I thought of taking a quick minute to call them now, but there was no time. The bikers were pouring in and roaring for menus and seats. I had to leap into action and hope everything would be all right.
Of course, if I had been my old, plain self, I probably wouldn’t have worried. I mean, a packed house with no other help would have been hard, but I could have managed it. But now I had to worry about fascinating someone by accident and who knew what might happen then?
I kept my head down, trying to hide my face as much as possible, as I sat the burly men in our red vinyl booths and handed out menus as fast as I could. Then I ran around taking orders, always keeping my gaze firmly on my order pad, and never making eye-contact with anyone, hoping that would help.
For a time, everything seemed to be all right. The bikers were loud and rowdy but they seemed to be in a good mood and since Joey was too busy fixing the orders I passed him to stare at me, he was doing a pretty good job with the cooking too. It helped that the I Scream diner didn’t exactly have a very lengthy menu. If you didn’t want a burger, fries, chili, a milkshake, or “the World’s Best Cuban Sandwich” as our menu proudly bragged, you were out of luck.
Luckily, none of the bikers turned out to be vegetarian (big surprise) and nobody tried to make any special orders. So for about an hour it was just solid work and the tips weren’t bad either. I mean, they weren’t as good as I needed them to be, but in my mind, I was wondering if I could somehow bargain with Groperson. I could tell him I could get him that last two or three hundred dollars by the next week—surely he’d be willing to wait and not kick my mom out—right?
I was really hoping so.
But then things started going downhill—and they went fast.
It started when I was giving a big biker back his change and instead of taking the bills I was handing him, he grabbed my wrist instead.
“Well, aren’t you a pretty little thing?” he said. He had a heavy black beard and two full sleeve tattoos on his muscular, bare arms. But it wasn’t how he looked that bothered me—it was the fact that he was currently holding me hostage in the middle of the diner.
“Please let me go, Sir,” I said, keeping my voice low and my eyes down. I didn’t need this right now, I was thinking. I so didn’t need this right now! Things had been going so well—why couldn’t people just leave me alone?
The biker ignored my request. Instead, he lifted my chin with his other hand—the one that wasn’t currently grabbing my wrist and keeping me from getting away from his table—so he could stare right into my face.
“Not just pretty—she’s fuckin’ gorgeous,” the man across from him said crudely. He was also staring at my face. “Hell, a girl like that don’t belong in no hole in the wall diner like this—she belongs on the back of my bike!”
“Back off, Grimes,” the first man—who still had me firmly by the wrist—growled. “I saw her first, didn’t I? It’s my bike she’ll be riding on.”
“I’m not riding on anyone’s bike!” I said, trying to speak up for myself. “I’m not even eighteen yet so leave me alone!”
I yanked hard against the first man’s grip but he was a big guy and until he let go of me, I wasn’t going anywhere.
Still, I tried. I felt like I was in a nightmare—all week long this kind of thing had been happening to me at school but at least there, Bran or Lachlan was always there to back me up. Now I was out in the real world and there was nobody to stop these huge bikers from fighting over me—or to stop the winner of the altercation from abducting me.
I was so screwed.
I thought about doing some kind of magic but I still didn’t know how. Despite Lachlan and Bran’s claim that I had awesome magical powers, I still had no idea how Fae magic worked or how to do it. The one spell I had apparently inadvertently worked—changing the cigarette butts into a gold coin—had backfired on me. And besides, I didn’t think even a shiny gold magical coin could distract the bikers who were fighting over me like a couple of stray mongrels fighting over an especially juicy steak bone.
“Let me go!” I said again, tugging on my imprisoned arm.
“Yes, let the lady go,” a cool voice said in my ear.
I turned and saw—with vast relief—that Bran and Lachlan were standing right behind me. Bran was glaring at the bikers with murder in his storm-blue eyes and his hands were curled into fists at his sides. It was Lachlan who was speaking and were his emerald eyes glowing a little bit? I wasn’t sure, but it seemed like they were.