Read the Fine Print

Sitting in the quiet, she felt the hands touch her again. Cold and icy, the fingers curled into her shoulders. Startled, she stood up, breathing loudly, her heart shrieking and thudding against her ribs. The buzz of coffee shop goers continued, bright blurs under fluorescent lights, chit chatting and laughing. Well, the city doesn’t stop for girls losing their minds. No one seemed to notice the loud knocks of her heart. Her bones rattled, and her breath hitched in her throat. Slowly, she sat back down, the air burning in her lungs as she gulped and wheezed. She stared down at her cappuccino, and willed herself to drink. Her shoulder throbbed, the aches crawling up her neck like a spider.

“Everything ok, mija? You look so pale!” the plump waitress, Yolanda, according to her name tag, said, eyeing her up and down. Her tanned hand set on her hip, her face warm and wrinkled. She had short white hair, that curled like a cloud atop her head. With a sudden movement, she set a cookie down in front of her. Angela gave a shy smile, it was small, but she hoped the gratitude reached her eyes.

“On the house, amorcito, shout if you need anything,” She paused, eyeing her again, this time with blatant apprehension, “en serio, I got senses like a bloodhound,” sticking out a finger, her nails a regal red, “I’ll come running, eh.” She said, with a stern look, and then winked, walking back to the sea of customers waiting for the daily caffeine fix. Angela let out a strained sigh, and stared back down at her cup, the steam wafting in her nose. Taking a sip, she felt the milky foam sizzle on her tongue. Her eyes stung, it had be a while since she’s had a good night’s rest, but how could she sleep? How could she rest knowing It would come get her any second now. She wished she never signed that contract. Her grandmother always said that names held power, to give it away to the wrong person was to damn your soul. And her soul was very much damned. She lifted the cookie, taking a bite, the ginger and cardamom tasted like heaven.

The day rolled on, falling like the autumn leaves outside, burnt orange against the grey pavement. She felt it again, this time by her legs, a cold vice grip tugging her down. She slipped, smashing the coffee cup and plate on the ground, the pieces shattered around her. The broken porcelain rang in her ears and the hand on her ankle squeezed harshly before vanishing. The world stilled around her; the voices of strangers murmured in the back of her mind, but she couldn’t make out what they were saying. Swarms of people with their paper cups and takeaway bags rustled and moved. Yolanda was circling them, yelling and shoving crowds with her hands. The door opening and slamming shut repeatedly, until Angela heard the locks. Then nothing. Yolanda was back, kneeling beside her, cleaning the mess and saying something warm and sweet. Now her hand was on her shoulder, and Angela felt like the right thing to do was nod and not wince in pain. Her voice was clearer now, Yolanda helped guide her to her feet.

“Ven, ven, I’ll show you where we keep the croissants.” She said, taking Angela to the back of the coffee shop. She sat behind the coffee machines and treats, in what Yolanda called her office space, but it really was just a corner with a stool and various post it notes and maps plastered on the wall. There were some strange markings sprawled in pink marker and red string. There was a small desk with cleaning materials and a metal box clasped shut with a pink lock. Angela decided to avert her gaze, she didn’t want any trouble or for Yolanda to think she was nosey. She was done messing with things she didn’t understand. She headed towards the set of large fridges, covered in colourful magnets, some quite crude. Angela giggled, the noise scaring her, causing her to jump. Once her heart rate settled, she opened the fridge door, and found various containers filled with sweets, cream and dough. She closed it shut, and went to sit down on the stool, leaning her head on the wall. The post-it notes tickled her nose, her eyes felt heavy with each blink. Yolanda continued with her daily tasks, and it was only now that Angela realized she must own the place. Seconds melted into minutes, and Angela silenced her mind, lulling into a deep sleep.

She jolted awake when she heard Yolanda turn on the radio and begin cleaning. The sound of wet mops, tissues and trumpets brought her back to life. Angela scrambled off the stool and searched for something, anything, to grab and help. Settling on a green rag and spray bottle, which seemed to be filled with a homemade concoction that was neon green; she stepped out into the open space.

