"So, you found me." I'd be amazed at the tone of defeat if I believed it. She was always a good actor, and while I can tell when one of you is lying (Shakira was wrong, it's the ears that don't lie), I never could get a bead on her.

"No, my usual spot shut down last week. Was the only good Chai latte on the continent." I tried to ignore the hand going for her waist, telling myself it was for a pen, and not her timestone. I resisted eons of muscle memory. Imagine trying to keep your eyes open while sneezing. Not the Mythbusters way, with tape or some object to assist. Just willpower and self-control.

"Martino's, yes. It was the only good thing on the menu." She brought her hand back up, empty, to the computer.

"The raspberry cheesecake scones were good until they dropped them." I failed to avoid looking at her neck for a chain or string her stone could be on. She pretended not to notice. Or maybe she didn't, who can say?

"Scones," she corrected. "But yes, they were good. Not great, certainly not the best, but good."

I waited while she tapped in my order.

"I don't make the drinks here, so they are terrible. But I did make the handpies. The rutabaga is from my own garden." She said it all over my left shoulder. I didn't turn to look, as it could be a distraction. The stone only worked in her hands, so no accomplices could help.

"How can refuse? Do you have two? One for the road." I noticed I could see reflections in the glass of the menu. Nothing stood out behind me. A simple distraction, as I'd guessed.

"Can I get a name for the order?"

"Ah, that old trick," I said, and we both grinned. "Of course. I should have known." It was how we'd ended up here in the first place. Deals with the fae were always a gamble, though some would say we won.

"Brionne work for this one?"

"Good as any."

She gave me the handpies and said, "Thank you, have a fantastic day."

"You, too," I replied and turned to go for the drink pickup and wait for my latte. Unfortunately, that's when I saw it. Over the door, right where she'd looked before. Not her stone, but a simple binding rune. It looked like steam over the coffee cup in the logo. The reflection didn't catch the detail enough. Without stopping or turning back, I whispered, "Well done. How?"

"Motors in the sign, remote in my pocket. Simple enough."

"I just want my latte."

"Fair enough. It's a long road." After a moment, she handed me the finished latte. "How far this time?"

"Can't just let me walk away?"

"I don't trust you to." She pulled her timestone and blasted me.

Back and back to those early days before men had writing, barely had tools and language. She was right about the long road. But at least I got my latte, terrible as it was. The pies were good, though. Not great, certainly not the best, but good.