Iridescent rain plucked softly against the cafe windows and pooled at ruts in the sidewalk. Sage shrank into her seat and drew her cup of tea close. Steam brushed her glasses as she took a deep drink. It was a quiet morning. Leaning against the table, her umbrella dripped softly on the tile. Clarisse, the barista, toiled over a bubbling cauldron of cappuccinos. She snapped, sparking a fireball in her palm, and tossed the flames underneath the cauldron. Steam exploded from the top, expanding across the small cafe. Sage breathed in the scents of hazel and coco.

Only two customers sat there that morning: Sage and another woman. This other woman sat in the booth next to Sage’s. A slim yellow raincoat hung over the back of her chair. It wasn’t wet. Sage scowled and wove her hands through the air. Mist bled from her fingertips and gathered at the raincoat. A second faint dripping joined the first.

The other woman stirred her coffee slowly. Sage watched her closely. The woman wore tall black boots that climbed up to her knee and a scarlet bodycon dress. Her arms were smooth, her legs shaved, and her cleavage… modest.

“Too modest,” Sage muttered, weaving her hands through the air once more. Mist brushed the front of the other woman’s dress and the cut deepened as if slit by scissors. “Much better,” Sage said. She closed her eyes and imagined the other woman sipping politely at her tea, legs crossed, with promises lurking in the eyes. When Sage opened her eyes, the other woman obeyed. Faint mist hovered like puppeteer strings at her joints.

A bell rung, soft and sweet. The door swung open.

“Morning James,” Clarisse said. “Will it be the usual today?”

James was six feet of modest masculinity. His clean gray shirt clung to shaped edges. One of his soft, strong arms rested in the front pocket of his dark jeans. The other hand waved a greeting. Sage looked for his crooked smile and found it under a wet mop of dark hair and two sterling blue eyes. Eyes that were fixed on the other woman.

“What do you recommend, Sage?” James asked directly at the other woman.

Sage smiled. “A mocha latte,” she mumbled under her breath. “With maybe an extra touch. Clarisse?”

“A mocha latte,” the other woman, an illusion of Sage’s construction, said in a rich, confident voice. “With maybe an extra touch. Clarisse?”

“I catch your meaning, dear.” Clarisse said.

“It’s on me this morning, Sage,” James said.

“What if I already paid?”

“Then I guess the rest goes to the hostess.”

He swept by Sage’s table and gave the other woman a hug. Sage watched how the muscles in his arm sharpened as he squeezed the other woman. He whispered something, quick and quiet, into her ear. Sage took a sharp breath, almost spitting out her sip of tea, and started dancing her fingers in the air. The other woman laughed, a hot blush brushing her cheeks where faint mist touched her.

James smiled and spoke, “You look stunning this morning. Dare I hope that it’s for me?”

“Who else?” Sage muttered. The other woman followed suit. Technically speaking, Sage didn’t have to say anything for her illusion to speak. Anything she thought with enough directed intent would slip from between those red lips. But speaking them in her own voice made the connection feel… real. It made her relationship with James feel special: like there was no illusion between them.

“I’m not the only guy in the world. And I’m definitely not the only guy that sees how amazing you are.” James shifted in his seat as Clarisse, wearing a coy smile, slid his mocha latte in front of him. “Thank you,” he took a sip, then found the other woman’s eyes. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

Sage froze, her hands shaking. Her lips and mouth felt dry.

“Would you,” James said, “like to go on a date this evening?”

There was a quiet, considerate pause. Sage’s heart was pounding madly in her chest.  

“Where?”

“Lynch’s. 7 PM. And, before you ask, yes. I’ll be paying.”

Sage took a deep breath and then exhaled a thin stream of mist that poured into the other woman’s back. The other woman smiled broadly, clapped her hands to her mouth, and spoke in a voice that radiated ecstasy, “Yes, yes, yes. Of course, yes!”

“Then I guess it’s a date!”

“Text me your address and I’ll pick you up at around 6 or 6:10? The reservation is for 7, but who knows about traffic in this town. One pyromancer gets a little heated and Highway 92 gets shut down for hours.” Anxious energy, like water from a boiling kettle, spilled across James and seeped into his giddy smile.

“No,” the other woman said. Sage thought for a moment, penning the words into her small notebook, then started to mutter again. “If I’m to be appropriately mysterious and alluring, I’m going to have to be there before you.”
“You don’t need to be mysterious or alluring with me.”

Sage smiled, then kept writing. “But what if I want to?” Sage waved her fingers and the smile on the other woman’s face deepened. After a moment of consideration, Sage added a lip bite. Would that look good with black lipstick? Sage furrowed her brow. Had she given the other woman the black lipstick or the red today? No matter.

“Consider me convinced. But what if I get there before you? Do I become the mysterious, alluring one?”

The other woman laughed. “Trust me,” Sage muttered. “You won’t beat me there.”

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