By Sea Page 2

  Alejandro’s shoulders dropped a little, in relief, Charlie supposed. It had to be hard to be a parent or guardian these days.

  The man frowned then, and jerked his head toward the gaming tables near the back.

  “Those guys in here a lot?” he asked, dropping his voice.

  “Lately,” Charlie said.

  “They give you any trouble?”

  “Not yet. And if they do, I’ll make sure they don’t come back.”

  Alejandro shook his head. “Sorry. Maybe it’s prejudice, but I just have trouble trusting men who look that way.”

  Charlie didn’t blame him, not with the recent racist knife attacks on the MAX train, and some houseless people getting beaten up at night. Reports were always young white men, clean-cut.

  Never caught.

  The two men shared a look, before Alejandro nodded, seemingly satisfied for now.

  “Joe, you want to ask your uncle if you can get that ogre?”

  He left them discussing the miniatures and paints, Joe’s voice rising with excitement over the colors he just had to have.

  Charlie glanced toward the back. One of the men’s eyes flicked from Alejandro to Charlie.

  Then he smiled. As if he and Charlie were part of some secret club. Just like his father’s friends.

  And Charlie didn’t like that smile at all.

  3

  Raquel

  It was Cassiel’s day off, and Laurel was filling in, making cappuccino and lattes as Raquel started cleaning up the kitchen area. She was a rail-thin woman who loved neo-hippie clothing. Today’s outfit consisted of brown leggings, soft brown boots, and a tight T-shirt tunic, patterned with a mandala. Her heavy hair pulled back in a moss-green scarf.

  It was a couple hours before closing time. The lunch rush was over, and only a few people were left in the shop, mostly those who used the place as their office.

  Ibeyi sang, voices blending over Latin rhythms. Raquel’s hips twitched a little, unable to resist moving in time to the groove.

  Zion did homework at one of the booths against the wall, backpack on the floor next to him. One hand gripped his natural, and the other was fisted around a pen. He concentrated hard, her boy. She loved that about him. He was so sunny, but so intense as well.

  She still wished she knew what was bugging him so badly. The whole ride home from the ocean, she’d been waiting for him to spill, but he only wanted to talk about some new game that had come into the shop down the street from the café, and how excited his friends were about it.

  Raquel put lids on the chopped onions and pickles, getting them ready to go back in the huge refrigerator in the break room. The cheeses were already wrapped up and ready to go.

  She was grateful to Kelsey, the former owner of the café, for organizing the small kitchen space so well.

  Raquel washed her hands for the twenty-fifth time, and felt a rush of a breeze and heard voices. Turning as she dried her hands, she saw what looked like a father and son, a white man and a boy who looked an awful lot like him. They both had ruddy cheeks and pale brown hair. She turned back to her work. Laurel would help them.

  “Hey!” She heard Zion’s voice and her head snapped around again.

  The white boy stood near Zion, and the contents of Zion’s pack had spilled out on the floor. She never could get the boy to zip that pack up.

  Instead of bending to pick up the spilled pencils and Zion’s phone, the white boy stood, feet apart, hands clenched in fists.

  What in Goddess’s name?

  She came out from behind the counter.

  “Excuse me?”

  The white boy didn’t turn, but his father did.

  “May I help you?” he asked her.

  She looked up. His face was benign. Oh so reasonable looking. But Raquel also noticed he was blocking her way.

  “I’m wondering if your son is going to apologize for kicking my son’s backpack.”

  The man ignored her.

  “Jeremy!” the man said.

  The boy’s head whipped around.

  “Apologize to that boy. I’m sure you didn’t mean to kick his bag. Right?”

  The boy and his father exchanged a look. The boy gave a sharp shrug and turned to Zion, who was crouched on the ground, pencils in hand, looking up at Raquel with fear in his eyes.

  Blood roared in Raquel’s ears and she shoved her way around the white man to stand by her son. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited, taking in long, careful breaths to slow the angry shaking that was her body’s response to not being able to punch something.

