering that fighting back against the machines was only part of her job, Clover perked up.

“Oh, yes, we’ve got a whole line of fall flavors.” She gestured to the board behind her, preparing to repeat the list her boss had burned into her brain. Literally. Wraiths were persnickety creatures. Why have employees memorize the menu when you could sear it into their gray matter with cold, spectral fingers?

Clover tried not to shudder, letting the drinks roll off her tongue as if she’d put them there herself, not grumpy old Barnabus with his tattered cloak, skeletal hands, and glaring red eyes.

“First, we’ve got the Slayer’s Special. Smoother than a dragon’s wings, aftertaste hotter than a brimstone burrito. Dragon beans roasted in real dragon fire, flavored with a hint of gold dust, and topped with rusty metal flakes.”

Clover's demo drinks sat proudly on the counter next to her. For the Slayer’s Special, she’d meticulously arranged the metal flakes, forming a vaguely human outline on the murky red surface.

Some creatures pined for the old days when you could eat any human you stumbled across and blame it on the gods or the weather or a rascal dragon. Clover preferred modern marvels like running water and trashy tv, but she preferred happy customers leaving big tips even more.

“And then we’ve got the Elven Espresso. Smells like old parchment, tastes like forbidden knowledge. A dash of ink for color. A splash of elderberries for flavor. It’ll keep you up for at least 12 hours, so be careful. Also, we’re legally not allowed to sell more than one per customer.”

The satyr nodded. He studied the Elven Espresso, indigo liquid trembling as elderberry bits roiled under the surface. Then he looked curiously at the Slayer’s Special. Bit bloodthirsty for a satyr, but who was Clover to judge. Espresso certainly wouldn’t be his choice since satyrs loved naps almost as much as they loved strolling through meadows, serenading nature.

Barnabus’s list continued, crawling up her throat with sticky fingers before tumbling out her mouth.

“Next is the Fairy Frap. Sourced directly from the Ice Queen herself, our ice is cold enough to chatter your teeth and frostbite your fingers. The drink is a mixture of sugar plum and licorice cream, sprinkled with pixie dust. You might feel a little floaty, but it shouldn’t cause any lasting damage.”

The drink sparkled so brightly it was hard to look at, like scaling a mountain without enchanted snow goggles. Clover’s fingers still tingled from the taste she’d snuck earlier. The pixie dust was low strength, of course. Didn’t want anyone getting addicted or going on a cheerful rampage.

“And finally, we’ve got the Witch’s Brew. This tea is sweeter than a hex and twice as enchanting. Spotted mushrooms blended with northern moss and swamp water. Cauldron-boiled and familiar-approved.”

Hours after Clover had made it, the Witch’s Brew still steamed gently on the counter. The smell reminded Clover of long hikes through the woods, clambering up rocks to get a good view of the sunrise, brisk mountain air ruffling the fur on her ears.

A shadow darkened the corner of her eye and Clover snapped back to attention. Never knew when Barnabus was watching, skull-face glowering from across the room.

“So, what’ll it be?”

Unsurprisingly, the satyr chose the Witch’s Brew. Even less surprising, the vampire who came after chose the Slayer’s Special, while the mermaid with him chose the Fairy Frap. What was surprising was the medusa who strolled in and ordered an Elven Espresso.

“Are you sure that won’t upset your snakes?” Clover blurted out, doe eyes widening. The woman laughed, the snakes in her hair hissing softly.

“Maybe when I was a teenager, but they’re as hooked as I am now.” She stroked one of her snakes fondly, then those green eyes pierced Clover’s again. Luckily, this wasn’t Clover’s first medusa. She’d already flinched and embarrassed herself with a serpentine customer when she’d first started working here. Barnabus railed at her in the backroom, raspy voice echoing as it bounced off coffee bags and strings of dried herbs.

“Not looking at a medusa is a myth, you empty-headed meat sack. They have to want you to turn to stone, not just make simpering eye contact like brats at a school dance. And do you really think I’d let a medusa turn you to stone? Then I’d have to hire another idiot and train them instead. Absolutely not. I protect my property.”

