“Aye, Ben. How long do you think we’ll be waiting, then?” Felicity asked aloud, her voice thankfully snatching my attention away from the place I’d been heading.

There had not yet been enough time for me to redeem myself, and I was still firmly entrenched on her bad side. She hadn’t spoken directly to me since my offhanded comment over half an hour ago, and it wasn’t looking like she intended to change that any time soon.

I looked over and focused on her. She was seated in a chair across from us, her leather jacket unzipped and revealing the stylized logo of a previous year’s Kansas City Pagan Festival that adorned the front of her sweatshirt. Her legs were crossed, and one foot was bobbing in time with music only she could hear.

I absently pondered the wisdom of the logo on her shirt being visible, given the current situation. For the first time in years, I was actually considering not being quite so open about my spirituality. Of course, once you’ve taken as many steps out of the broom closet as we had, getting back in was almost impossible, so the idea was moot. Still, calling attention to it might not be the best course.

She looked up from her wristwatch and gazed toward Ben with an expectant expression that barely masked the fatigue showing in her face. “It’s been almost twenty minutes now.”

He pushed away from the counter then looked out the doors and through the glassed-in foyer. “Who knows? Bee-Bee probably wants Row to stew long enough to do somethin’ stupid.”

“Like he hasn’t already?” she volunteered.

“Yeah, well I’m talkin’ stupid enough to give her a reason to arrest ‘im.”

“Hey!” I declared. “I’m standing right here you know.”

Ben looked at me. “Yeah, and?”

“Yeah, and, you two seem to have a bad habit of talking about me like I’m not here, that’s what. You do it all the time.”

“Not all the time. Just when it’s for your own good.”