Red Foxes, Part One

The final revision for my portfolio of my short story Red Foxes, part one. While it was written as fiction, I'm quite tempted to make it fantasy.

It was the charm that brought her into the little tea and drink shop, a small jade charm that twisted and turned in the breeze, the scarlet string striking as the ends fluttered about. It was a protection charm, a charm to ward off evil and bad intent, or so her waiter had explained as he brought her the coffee she had requested. It was the charm, she so hoped, that would keep them at bay and deny them entry, the foxes. Those many, many red foxes.

The herbal scents of the Jade Dragon hung in the air merrily, spicy and sweet, fruit and cinnamon. There were at least fifty teas listed on the aged wooden ordering board, ranging from Earl Gray, to Chai, to Passion Fruit. The lantern lights hung high and low, soft and colorful, spotlighting the scenic artwork on the red painted walls. Red melted into black furniture worn with use, low tables and even lower chairs covered in fancy Asian-looking seat cushions. The more daring people could choose a floor table and sit on the ground in the traditional style.  It was only two in the afternoon, but every table and chair was occupied, the furniture creaking and groaning when it was shifted in. The customers spilled out into the streets to the hot tables outside in the sun, a brisk breeze every now and then threatening to topple the elegant umbrellas that shaded them. Faint oriental music played, intermingling with the tea scent and light chatter, relaxing and soothing as much as it engaged the pulse and mind.

                Closing her eyes, Quinn hung her head over the freshly poured coffee.  It enveloped her for a moment in a haze of a dark nutty and slightly sweet caramel smell. If she inhaled through her mouth, she was sure that she could have tasted the hints of cherry in the coffee through the vapors and scent.  She let the words of the conversations around her seep into her mind to mingle with the smell.

                “Mommy, please? Please please?”

                “And that’s when I told him to get out of the house or I was going to call the police.”

                “And what do you expect me to do about that Harold?”

                “Did he leave you alone, Charlene?”

                “No dear, you can’t see him today. On the weekend he’ll pick you up.”

Her fingers reflexively began to stroke the sunset-colored scarf around her neck, fingers dipping into the folds of the silk garment as she played with the end of it, passing it between her fingers. Her mother had worn this scarf going Easter shopping, those many years ago. Her mother had let her eat ice cream in the food court. Quinn was happy, her mother had suddenly gotten pensive. A young couple was arguing at a nearby table, a baby in a rocker crying, the young mother obviously pregnant with another. It was the first time her mother had spoken of the foxes, as she stared at the arguing couple. It was the first time Quinn really understood something wasn’t right. How long did she have before she saw the critters again? Would they find their way here, in this seemingly peaceful place? The conglomeration of voices stayed at a low din, various pieces of conversations floating in and out of her hearing.

“Why can’t you ever be reasonable?”

                It was the older man’s voice, most likely the ‘Harold’ mentioned earlier. She watched them quietly, automatically adding a packet of sugar and a small amount of cream that had appeared on her table into her coffee. He was leaning away from the woman he sat across from, she leaning forward, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn together, nails clicking on the arm of her chair, then stopping as she gripped the chair handles. The man sighed, releasing tension into the air. He looked around, relaxing slightly as the waiter came over to give them their meal and refill their glasses.  A disturbance of the table cloth of the table two spaces over caught her eyes, dragging her attention away from the quarrelling couple, who had paused to put on a poorly acted façade of decency. A flash of red disappeared under the table, a single paw slowly disappearing. They’d come.

                Her throat grew suddenly dry, and she violently pushed her cup away from her, now looking around the little café for more signs of red. A furry face rested underneath the chair of the little girl who was crying, paws visible by the mother as a nose peeked over the top to sniff her plate. A group of the little foxes had begun to play by the group of women as their voices rose in obvious strife, dealing with another topic of social problems. Frozen, she watched as more of the red foxes began to appear in the café, a few jumping on the empty tables, one stalking the waiter with a devious glint in his eye. They had followed her here, and completely invaded the place, silent motion that never ceased. Their beady eyes scrutinized her, daring her to speak, knowing she wouldn’t.

                “Leave me alone,” she whispered voice scratchy, “I’m not her. I’m not her.”

                The foxes gave no indication that they cared or heard, continuing on with their devious play. Anger surged through her, spiked by fear and fueled by frustration. She scooted back out of her chair loudly, grabbed her duffel bag and backpack and ran. Her waiter called after her, no doubt trying to ensure she was going to pay, and she flicked her hand towards the table where the money rested on the corner, undisturbed next to the mug of coffee, a puddle having formed underneath where it had slopped out over the sides. The door shut with a falsely merry jingle of the bell, and a groaning of the hinges that spoke of what lay inside more than the cheerful sign swinging outside above the door.

Author's Note

Any/all critique/help is loved.