21

The old man was already headed toward the door, but that didn’t matter. Kasarah’s nickel sat in a pile of loose change by his empty cup, the waitress having been distracted momentarily by another customer.

She had to act. Like, now.

Ophelia wrenched the slats of the vent open with both arms, her wings snapping free, sending her airborne after three steps, hurling her toward the counter at a full-out charge. The coin’s silver halo beckoned, but she was the only one who saw it.

Everyone else saw her, though. She made it impossible not to.

Several customers pointed up toward the ceiling where she hovered. An elderly-looking lady in a fur coat screamed. A little boy cried out, “Birdie!” Ophelia couldn’t worry about what they saw—or thought they saw. So long as nobody shouted “Fairy!” or “Monster!” or “What is that thing?” she figured she was safe, protected by the camo. What mattered was the coin. Grabbing it and getting out of here as fast as she could. Ophelia shot down from the ceiling and landed on the counter, only a few inches away.

“Shoo!”

She saw the giant paw of straw sweeping toward her just in time to duck out of its way. Swoosh. The head of the broom passed overhead, swung by the same waitress who’d tended to the old man. Ophelia recovered and made a lunge for the nickel when the broom came down again, smacking the counter this time, slam, rattling forks on their plates and sending half the coins clattering to the floor. The other two humans sitting at the counter stood up and backed away. Another got up from his table and ran to the door, holding it open, shouting, “Sweep it outside!” Ophelia went airborne again.

“Max! There’s a crazy bird in the dining room!” the waitress yelled behind her, taking another swipe at Ophelia, who had to shoot backward to avoid it. Ophelia gave the woman a dirty look, then spotted another man in blue jeans and a button-down striped shirt coming up behind her with a club of rolled-up newspaper in hand.

Fwoosh. Another near miss. Now she was dodging attacks from both sides, juking left and right, keeping one eye on the nickel and the other on whatever weapon was determined to knock her senseless, broom or newspaper, wielded by frantic, crazy humans shouting at one another.

“Get it out of here!”

“Don’t hurt it!”

“Here, give me the broom!”

Ophelia rocketed back up to the ceiling, out of reach of the rolled-up paper, at least. She could still see the nickel on the counter, several feet away. It would take her half a tick to perform the ritual, but it would take only a heartbeat for her to be swatted out of the sky.

Time to go on the offensive.

Ophelia bolted downward, right into the nest of brunette curls on top of the waitress’s head, hoping she couldn’t thwack what she couldn’t see. But the man with the newspaper could, and he gave a good swing, missing Ophelia, who darted upward again, but delivering a solid smack across the waitress’s noggin.

“Hey. Watch it!”

“Sorry,” the man said, reaching out for the waitress, only to have his own hand slapped away. In the moment of distraction, Ophelia went for the coin.

Suddenly a large man with a black beard and shrewd little eyes that reminded Ophelia of Barnabus Squint came bursting out of the kitchen with a strange, red contraption in his hands—like a skinny red elephant with a black trunk. The trunk was pointed her way.

This couldn’t be good.

A blast of white foam shot from its one giant nostril, dousing her in something like soap but thicker. Whatever it was, it stung her skin. Some of it got into her eyes, burning them. Ophelia fluttered backward, away from the steady foom of white spray, rubbing at her eyes with her knuckles, clearing her vision just in time to see the broom again.

But not in time to get out of the way.

It smacked her head-on, sent her tumbling backward, head over heels, right out the door.