“Can I?” Her voice barely a whisper.

“No, que tal! No worry, please!”

“I insist. It’s the least I can do…” Angela nodded, determined to make up for being a burden. She must think I’m crazy. Yolanda said something else in Spanish that Angela didn’t understand, but they both laughed anyway. She rolled her sleeves and got to work. By the time they were done, the shop shone and gleamed. Yolanda yawned, and walked towards the coffee machine behind the counter.

“I need a tinto, right now, you? Café?” She asked, turning on the machine, and preparing the small espresso cups. Angela nodded, although she was certain Yolanda had decided for her. She poured some sparkling water in a small glasses and then set the coffee beside them. Taking a sip of the water first, Angela felt the bubbles tickle her throat. They sat for a while in silence, sipping the coffee, listening to the trumpets of a salsa song play around them. When the next song started, Yolanda got up so abruptly Angela almost fell off her seat. She ran behind the counter and picked up the radio, brining it close to her ear. She placed the other hand on her hip, shuffling her feet and hips, she started to sing.

Cali luz de un nuevo cieloo
De romantica luna, el lucero que es lenooo
De mirar en tu valle la mujer que yo quieroooo

She stuck out her hand, gesturing for Angela to get up, and said, “You have to dance,” she continued, stepping side to side, “it was my Rosa’s favourite song.”

At that, Angela shot up, and awkwardly swayed her arms, humming to the beat. Yolanda chucked, and resumed her singing, her voice velvet and smooth.

Que todo, que todo, que todo que

Que todo el mundo te cante
Que todo el mundo te mime
Celoso estoy pa' que mires
No me voy mas ni por miles

As Angela started to get into a fixed rhythm, the hairs on the back of her neck started to burn. A cold sigh breathed in her ear. Before she could react, Yolanda had leaned across the counter and grabbed Angela by the shoulder, yanking her over and bringing her to the ground. There was a sickening wail, the sound rough and raw, cutting off the radio.

Que todo-do, que-que

The room filled with static and screams. Angela's hands trembled, when she turned to Yolanda, confusion gripped her by the throat. Yolanda was loading a crossbow coated in salt, casually humming the song from before.

“Where did you get that?” Angela’s fingers were going numb, her eyes wide with shock and then realisation,“You can hear It?” The howls and wails rattled the foundations of the coffee shop, causing the tables and chairs to break and snap in half.

“Doesn’t matter. And, yes, mi vida, I see It.”

“But, wait, you see it-I can’t even see-” their conversation was cut short by the sound of crunching metal. Its claws digging into the counter, tearing through the surface, leaving large gashes in its wake. Yolanda stood to aim, and then shot directly at it. A loud, wet THWAP sliced the air. She bent back down, and reloaded.

“Also, nobody ever leaves my cappuccino, let alone dejarlo enfirar, imaginate. Get cold, you know, the coffee" She gestured to Angela with her head, pouting her mouth in a scrunch towards the salt. The creature’s cries echoed in their ears. Angela complied, grabbing the salt quickly, and passing it to her, hoping her hands weren’t shaking too much. Yolanda grunted in approval, continuing her rant, “the coffee is from Colombia, my Rosa used to bring it fresh, it is the best calidad, mija. Best.” And dipped the arrow in more salt, loading the crossbow.

“When you weren't drinking, figured it you came because I keep this place open late. I figured something bothering you too, eh,” She smiled, that warm and loving smile which was also somehow full of worry, “And you have that look in your eyes.”

“Look?”

Yolanda peered over her shoulder, her face wracked with concern, Angela could see the understanding, vibrant and kicking, in the hazel of her eyes.

“You’re so young,” she shook her head, “it’s not justo, not right.” She turned, and shot out, another loud THWAP. The wails choked and creaked, breaking more furniture in its wake.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Tutting, Yolanda did the sign of the cross and resumed her stance.

