Thea

"You're being too loud," Candace moaned from beneath the covers.

"I'm doing yoga, not playing the drums." I stretched my legs apart and my arms high in a warrior pose.

"You're doing it too loud."

I held my body in place for a long count, then relaxed and eased into a downward dog. "You could always join me."

She snorted.

"Suit yourself. Do you want me to get you anything before I leave? An aspirin for the hangover?"

"Candace Lewis does not get hangovers," she grumbled.

"Mm-hmm."

"I will allow you to bring me some water."

"Of course, your majesty." I dropped to the mat, and then hopped back up to go to the fridge, grabbed a water bottle from inside, and threw it at the lump of blankets.

She yelped and then popped her head out, squinting at me. "Rude!"

"You do realize it's almost noon?" I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my coat, still in the borrowed hoodie and sweatpants since my maxidress wasn't my first choice of December work attire.

"Afternoon shift?" She yawned.

"Half shift, one to five." I set some aspirin out on the counter anyway, despite her protests. "See you later."

The door was almost closed behind me when I heard her grumble, "Who the hell wrote on my arm?"

I looked around outside for the Mustang I'd seen last night, half wondering if I had imagined it. But if it had been there, it was now gone, along with the strange women. I had to scrape a layer of ice off my windshield, but at least the sky was clear and I was soon on the road, headed for work.

The drive was peaceful, even with the weekend traffic slowing everything down. At a particularly long red light I looked up and watched my school lanyard swaying from the rearview mirror, taunting me as I drove to my low-paying job that had nothing to do with the four years I'd spent earning a history degree. That only brought my mind back around to last night, talking to Devin in a gallery setting. It wasn't my dream museum, but damn it felt really good to talk to another academic for a while. My love for Candace was far-reaching, but I couldn't make her fawn over an old census book any more than she could get me to be enthusiastic about our New York Fashion Week sleepovers.

And Candie's bicep didn't strain under her coat sleeve.

Beeping behind me snapped my eyes to the now-green light, and I hit the gas pedal.

Pulling into the parking lot of the car wash, I turned off the engine and laid my head back against the seat. It was an automatic wash, so at least I wasn't getting messy—just taking care of the cash register and letting the guys at the other end do the detailing. Eventually, resigning myself to the next few hours in a booth, I slid out of my van.

"Sweatpants today, Floor Sign?" A redhead with a short beard and coveralls slid over my hood, leaning in a pretend-sexy pose. I laughed and headed toward the office.

"I told you I own more than leggings, Alan. And when are you going to stop calling me that?" I opened the door and the girl on shift before me practically ran past us, barely waving good-bye.

"Have a nice day, Beth," I mumbled, walking inside.

"I'll stop calling you that when you stop doing this." Alan dramatically performed his interpretation of the stick figure on the Caution: Wet Floor sign.

"It's called yoga, and it's good for you." I put on my company jacket and clocked in on the ancient computer.

"Sure, it is, Floor Sign." He winked. "How was the fancy party?"

Sinking into my chair and kicking it around in one slow circle, I said, "The crowded party was not for me. But, oh my god, I wish I could eat like that every day. The food was out of this world, they had this cheese pastry thing that was still warm and had toppings pressed into them, and these little cherry tarts that melted in my mouth in one bite."

"If it's food you want, I can help with that." He leaned against the doorway. "My cousin is pouring drinks for this new place out east of here. They're having a friends-and-family practice night before they open in a couple of weeks. If you aren't doing anything the Wednesday after next—"

"I don't know," I said. "I usually go to yoga if I have Wednesdays off."

"You can't miss one day? Aren't you, like, an expert in posing for floor signs by now?"

My lips parted in shock as a car pulled into one of the self-serve vacuums and a man stepped out with curling horns on his head. "What is he wearing?"

"What?" Alan asked, following my line of sight. "Who?"

Blinking, I watched the guy put coins in the vacuum as it started up, and when he turned to his car the horns were gone.

"You okay?" Alan asked.

Shaking off the trick of the light, I faced Alan again. "All good, just tired I think. So, the restaurant, I'll go. Text me the address."

"Sounds good." He winked and trotted through to the detailing station. Letting out a sigh that ended in a laugh, I closed the door and straightened up the register area.

We were unusually busy that afternoon—December was typically one of the slowest months for a car wash. Not only were we slammed with customers but my eyes kept playing tricks on me. Things were fuzzy. Aspirin didn't help, and neither did washing the window of the booth inside and out. Something about the angle of the sun was just messing with my brain or something, because I kept seeing blurs and flashes of colors. Horn guy wasn't the last I saw of the bizarre costume accessories either. Flashes of Dubois and his more eccentric paintings came to mind every time I thought I saw glowing eyes or pointy teeth, and I was already trying not to get a headache from whatever was going on with my eyes. I was beyond ready to leave when Katie came for the evening shift; I barely offered her a tired wave before clocking out.

