I’m holding what might be the worst cup of coffee ever brewed. But since it’s the warmest thing I’ve encountered in the last ten hours, I’m grateful. The sprites dip and dive in the steam rising from the coffee’s surface. They shudder, and the steam breaks apart. The heat of it doesn’t reach my face, but then, neither does the aroma. This makes it easier to drink.
“If you’re ever in Springside,” I tell the sprites, “I’ll brew you some Kona blend.”
They whirl around my head before shooting off into the crowd that’s gathering by the exhibition hall doors. They will cause trouble today, I’m certain. But with them gone, I’m free to sip the coffee, warm my bones, and scan the area for Malcolm.
And if I see him?
I take another sip of coffee and burn my tongue.
Even though I spent the night
