Chapter 29: Coffee With a Witch
Adalind was already seated when Cole arrived.
The coffee shop occupied a corner space in the Pearl District—all exposed brick and reclaimed wood, the kind of aesthetic that screamed expensive taste without saying it directly. Adalind sat in a corner booth with a clear view of the entrance, positioned like someone who'd learned to watch for threats without thinking about it.
She wore a cream-colored sweater that probably cost more than Cole's monthly rent and smiled when she saw him—a real smile, not the professional mask she wore in public.
"You're on time. I appreciate punctuality."
"You mentioned." Cole slid into the booth across from her. "I ordered your regular on the way in. The barista knows you."
Adalind's eyebrows rose. "You remembered my order from the nightclub?"
"I remember things."
"Apparently." She studied him with renewed interest. "That's either very flattering or very concerning. I haven't decided which."
"Take your time."
The barista delivered their drinks—a half-caf oat milk latte for Adalind, a double espresso for Cole—and left them alone in their corner booth. The Saturday afternoon crowd provided background noise without intruding.
"So," Adalind said, wrapping her hands around her cup, "what kind of PI takes cases at Wesen nightclubs? That's not exactly standard private investigator territory."
She's fishing. She wants to know what I know about the supernatural world.
"The kind who doesn't judge his clientele. Portland has a diverse population. Some of that population has... unusual circumstances."
"Unusual circumstances." She smiled again, sharper this time. "That's a diplomatic way to phrase it."
"Diplomacy is a professional requirement."
"Is it?" She sipped her latte, watching him over the rim. "I got the impression diplomacy wasn't your primary skill set. At the nightclub, you seemed more... direct."
She noticed how I confronted Jessica. She's been thinking about it.
"Direct has its place. But so does discretion."
"Mm." Adalind set down her cup. "You're very careful with your words, Cole. Every answer just vague enough to avoid commitment. Lawyer training?"
"Life experience."
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
They studied each other across the table—two predators circling, each trying to understand what the other was really after. The silence stretched, comfortable rather than awkward.
"You know what I am," Adalind said finally. It wasn't a question.
"I know you're dangerous. Beyond that, the details are your business."
"And what are you?"
A composite predator. A system-enhanced hunter. Something that shouldn't exist.
"Complicated."
She laughed—not the polite social sound, but something genuine. "You said that at the nightclub too. I'm starting to think it's not an answer at all."
"It's the only accurate one I can give."
"Because you don't trust me?"
"Because I don't trust anyone. Nothing personal."
Adalind nodded slowly, and something in her expression shifted. The probing edge softened into something more like recognition.
"That makes sense. This city isn't kind to people who trust easily."
She's not wrong. Portland's supernatural politics would eat the naive alive.
"What about you?" Cole asked. "You work for some powerful people. That requires a certain amount of calculated trust."
"Working for powerful people is different from trusting them." Adalind's smile turned bitter. "You do what's necessary to survive. You make yourself useful. And you never forget that useful can become expendable the moment circumstances change."
She's describing her relationship with Renard. With the Royals. With everyone who sees her as a tool rather than a person.
"That sounds exhausting."
"It is." She looked surprised by her own admission. "It really is."
The conversation shifted then—away from the careful probing and toward something more genuine. They talked about Portland, about ambition, about what it meant to build a life in a world that didn't care about your survival.
Adalind's mask slipped when she mentioned her mother. "Catherine has expectations. She always has. I spent my whole life trying to meet them, and I'm not sure I ever actually did."
"What kind of expectations?"
"The kind that don't leave room for failure. Or for wanting something different."
Catherine Schade. The woman who'll eventually push her daughter toward increasingly desperate choices. The weight that Adalind will carry until it breaks her.
"What would you want? If the expectations weren't there?"
Adalind considered the question longer than Cole expected. "I don't know. That's probably the problem. I've spent so long being what other people needed that I'm not sure what I'd choose for myself."
She's more self-aware than I expected. More vulnerable.
"That's not unusual. Most people never figure out what they actually want."
"What about you?"
Power. Safety. The ability to change things that should be changed. Revenge against a universe that killed me once already.
"I'm still working on it."
"Fair enough." She smiled, and it reached her eyes this time. "You're a good listener, Cole. That's rare."
"Professional requirement."
"No." She shook her head. "It's more than that. You actually pay attention. Most men I meet are too busy performing to notice anything about the person they're talking to."
She's comparing me to Renard. To the Royals. To everyone who sees her as a means to an end.
"I find you interesting," Cole said. "That tends to encourage attention."
"Interesting." She tested the word. "Not beautiful? Not useful? Just interesting?"
"Beautiful is obvious. Useful is transactional. Interesting is rarer."
Something flickered in her expression—surprise, maybe, or the kind of pleasure that came from being seen in an unexpected way.
"You're very strange, Cole Ashford."
"So I've been told."
They ordered dessert—chocolate cake, shared as Cole had suggested—and talked about nothing important until the afternoon light started to fade. When they finally stood to leave, Adalind touched his arm at the door.
"Next time, you pick the place."
"There's going to be a next time?"
"Oh, definitely." Her smile was warm and sharp in equal measure. "You're too interesting to let go after one conversation."
They left separately—her suggestion, maintaining the appearance of propriety. Cole watched her walk toward her BMW, moving with the confident grace of someone who'd learned to project strength even when she felt none.
She's dangerous. Connected to Renard. Working for people who would destroy me if they knew what I was.
But she was also lonely, intelligent, trapped in expectations she hadn't chosen.
Like me, in some ways. Playing a role while hiding what's underneath.
He drove toward Sarah Winters' last known address, shifting from one hunt to another with the ease of practice.
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