Page 9 of These Fractured Bonds

“Great work as always,” he said, putting on his coat.

He scanned the empty room. The cafe was open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, but business was slow after ten. Thus, only one employee—this particular night, it was Erick’s shift—manned the cafe.

“Let’s hope he isn’t late tonight.”

Yareli tilted her head to the side; Erick’s tardiness was always expected. “Why?”

“You know what they say about magic and the full moon.”

Used to Don’s enigmatic sayings, she raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Have a good night, Reli,” he said, laughing as he closed the door behind you.

“Why are you always purposely cryptic?” she muttered, heading back to the kitchen.

While waiting for Erick, she tended to the never-ending task of rolling cutlery in napkins. Although Donna was the manager, she wasn’t present at all times, which meant Yareli enjoyed a great amount of autonomy. It was the employees’ initiative that completed the daily chores. It was perfect for Yareli; it meant she had the chance to exist without a manager breathing down her neck, watching her every move, and waiting for the moment she fucked up.

At about a quarter past ten, Yareli checked her phone. Erick was never more than five minutes late. Fifteen minutes worriedher. Leaning on the counter, she started to text him, only to be interrupted by a crash.

Her fingers paused on her screen, the hair on her arms raised. Their last customer had left long ago. She closed her eyes and let out a long breath, listening. There were footsteps on the second floor, loud in the otherwise quiet cafe.Not this again.If there truly were a ghost, she’d find out tonight.

Without a second thought, she grabbed the broom and made her way upstairs. Every step felt like moving through mud, and there wasn’t enough air in her lungs. Alarms rang in her head, urging her to leave, but she gritted her teeth and peeked through the entryway on the second floor, fearing the worst. An intruder, a caved ceiling, the cafe’s “ghost,” or even the unknown, eccentric owner making an appearance. The horrifying part, however, was that it was an enclosed space with only one entrance—the stairsshewas currently on.

It was none of that.

She blinked, the scene before her unfolding in a dizzying chaos. A luminous, swirling blue circle hovered in the middle of the room; a cool breeze kissed her face. Three figures stood to the side of it, their faces hidden by what she could only describe as a gold glimmer. It clung to them, blending their features into a blur of color. She squinted, trying to get a better look, but that only made it worse. Two of them stood over the third, who was on the floor leaning against a mushroom table. Their murmurs reached her ears.

“… hurt.”

“Needs healing.”

The figure on the floor waved its arm, sweeping it in a dismissive gesture. “Go. Erick will take care of it.” When they didn’t move, he raised his voice. “That was an order.”

The pitch, the intonation, it melded together in her ears. She took a sharp breath. Yareli knew that voice; she knew it withsuch a blazing certainty that when the others disappeared into the portal, she ran toward the lone, injured individual with the determination that only a person so entrenched in their infatuation could muster. She was, as her generation put it, down bad for him.

“August!”

She kneeled beside him, her eyes widening at the dark pool under him. Her apron was up and over her shoulders in a flash, pressed against the hole on his side. It was soaked through before she finished applying pressure. Her hands shook; it was bad.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, groaning as she applied more pressure.

She ignored him, her mind racing to remember what to do for a large puncture wound. He was losing too much blood. They had to call 911 now. How many liters of blood could a human lose before it was too late? Was it too late already? What blood type was he? Could she donate? She couldn’t answer any of it. August was speaking to her, but the static in her ears was too loud.

He placed his hand over hers, squeezing, and the static faded, allowing his voice to pierce through it. “Where’s Erick?”

She shook her head. A lump grew in her throat, making it hard to breathe, much less talk. He squeezed her hands again, and the slight tremor in her hands lessened. His message was clear—he was here with her.

Air filled her lungs again, and she answered, “He’s late. I don’t know where he is.”

Before August could reply, a thunk from behind startled them.

“What the fuck?”

Erick stood next to his dropped duffel bag, a fast-food takeout bag in his right hand. He ran over, removing Yareli’s hands before placing his own on top of August’s injury. Before shecould question what was happening, his hands shimmered a vibrant blue. In the blink of an eye, August’s gaping wound fully healed. The smooth skin was incomprehensible to her. What the hell was going on?

Erick leaned back on his palms. “You should rest for a few days before you,” he said, glancing over at Yareli, “you know.”

His voice broke the spell over her. She gave him a look and said, irritation coloring her tone, “Sure. Keep it a secret as if I didn’t witness you magically heal a wound the size of a softball.” She turned to August, on a rampage. “And you! How did you get hurt?”