“It’s okay…it’s my fault, really. Who even reads the fine print? Contracts shouldn’t have a clause about your soul, anyway...” Angela whispered, straightening her back suddenly when Yolanda let out a deep chuckle. She said something else in Spanish, but it was too fast for Angela to make out, either way, it sounded like a compliment to her character, or maybe it was an insult. Angela didn’t know, and didn’t want to ask. Clearly it wasn’t the time. Just as she was about to speak, a scream tore through her. The wet, arctic fingers latched onto her leg again, digging into her skin. The cold so intense it seared her flesh, the smell of burnt muscle mixed with the bitter scent of coffee. An aroma of pain. She heard another guttural THWAP before she saw the creature hurling backwards, gripping its skull in agony. This time it dug into the creature’s head, now visible and writhing. Angela looked away, she couldn’t bear face it, to see what has been hunting her. It steamed and hissed, running out the window and into the night. Another screeching and wailing followed suit.

“There’s two of them?!” Angela screamed, hating how hysterical she sounded in her ears.

Yolanda nodded, “I think more, and they’ll be back.” She said, trying to move the bits of white hair from her face, but they were stuck to her forehead with sweat.

“Mira, it’s ok,” she stood up, and starting to pack away her crossbow, “they’ll stop for a few days. This will help.” She pulled up a small bundle of sage and other herbs, setting it alight and placing it on the counter. The air, smokey and rich in their lungs.

“It’ll be angry…” Angela couldn’t help but let her mind wander, a horrible sensation sinking in her gut.

“I know. Pero, listen, you’ve handled them so far. You have your batteries, sabes? You’re not slow,” Yolanda placed her hand on her shoulder, her hands were calloused from years of hard work, but her hold was gentle. A motherly smile wrinkled the sides of her eyes and lips, “we’ll fight ‘em together. Las dos.” And with that, she got up, and grabbed the broom that had fallen to the floor in the midst of the chaos. She slammed the radio with the back of it, and the music resumed once more.

Cali luz de un nuevo cielo
De romantica luna, el lucero que es leno
De mirar en tu valle la mujer que yo quiero

“Now, tell me how you got into this mess while we clean, I’m too old to do this without enjoying mi tinto.”

Angela felt herself falling into a fit of giggles and laugh, half delirium and half delight.

“Maybe if you show me how to shoot that crossbow?” she said, slyly, a huge smile creeping on her lips.

“Ah, Dios mio! There she is! Although, I have just the thing, eh.” Yolanda exclaimed, an excited look in her eyes, as she dropped the broom, and ran into her office. The sound of clanging metal travelled through the space, the lock clicking open, making Angela’s heart beam. Yolanda emerged, holding a silver gun, engraved with roses and thorns. Wrapped around its handle, a red rosary hung with gold beads for every Hail Mary.

“Si tu quieres, if you want, it’s yours, eh”

“Thank you so much! Gracias!” Angela held the gun to her chest, her life was surely getting stranger. She never knew she want celebrate for being gifted a weapon.

“Listo, go, you first, then me,” Yolanda sat on the only fixed stool, it creaked slightly, but she didn’t seem to mind. Holding her tinto in her palms, she squinted her eyes in focus and watched Angela closely, "What's your name?"

She giggled, an action that was quickly becoming a habit, and picked up the broom from the floor.

“Angela. My name is Angela.”

"Que lindo! My name is Yolanda, but you know this," gesturing at her name tag that glistened like silver, "aver, Angelita, now, what happened?"

"So, it was my grandma, she got really sick and..."

The trumpets played, the melodies accompanying them while they laughed, cried and hugged.

Barranquilla, puerta de oro
Paris la ciudad luz
Nueva York capital del mundo
Y del cielo Cali, la sucursal

A millas siento tu aroma
Cualquiera justo razona