  “Sorry,” the boy mumbled.

  “What was that?” Raquel asked. She took another breath, making certain to expand her stomach muscles and engage her diaphragm. Spiritual centering practice 101, just like she taught her students.

  The boy shot her a look that was designed to intimidate. She wondered where he had learned that from. Her eyes darted to his father. Yep. Same angry, authoritative look.

  Masters of the Universe hated it when the help talked back. Well. They could just deal.

  Raquel gave the shields embedded in her aura a quick boost, and stood taller in her boots. A little glamour never hurt.

  A flash of uncertainty crossed the boy’s face, just as his father nudged his shoulder.

  “I’m sorry,” the boy said.

  “Zion?” she asked.

  “Okay,” her son said, then went back to picking up his scattered school supplies.

  Raquel pasted a large, fake smile on her face. “Why don’t you help Zion to pick up his things, while I take your father’s order?”

  Yep. Two could play the authority game.

  “That’s okay, Mom,” Zion mumbled.

  “Oh no, I’m sure Jeremy will be happy to help. Won’t you, Jeremy?” she said, not taking her eyes off of his father.

  Enough people were tuned into the situation—including Thomas, who kept watch from behind the counter—that the man would either have to double down or relent. Raquel held his gaze, still smiling. His mouth twisted in a grimace, but his shoulders relaxed enough to signal to her that he was going to relent. Good.

  “Help the boy, Jeremy,” he said.

  Raquel nodded, then moved past him again, and walked toward the counter.

  Laurel’s eyes were huge, but she still looked ready to act if Raquel needed backup. That was good. They rarely had trouble in the café, but it was nice to know her employees were on top of it, and willing to step forward should the situation require it.

  “Thanks, Laurel, I’ll take care of this.”

  Laurel nodded, grabbed a rag, and went to wipe down one of the booths that had emptied out before this all began.

  “What can I get you?”

  “Black coffee and an apple juice. To go.” He spat the words out as though under sufferance. As though he wanted to wrap his well-manicured fingers around her Black neck.

  “Coming right up!” she said brightly, then turned to pump a steaming stream of oil-colored coffee into a paper go cup. Asshole.

  Jeremy came up behind him as she set the cup on the counter. She looked past the father and son to make sure Zion was all right. He was. He had moved his backpack to the booth bench, and tapped a pencil on the tabletop. His face looked pinched.

  His books were still opened on the table, but he was staring at the man and his son.

  Yeah. Expecting him to get back to homework with these predators still in the café was asking too much. Raquel turned to get a juice from the small fridge under the food prep counter.

  “I thought we were getting food,” Jeremy whined. “I’m hungry.”

  “Later, Jeremy!” his father said.

  The implications were clear. They weren’t staying in Raquel’s café one moment longer than necessary. Fine with Raquel. She didn’t want their money anyway.

  She thunked the glass apple juice bottle down next to the coffee and slid a plastic lid next to it.

  The man reached toward his pocke
t, going for his wallet.

  “On the house,” she said, waving her hand at him. She just wanted them out of there. And most of all, she did not want to touch this man’s hands when she passed his change back to him.

  He gave a curt nod, shoved the juice at his son’s hands, popped the lid onto his coffee cup, and spun on his heel.

  He nudged the boy forward, a little too hard, toward the café door.

  There was some scuffling as they opened it and moved through, but Raquel had no time to attend to that. She rushed toward Zion’s booth and slid in the other side, leaning toward him, voice low.

  “You mind telling me what in Goddess’s name that was all about?”

  Face down, Zion cheated his eyes up toward her, then looked at the tabletop again.

  “Zion? Look at me, please.” She made her voice as gentle as possible. “That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

  Zion shook his head, face drawn. Not her sunny boy. Gods. Fury and the wish to hold her precious son close warred inside her.

  “Has this been happening at school? Is that what’s been wrong with you lately? The thing you keep not telling me about?”