"What's with everyone today?" I grumbled as I got in my van, willing the engine to warm up when the sun had already disappeared an hour ago, "Jingle Bell Rock" blaring through the speakers while I waited. At the sound of scraping I looked up to see Alan clearing the ice from my windshield with exaggerated strokes and a stoic expression plastered on his face. Finished, he patted the hood and stood back, saluting. At least he was able to break my mood.

"Bye, you weirdo!" I called through a small crack in the window.

"Farewell, Floor Sign!"

The ride home was as weird as everything else that day. Twice I saw people with extra parts, one with horns and one with wings. Both times I swerved to avoid them, but when I did a double take they were gone, earning me more confusion and a few honked horns at my driving. They simply looked at me and laughed as I passed as if I was the one making a scene and not them. By the time I pulled into the parking lot at my apartment complex I was exhausted—too exhausted to make dinner. I waded through the slush to the café next door and mentally apologized to my budget for eating out again, but it was already after five and I was hungry.

"Howdy, Thea," a chipper girl with freckles called from behind the counter.

"Hi, Melanie. No Heather today?" I glanced around, searching for the tall, dark, laid-back woman who owned the café, but she was nowhere in sight. Instead, I walked up to the counter and inspected the menu. Not that I needed to—we both knew I was going to get tea and soup.

"She's in the back, did you need her?" Melanie wiped her hands on a towel and propped her elbows on the counter in front of me. "Or can I get you some tea?"

"No, I'm just curious. I'll take a black tea today, please. I'm just zapped from—" The sound of a dish smashing caused both our heads to whip toward the kitchen.

"Heather! Oh my god, are you all right?" Melanie rushed over to a broken pair of mugs at Heather's feet. Her apron was splattered with coffee, but her concern seemed to be on me. Heather crouched down to help pick up the broken pieces.

"I got it, Mel. I thought I saw a bug." Heather swept her long black hair over her shoulder, shooing Melanie away with her other hand.

"Ew! Where is it?" The waitress squealed, hopping to her feet and backing away.

"No, it was . . . something else." Heather's voice wasn't quite even.

"Do you need a hand?" I leaned over the counter for a better look, and when Heather looked up, I could have sworn there was a bright, unnatural gold in her eyes, and I balked in surprise. She quickly ducked her head down again. Was there a costume convention going on or something that I missed? Maybe it was the lighting messing with me.

"Don't worry about it, guys. Just a pair of mugs, we have more in the back." Heather stood with the broken pieces cupped in her apron. She started back toward the kitchen.

"Hey, Heather. Did you do something different with your contacts?" I asked, the strange color appearing again before blurring out.

"Contacts?" Heather paused in the doorway and raised a hand to the corner of her eye. "Yes, I'm . . . trying out colored ones."

"Ooh, can I see?" Melanie asked, moving in close.

"Maybe later, Mel. Can you get the broom?" Heather avoided Melanie and went in the back to dump the broken mugs. When she came back out, she was looking at the floor, watching her employee finish sweeping up ceramic bits. "What can I get you, Thea?"

Weird.

"Just a black tea for now, please," I said.

"Right, coming up." She put everything together on a tray and started steeping the tea bag for me before sliding it all to my side of the counter.

"So, what's new with you lately? Do anything interesting this week? Last night?" Heather's full interest was on me now as she waited for an answer.

"Are you okay?" I asked.

"Fine, fine. Anything new?" She perked up.

"Not really. I'm going with a coworker to some new restaurant next week." I scratched my chin. "I went to a party last night. Candie got a pair of tickets to a charity event at L'Atelier Rouge and wanted me to go with her."

"L'Atelier Rouge?" Heather's face fell.

"Yeah. Heather, are you sure you're okay? You look a little pale."

"Never better." She pulled off her apron and tossed it behind the counter. "Hey, Mel, take over. I have that dentist appointment tonight."

"You're going to the dentist?" Melanie put the broom away and returned to the counter. "After business hours?"

"I'll be back later."

The sudden movement of Heather sweeping her jacket off a hook behind the counter and sliding her arms through it in one fluid motion startled me. She disappeared through the back door with barely a wave.

"That was . . ." Melanie stared at the door. I nodded in agreement with Melanie as I took another sip of my tea, the two of us staring at the door where Heather had rushed away.

"I think I'll have tomato soup."

"Sure, one sec," she said, and turned back to the counter. Today was just getting weirder and weirder.