the smile on her gorgeous lips.
Me, Black Spark, sat there in my grubby vest, muscles actually bulging—okay, my boiled egg biceps were slightly less like fried eggs—ink covering my body, able to call dark magic at will, feeling abashed at having to ask to go out to play. Look, relationships are complicated, don't tell me you wouldn't be the same.
"Um, right. Thanks. Er, so, I can go?" Damn, I really was losing it. Time for action.
"Yes," said Kate, exasperated. I got the feeling maybe she would be happy to have some time to herself.
"Now that's settled," said Rikka, rising and finishing his tea. "Let's go."
"What, now? I'm not ready. I have to deal with the chicken, and my clothes are all dirty."
"I'll deal with the chicken," said Kate.
"Guess I'll have a quick shower and get changed then."
"Don't be long," warned Rikka. "The trolls are getting seriously out of hand."
I headed upstairs, smile on my face. Nothing like imminent danger to cheer up an enforcer. I decided to wear a tie. It would be nice to be smart after so long wearing clothes suited to doing the gardening.
Extra Greasy, Please
Madge's is the name, greasy fry-ups is the game. I was in heaven. If you are ever in Cardiff and fancy escaping the rain—it always rains—then head to Madge's Cafe for the best, and cheapest, plate of food you are ever gonna taste.
I stood outside on cracked paving, staring at blistered paint, steamed-up windows, and the long-faded sign, inhaling traces of fried foods and the fumes of trucks.
Madge's is a bit of legend throughout Wales, but it's a well kept secret. Just for those in the know. And those in the know comprises Hidden of all description—human and myriad other species—along with Regulars like truck drivers, factory workers, and students who flock to her place in term time like trolls to bridges with the promise of a school outing crossing some time real soon.
"You coming in?" asked Dancer, popping his head back out the door, the sound of Madge shouting at her kids from inside a reminder of how much I'd missed the place. I say kids, not one is under two hundred.
"Yeah, sure." Dancer disappeared and I caught the door before it closed. I entered the mysterious world of Madge's Cafe.
The smell of a million, and soon to be one more, fry-ups assaulted my nostrils. I sighed with contentment as I stared at the greasy stains on the flock wallpaper and walked across sticky linoleum. Madge was behind the counter, familiar scowl as predictable as time itself, as she sneered at customers and shouted at her poor kids some more. I delighted in the look of her gray frizzy hair that hasn't changed for as long as I can remember.
Madge is a four-hundred-year-old witch, and she knows just about everything that goes on in our world, but she's strictly business. No magic, as far as I can tell, just runs her cafe until two in the afternoon every day as she has always done, then I assume she goes upstairs and practices her menacing facial expressions in the mirror, ready to unleash them on customers that happily come back for more time and time again.
I was one of them, although I hadn't been around much lately. What with me nearly dying from fighting vampires, and generally running around the city like a thing half-crazed because of more mind-boggling goings-on than I want to get into right now.
Heads turned as I joined Dancer and Rikka at the counter. There were a few dwarves up from the mines for some business, a lone goblin, which was rare, the Chemist was there, which was strange as usually he was still asleep after a busy night doing his stand-up or involved in his other hobby—alchemy. Most surprising of all were the two trolls sat at a table with what looked suspiciously like books spread out in front of them.
Rikka saw me frowning. "They're all getting library cards and reading. Can you believe it?"
"What? Seriously?"
"Yes. Some of them are taking courses, others have suddenly begun talking in
Me, Black Spark, sat there in my grubby vest, muscles actually bulging—okay, my boiled egg biceps were slightly less like fried eggs—ink covering my body, able to call dark magic at will, feeling abashed at having to ask to go out to play. Look, relationships are complicated, don't tell me you wouldn't be the same.
"Um, right. Thanks. Er, so, I can go?" Damn, I really was losing it. Time for action.
"Yes," said Kate, exasperated. I got the feeling maybe she would be happy to have some time to herself.
"Now that's settled," said Rikka, rising and finishing his tea. "Let's go."
"What, now? I'm not ready. I have to deal with the chicken, and my clothes are all dirty."
"I'll deal with the chicken," said Kate.
"Guess I'll have a quick shower and get changed then."
"Don't be long," warned Rikka. "The trolls are getting seriously out of hand."
I headed upstairs, smile on my face. Nothing like imminent danger to cheer up an enforcer. I decided to wear a tie. It would be nice to be smart after so long wearing clothes suited to doing the gardening.
Extra Greasy, Please
Madge's is the name, greasy fry-ups is the game. I was in heaven. If you are ever in Cardiff and fancy escaping the rain—it always rains—then head to Madge's Cafe for the best, and cheapest, plate of food you are ever gonna taste.
I stood outside on cracked paving, staring at blistered paint, steamed-up windows, and the long-faded sign, inhaling traces of fried foods and the fumes of trucks.
Madge's is a bit of legend throughout Wales, but it's a well kept secret. Just for those in the know. And those in the know comprises Hidden of all description—human and myriad other species—along with Regulars like truck drivers, factory workers, and students who flock to her place in term time like trolls to bridges with the promise of a school outing crossing some time real soon.
"You coming in?" asked Dancer, popping his head back out the door, the sound of Madge shouting at her kids from inside a reminder of how much I'd missed the place. I say kids, not one is under two hundred.
"Yeah, sure." Dancer disappeared and I caught the door before it closed. I entered the mysterious world of Madge's Cafe.
The smell of a million, and soon to be one more, fry-ups assaulted my nostrils. I sighed with contentment as I stared at the greasy stains on the flock wallpaper and walked across sticky linoleum. Madge was behind the counter, familiar scowl as predictable as time itself, as she sneered at customers and shouted at her poor kids some more. I delighted in the look of her gray frizzy hair that hasn't changed for as long as I can remember.
Madge is a four-hundred-year-old witch, and she knows just about everything that goes on in our world, but she's strictly business. No magic, as far as I can tell, just runs her cafe until two in the afternoon every day as she has always done, then I assume she goes upstairs and practices her menacing facial expressions in the mirror, ready to unleash them on customers that happily come back for more time and time again.
I was one of them, although I hadn't been around much lately. What with me nearly dying from fighting vampires, and generally running around the city like a thing half-crazed because of more mind-boggling goings-on than I want to get into right now.
Heads turned as I joined Dancer and Rikka at the counter. There were a few dwarves up from the mines for some business, a lone goblin, which was rare, the Chemist was there, which was strange as usually he was still asleep after a busy night doing his stand-up or involved in his other hobby—alchemy. Most surprising of all were the two trolls sat at a table with what looked suspiciously like books spread out in front of them.
Rikka saw me frowning. "They're all getting library cards and reading. Can you believe it?"
"What? Seriously?"
"Yes. Some of them are taking courses, others have suddenly begun talking in
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