  “Can’t we just drop it, Mom?”

  She grabbed onto his arm with her left hand, and with her right, tilted his chin up, forcing him to look into her eyes.

  She heard the door open, but didn’t look up to see who was entering. She dropped her hand from his chin and sighed.

  “No. We can’t just drop it. It’s my job to protect you, Zion. And I can’t help do that if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

  “There isn’t anything you can do, okay?”

  “Zion, there is always something we can do! But we have to face the situation first. Isn’t that what I’ve always told you?”

  That wasn’t one-hundred-percent true, but he would learn that soon enough. For now, she needed him to believe. To believe in his power. To believe in himself.

  Just like she was supposed to.

  Zion looked down at the table again, and nodded. Goddess, he looked so miserable. Her heart broke in half.

  Who the hell was doing this to her baby boy? And why?

  4

  Charlie

  It was another truly gorgeous Portland day: blue sky, sunshine, people out on the sidewalk, laughing, taking advantage of the break in the rain.

  “You cool with Raquel’s for lunch?” Hai asked. Hai was a friend and colleague both. A cool-looking guy with tattoos down his arms and a spiky brush of shining black hair, he ran a games and comic book store in northeast Portland.

  “Sounds good to me,” Charlie responded. Raquel’s made the best sandwiches in the neighborhood, but he tried not to go there too often because if he had to admit it to himself, he’d developed a little thing for Raquel. He’d never said anything, because he figured everyone had a little thing for Raquel. Besides, she was so busy all the time. He knew she had a kid, Zion. He’d started coming around Owlbear lately. Charlie never saw a dad around, though, not that that meant anything.

  As they approached the café, he could see people inside through the windows. He was about to reach for the door when it burst open and a white man shepherded his son out with a little shove.

  “Why’d you do that?” the man said.

  “He’s a big dork. Everyone hates him,” the kid replied. His face was petulant, the corners of his mouth turned down.

  Charlie watched as the man’s fingers gripped the kid’s shoulder, a little too hard. The kid winced, then set his face into a mask.

  “Never in public.” The man practically spat out the words.

  Charlie looked down at the kid. The kid looked up, then down again, his pale cheeks flushing with shame at being caught out. The dad cut his eyes at Charlie, dismissed him as no threat, and looked back down the boy.

  “How many times do I have to tell you…”

  “Hey kid?” Charlie asked. The man’s and the boy’s heads both snapped towards him, startled to be interrupted. “You like games? I run the shop down the street. We have gaming every afternoon and you’re always welcome to come.”

  Charlie held out a small, postcard-sized flyer with Owlbear’s information on it. The kid started to reach for it, but the father’s hand intercepted it, snapping it out of Charlie’s hand.

  “Thanks man,” he said with a stern nod. “Let’s go, Jeremy.” He gave the boy another little shove and they walked off down the sidewalk. The kid’s shoulders were hunched up around his ears. The father walked, stiff as a board, beside him.

  Charlie shook his head, then turned to Hai. “I hate dudes like that.”

  Hai nodded, lips tight. “I do too, man. But some parents are assholes, we all know that. Or maybe they’re just strict, I don’t know.”

  Charlie sighed and opened the door, waiting for Hai to walk through. He knew strict; that hadn’t looked like strict. As they walked in, he saw Raquel sitting at a booth with Zion, intent on their conversation. Looked serious. So they walked to the counter and place their order with Laurel, who looked mildly rattled, though she offered them a huge smile. Once they were settled, Charlie broached the subject.

  “So, there’s kind of no beating around the bush with this…”

  “But you’re going to anyway, ha?” Hai gave him a little smile and took a big drink of his cappuccino, foam dotting his dark upper lip. Charlie motioned to his face, and Hai picked up a napkin and swiped.

  Charlie took a sip of his own coffee. Black, just the way he liked it. Though his stomach was starting to complain about that. He figured he’d have to start adding milk or something pretty soon.