It was probably the nicest thing Barnabus had ever said. Clover had even mentioned it in her diary, in between ramblings about a nymph she’d been seeing at the time. Their woodland romance hadn’t worked out, but they still foraged sometimes when Clover was craving herbal stews. Her deerling senses were keen, but no one could sniff out truffles and sprouts like a nymph.

Clover shook her head, forcing herself back to the coffee-scented present.

“Would you like to pet one?”

Clover blinked at the medusa, then reached out hesitantly. The snake’s tiny scales were smooth as glass, cold as a chilled beer. Clover didn’t drink, but her ex-boyfriend had. That troll introduced her to all sorts of fun things, like underwear lying on the floor and sausage-bacon-rotten-egg pizza stinking up the kitchen. In return, she’d introduced him to a deerling’s speed when she’d gathered up his things and thrown them down the stairs.

“They’re beautiful,” Clover said, gazing into the snake’s golden eyes. Like little acorns, glowing from the inside.

The medusa laughed again, and Clover realized she’d said that last part out loud. She blushed, then dashed away to start making that espresso.

The machine was more accommodating now the offensive dragon beans had been exiled from its presence. Of course, that tentative peace would be shattered once someone ordered the Slayer’s Special as an espresso, but for now it hummed contentedly to itself as it churned ink and elderberries into a boiling froth.

In the meantime, Clover put on gloves to scoop out some glittering ice shards for a Fairy Frap, careful not to breath in the pixie dust. She was just adding metal flakes to the Slayer’s Special when the espresso machine chirped proudly.

Tray perched on her slender shoulder, Clover deposited drinks at each patron’s table. The satyr smiled at her as she passed, tea steam fogging up his glasses. The vampire bared his fangs and slid a few doubloons her way, while his mermaid date downed her Fairy Frap like it was the elixir of youth. She was vibrating with energy when Clover left, cheerfully rambling to her silent companion.

The way the vampire was looking at her, Clover hoped he’d eaten before this, or else that date might end awkwardly. Though, some couples were into that kind of thing. As someone who’d once had a crush on a particularly magnificent oak tree, Clover didn’t care what other people did in their spare time, as long as it didn’t make a mess in her café.

Thoughts of fangs in necks were still running through her mind when she gave the medusa her drink. Meeting those emerald eyes, she wondered if the medusa could hear what she was thinking. Or smell it, as the snakes flicked their tiny tongues out. The medusa smiled at her and Clover sighed.

“I’m blushing again, aren’t I?”

“Only a lot,” the medusa assured her. “But it’s cute, just like the rest of you.”

Clover blinked, a deerling in headlights. Her brain didn’t catch up to her tongue before she said, “I have to agree. I’m quite a catch.”

The snakes burst into a hissing chorus as the medusa laughed.

“Bold claim. But I can’t take your word for it.”

“Oh?” Clover put her hands on her hips, preparing to defend her many, many virtues as a girlfriend. But the medusa leaned forward, and so did her snakes. Green and gold filled Clover’s vision like sunlight through leaves, the medusa’s wicked smile at the center.

“I’ll have to test it for myself.”

Clover felt her ears flicking with excitement, but she wasn’t embarrassed since the snakes were bobbing eagerly too.

“Of course,” Clover managed breathlessly. “For science.”

The medusa raised her coffee and Clover nodded back, trying to convince her eyelashes that fluttering wildly was not the smoothest course of action. They listened, sort of. Clover hoped it came off seductive and charming instead of a flustered facial twitch.

“I get off in ten minutes.”

“Then I’ve got ten minutes to brainstorm the perfect date.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve coffee.”

They smiled at each other, until Clover noticed a dark shadow looming in the corner of her vision. With a grimace, she hurried back to the register before Barnabus could float over and start muttering about outlawed torture techniques for slackers.

A werewolf was sniffing the demo drinks with interest, but the Witch’s Brew made him sneeze so hard he almost fell over. Clover tried not to laugh or look over to see if a certain woman was laughing too. But she could hear the soft sound of hissing, and it made her warm and fuzzy as a moss-wrapped tree.

She had ten minutes to think about how to return the favor.