She got to Common Grounds, and for the first time it occurred to her that the place might very well be totally packed, and she might really get stared at, for real. Wonderful. Well, nothing she could do about that.

Claire took a deep breath, pulled the door open, and stepped inside. The interior was dim after the brilliant sunlight, and she blinked away glare and looked around the room. It was crowded, all right—maybe forty people clustered around small café tables, drinking their mochas and lattes and espresso shots. Students, at this hour. The mix of caffeine enthusiasts changed after dark.

Everybody stared as she passed. Claire tried to pretend it was because of how fabulously cute she was, but that was a leap of faith she really couldn’t make, and now her sunburn was worse because she was blushing on top of it, and also, ow.

Eve was all the way toward the back, jammed into a corner and defending an empty chair across the table with sharp glares and careful deployment of harsh words. She looked relieved as Claire dropped into the seat, leaned her heavy backpack against the table leg, and sighed, “I really need coffee.”

Eve stared at her face for a few long seconds, then said, “And I can see why. Yo! Mocha!”

She snapped her fingers.

She snapped her fingers at Oliver, who was behind the counter pulling espresso shots. He looked up at her with blank contempt. “Yo,” he repeated with poisonous sarcasm. “I am not your waitress.”

“Really? Because we tip, if that helps. And you’d look really good in a frilly apron.”

Oliver slammed back the pass-through hinged section of the bar and came out to stand over their table, giving them the full benefit of his presence. And that, to put it mildly, was intimidating. “What do you want, Eve?”

“Well, I’d like the blue-plate special of you thrown out of Morganville, with a side order of dead, but I’ll settle for a mocha for my friend.” Eve tapped purple metallic fingernails against the china of her coffee cup, and didn’t look away from Oliver’s glare. “What you going to do, Oliver? Ban me for life from your crappy shop?”

“I’m considering it.” Some of the aggression faded out of him, replaced by curiosity. “Why are you challenging me, Eve?”

“Why shouldn’t I? We’re not exactly besties,” Eve said. “And besides, you’re a jerk.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t a nice sort of smile. “And how have I offended you recently?”

“You were totally going to screw us over last night, weren’t you?”

Oliver’s smile faded. “I came when Amelie called. As I always do.”