  He set down the red ceramic cup again. “Is your shop having trouble with Nazis?”

  “You mean like the Gamer Gate dudes?”

  “Yeah… Them, but tabletop players, too. Or any of the fascist dudes. You know, the ones that love the fake Spartan history graphic novels.”

  Hai sat back in his chair, and looked off towards the windows. Charlie tried to tune out the sounds in the café. Some women with French accents sang over a rolling Latin beat, the sound coming from the small speakers set in the corners of the room. There was the quiet hum of conversations, the hiss of the milk steamer, and the clatter of computer keys. He tried to focus on Hai’s face. So he wouldn’t get distracted.

  Hai finally looked back. Then he tapped his lips with one narrow finger. Charlie’s gaze was caught by the slim gold band of Hai’s wedding ring. Finally, his friend spoke.

  “There’s nothing exactly, not that I can prove…. But there is a group I’ve been watching. They been coming in about once a week for the last, oh, I don’t know, six months?”

  “White guys? Intense haircuts?”

  Hai nodded. “But who isn’t dealing with them right now? It’s like every white asshole has crawled out from beneath a rock lately.”

  “Well, shit. I was hoping it was just my shop. And beyond that, I was actually hoping I was just being paranoid and stupid. And there’s something else.”

  Charlie slide a white index card across the table. He had carefully written down some symbols on it. Symbols he didn’t understand.

  “Someone has been scrawling these on our bathroom walls, and on the poles outside the shop. Do they look familiar?”

  Hai frowned, then shook his head. “Not really. I mean, they’re runes, I know that much. But I can’t tell you what they mean or anything. Norse.”

  “So, more white nationalist stuff.”

  “Damn those guys, anyway.”

  Laurel set their grilled panini sandwiches down on the table. Both men nodded their thanks and settled in to eat. Charlie knew that this was Hai’s way of processing. He always needed to let the wheels turn in silence, kind of the opposite of Charlie. Charlie had learned to wait.

  He and Hai been friends for a long time. Even though folks thought they should be rivals, they’ve never been anything but friends. Hai was just decent people, and a smart businessman to boot. Charlie had learned a lot from him ab
out how to run Owlbear. They’d started working on plans for a citywide Geek Week for the coming fall. Half a sandwich in, Hai wiped his mouth, cleared his throat, and looked up.

  “I think with everything else going on, we need to take this seriously. We need to ask all the gaming and comics shops if they’re having trouble, and we need to figure out what to do.”

  Charlie slumped with relief. “I hate that you’re confirming this is true. But on the other hand? I’m glad you’re up for this. Thanks, man.”

  Hai held out a hand and turned it upside down and back again, showing off one slim, tattooed arm that was nevertheless several shades darker than Charlie’s own.

  “My grandparents are from China, man. You think those dudes you’re talking about like me? The only reason they come to my shop is that I’m the only place in the neighborhood. But I have no illusions, man. Once they get through the Blacks, the Jews, and the immigrants from Guatemala and Mexico, I’m pretty sure my family is up next.”

  Then Hai picked up the other half of his sandwich and crunched through the grilled bread into the ham and spinach and cheese.

  Damn. Charlie shoved his plate away. His stomach felt too tight to eat all of a sudden.

  “So what are we gonna do?”

  “We’ll figure it out, man. And then we’ll kick some Nazi ass.”

  5

  Raquel

  Raquel slammed through the kitchen like an avenging Fury. She had planned to cook chicken for dinner, but was too angry to do more than fill a pot with water and bang it onto the stove, then turn on the gas and crash a lid down on top.

  Pasta sauce from a jar would have to do. She did add onion, garlic, rosemary, and some spices to the pan, and chopped up a couple of chicken sausages to add to the mix, but she sure as hell wasn’t doing elaborate cooking tonight. Not that she ever had much energy for it on work evenings, but still. She tried to avoid relying on the single parent stock-in-trade too often.