in short spirals around her pale, exotic face. Her large, dark eyes had me lost for a moment before I remembered her question.
“Hot cream tea, please,” I ordered. Tea could be artificially synthesized, so I could better afford it, even if a cup of the cream tea—brewed in a rich, creamy syrup—was as much as a gallon of the stuff they sold at the store. I’d order Marlin’s coffee when he showed up.
Hey, Link, I think she just gave you the eye, Paige told me.
“She’s just fishing for a tip,” I countered, putting my ankle across my knee.
Oh, I don’t think so. That smile was real; all the facial muscles were engaged. There were also some interesting temperature fluctuations in her skin. Play your cards right, and you might be able to give her more than just the tip.
I laughed. “Paige, you’re a perv. And a killer wingman.”
I’ll be a miracle worker if I can prevent you from blowing this.
“We’ll see. Business before pleasure, however.”
My supplier approached through the midmorning crowd and took a seat opposite mine. Marlin was one of the Feyn, like my waitress—and yet not at all alike. In the same way there were three different types of brutes, the male and the female Feyn were almost two separate types of changelings. Marlin was old, very old, possibly one of the first generations of changelings. The waitress would never make it past twenty-five or twenty-six. Marlin was tall, too, nearly seven feet of gaunt, grayish skin and bones. The waitress, who was coming over to take Marlin’s order, was maybe five-three, and though her build was very slender, it was more human than that of the man who ordered the most expensive cup of Joe on the menu.