Firefly

Harper opened the door to the coffee shop. The air that hit both of them was warm, pleasant with the smell of roasted coffee beans and vanilla.

“Ladies first,” she said, taking Lucciola's hand in hers and leading her through.

“Such a gentleman,” Lucciola approved. Harper nodded.

“Always my fair lady. I'll get the drinks, you get the table?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Harper grinned, winked, and was gone. The door clattered noisily behind her as she dropped it.

Their usual spot wasn't taken. It was smack dab in the center of the picture window, overlooking a beautiful garden full of orange blossoms and black eyed susans. It was the perfect table-warm and sunny during the afternoon, dark and out of the way at night, when the two of them were tired and didn't feel like socializing.

“Saved it just for you!” the boy behind the counter shouted to Lucciola. He was cute, tanned with pecan colored hair and freckles on his nose. He winked at her. “VIP, just for you gals!” Harper turned her head to roll her eyes.

“Ignore him. He's just flirting with you!”

“And if I am?”

“Then do something useful like paying for our drinks.”

Lucciola ignored them. The real reason their seat was never taken had nothing to do with VIPs . It was simple. The garden was a graveyard.

It was the coffee shop's quirk to fame. Only a handful of regulars were in on the secret. Of course, rumors had spread. It had been getting more crowded lately, tourists hoping for a view of a hand sticking out among the hydrangeas, not that they really believed it was true. It was true, something sad and beautiful all at once that made looking out at the flowers spectacular. There were no marked graves. Each pot, each bed of flowers, was a grave, each flower nourished by a body. It was how the shop had gotten its name: The Garden of Eden.

Someone was staring at her.

Lucciola could see him out of the corner of her eye: a man sitting at the far table, half hidden in shadow. His presence irked her. Quickly, she turned her head to where Harper was, hoping to catch her eye, but she was flirting mercilessly with the freckled barista boy.

The picture window rattled like teeth.

Lucciola's eyes flickered back to the man. He was odd looking, with hair the color of old bones, long enough to hide his eyes in front but cropped short in back. Feathery almost. Like a bird. He had eyes like a hawk.

They were beautiful...like jewels...like topaz and rubies......

A foam coffee cup slammed down in front of her face.

“I say peaches,” Harper said, throwing herself down in the seat across from her. Lucciola blinked. A weird sensation crawled across her skin. She couldn't remember what she had been doing a second ago.
“Hello? Anyone in there?” Harper asked. “Yo cappuccino, no sugar. Did you hear me?”

“What about peaches?” Lucciola asked. She took the coffee. The warmth it radiated on the inside of her palms steadied her. She took a drink, felt steadied for sure.

“My flowers, ballerina. When I die? The ones I want them to bury me under in that garden right over there.” She pointed out the window to the darkened garden. “I want peaches.”

“Because you're an egomaniac and need to be the biggest, tallest thing out there?”

“No. Because they're cute and fuzzy. Just. Like. Me.” Harper threw her feet up on the table, rocking her chair back on its hind legs. She winked at Lucciola. “Don't you agree?”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Lucciola replied. She glanced over at the man's table, but he wasn't staring at her anymore. He seemed preoccupied with a scone sitting in front of him, which he was tearing to pieces between his fingers.

“What are you looking at?” Harper asked, craning her neck to look in the same direction. “Old dude with a biscuit? Boring. Tell me ballerina, what flower would you pick then?”

“Roses,” Lucciola said, turning back to Harper again. She blinked, resolving herself to stay focused this time and ignore the man in the corner. Harper snorted.

“Cliche much?” she asked, rolling her eyes. She plucked the straw from her coffee, licking the whipped cream off the tip. “What's so great about roses?”

“Everybody likes roses.”

“Touche, mademoiselle.”

***

Aries watched the two of them, laughing and flirting, flicking whipped cream and packets of butter at one another. The fact that she had noticed him was not all that disturbing; if he wanted to be invisible, he would be. What was disturbing was that when she had looked into his eyes, she had been capable of looking away. He focused on his scone, pretending not to notice her.

Old dude with a biscuit. Her friend was lucky he didn't have time for her. He kept an ear out, listening to their babble and smelling the sugar in their coffee, but he didn't try to make eye contact with Lucciola again.

Eventually he heard the scrape of their chairs as they stood from the table.

“Jeremy, darling, the coffee was amazing as usual!” the blonde one called to the boy at the counter, fluttering her fingers.

“Glad you liked it!” he called back, a little flustered from the attention.

“I'd like it better if it was free!” she responded. “Come on ballerina. I'm out.” They walked to the door, still laughing, the blonde one still chewing on the lip of her foam cup. As they walked out the door, Lucciola looked behind her, catching his eye. The connection, as it had briefly before, sparked again. He could feel it, unable to look away from her or her from him. It was the same irresistible, hypnotic call of her life that he felt with the other girls.

Let me go.....

The call that made them stir inside of him, reminded briefly that they had once been alive as well.
The bell rang as the door closed behind them, and Lucciola was gone.

“Sir, will you be needing anything else?” the boy at the counter asked him. “Is your scone alright?” Aries threw him a polite smile.

“It was delicious. I should be on my way now,” he said, and followed Lucciola.

***

“All that caffeine's got me wound up. You wanna go party?” Harper asked. She spun towards Lucciola, grinding up against her. “I know a good place downtown. Cute guys, cheap drinks.”

“We have rehearsal tomorrow,” Lucciola reminded her, stopping on the sidewalk. They'd left The Garden of Eden far behind by now, and were standing at the corner of an empty intersection. This is where they would part; Harper lived uptown with her parents, in a gated community. Lucciola lived in the opposite direction, in a tiny apartment with no air conditioning and a busted dead bolt.

“Yeah, yeah. Right as usual.” Harper leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. “I'll see you too early tomorrow morning, ballerina!” She took a second to light up another cigarette, tilted her head back, and blew the smoke up into the air.

“I thought you said you were done with those things,” Lucciola said, raising an eyebrow. She pulled her jacket tighter around her; it was starting to get cold.

“Tomorrow,” Harper promised. She winked, and took off across the street, her heels clicking against the ground. Lucciola watched her go till her blonde hair disappeared, then steeled herself and turned right towards home.

Lucciola loved the night. Now that she was alone she could revel in it, feel the chilly night air on her bare legs, hear the moths fluttering in the street lights, their tiny shadows jumping across the sidewalk. She lifted her arms, pointed her toes, and began to dance.

It was almost like time stopped around her. When she spun, the world spun with her, the lights followed her across the street, the moths gathered around her ears. She arabesqued, and then lowering her outstretched arm, slowly fell into a penchee, until her body was parallel with the ground and one foot pointed straight towards the sky. Her arms moved and fluttered with the moths. Lucciola turned her head towards the alley behind her. It warped out of proportion, twisting one way, spilling out into the street like the bricks it was made of had melted. The darkness in it reached towards her, taking her by the waist.

Then the man pulled her into the alley, clapping his hand down over her mouth before she could scream.