Love lost to the centuries…
Patrick’s role in this world: wait, survive, fight the forces of darkness. Tanaquil incarnates, joining him in those lives, those fights. And their love endures through the millennia. Two different ways of moving through history. Always together even after they must part.
But centuries have passed. Crawling by with no sign of her. And Patrick’s hope withers with each passing year. Perhaps she won’t return this time. Or maybe she’s avoiding him after their last fight.
The desolation chokes him as he stumbles into a strange café on a muggy summer afternoon. Finding even a moment of peace proves soothing for his soul. If he even has one left. With all the other otherworldly beings in the café, Patrick almost feels at home. Though without Tanaquil, he has no home.
Continuing his fight against the shadow ghouls might prove impossible if he’s lost her. Unless the café shows him how to hope again.
PATRICK AT THE CAFE is available to read for free until the 15th of November, when another story will be posted. For readers who would prefer to read on a device of preference, or who would like their own personal eBook of this story, you can find it here.
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Patrick at the Café
A Café Story
He’d been waiting for centuries. Still no sign of her. He’d very nearly given up at this point. She’d been gone too long this time. Whatever was happening, wherever she was, she seemed to be avoiding him. And there wasn’t much he could do about that. She was the one in control of her incarnations.
They’d fought, argued the last life. That was the problem. She was stubborn and just hadn’t forgiven him that argument. Even after all this time.
So Patrick carried on with his days, fighting the good fight, looking after the people he could look after. And maybe one day he’d earn her back. He supposed, after all this time, he hadn’t really forgiven himself either. Their last words being angry, harsh, bitter words haunted him. He’d been waiting to apologize as much as anything else. He swore to himself he’d never risk that sort of end again. But until she chose to return to his life, he couldn’t make his apologies or make amends. He could only continue to fight. And live for the day she deigned to return to him.
Except after all this time, he feared she wouldn’t ever return to him again. Maybe she was still incarnating and just avoiding him. Or maybe she’d chosen never to incarnate again. He had no way to be sure, no way to know.
He could only continue to wait, even without hope.
The summer day was hot, humid, and reminded him too much of that last argument, so he decided to duck inside somewhere public and air conditioned. That somewhere turned out to be a small café attached to an independent bookstore. Getting off the sticky sidewalk, where every person he passed seemed weighted down by the humidity and grumpy because of the heat, and into a cool, quiet interior space was relief enough. But the café smelling of rich roasted beans and sweet pastry helped.
His stomach grumbled and he wondered when he’d last eaten. He didn’t have to eat regularly. He didn’t have to do much of anything regularly. He survived no matter what. That was his curse and his reward. Though lately, more of a curse. He found comfort in food, though, and since he was deep into feeling sorry for himself already, a few pastries along with the coffee to buy a seat in the air conditioning sounded good.
The woman behind the counter smiled at him as he stepped up to order, the zing of her magic making the hair on his arms rise. A witch. With a giant gray Maine Coon familiar on a stood that was entirely too small for him next to the register. Walking into a café run by a witch to find sanctuary from the heat. There was some irony there.
She didn’t balk at serving him, though. Didn’t send him away. That was good. And when he turned back to the café to find a seat, he realized he wasn’t the only unique individual in the place. Diana, whom he hadn’t encountered in a very long time, sat flipping through a hunting magazine near the entrance leading into the bookstore. How funny to bump into one of the gods in a random café.
There was an older man at a table near the middle of the café, checking his watch and twisting his coffee mug. He looked…vaguely familiar but Patrick wasn’t sure where he might have seen the man before. There was a sense of déjà vu about him, though. Which was odd. But then Patrick did have déjà vu frequently, thanks to living so many millennia. Things, and people, had a way of cycling through his life regularly.
An ordinary human sat at the back typing rapidly on a laptop. A youngish vampire tucked into a corner reading. There were a few humans scattered around the wooden tables in the center of the café. And a group of teenage humans sitting at the couch and cushioned chairs in the back. Was it a school day? What time was it? Patrick had no idea. Maybe school was out? Or maybe there was no school. Right. It was the middle of summer. The teenage humans probably didn’t have school at the moment.
Hard to keep track of these things when they rarely impacted his existence.
He sat at one of the cushioned chairs against the wall, midway between Diana and the vampire. The young vampire glanced up but then turned back to her book, not recognizing him as any sort of threat—which he wasn’t to her. Vampires were other people’s jobs. And Diana didn’t even deign to acknowledge him. Which was something he’d expect from a goddess. The man in the center of the café checking his watch constantly didn’t glance in Patrick’s direction either. Maybe they hadn’t encountered each other before and Patrick just thought he recognized him.
An older woman sitting a few tables away from the older man startled Patrick. He hadn’t noticed her at first which was both surprising and embarrassing. Also a poor reflection of Patrick’s state of mind. He hadn’t encountered her in a very long time either, and to be fair, she’d altered her look enough that he might have missed her if not for the aura of power around her. He had no idea what name she was currently using. And she didn’t look up or glance at him. But he recognized her energy. So unique, so old, he had no idea what she was and never had. She was currently drinking tea, reading a book of erotic poetry, and seemed content to ignore him same as Diana.
Fair enough. If he had a choice, he’d ignore himself too.
The quiet murmuring of voices, turning of pages, click of silverware and ceramic against wooden tables. A quiet track of instrumental music he barely needed to notice. The hiss of steam from the espresso machine. Conversation from the bookstore next door drifting in. The witch’s familiar stretched once, giving Patrick a look with his pale blue eyes, then circled the small stool, curling up into a fluffy gray ball, and closed his eyes. Obviously, like the witch, the witch’s familiar didn’t feel the need to chase Patrick out of the establishment.
A relief really. Sweat cooled along his spine, his sticky clothes damp in the almost cold air. The bright sunshine coating the sidewalk leaked through lowered window shades along most of the front of the café, enough to keep the interior bright, but not so much sunshine to blunt the effects of the air conditioning.
He understood why Diana and the other ancient one, and even the vampire, might come in here. There was a…neutrality to the place. A place of truces. Where beings who might even normally be enemies could sit in the same space without fighting. He’d come across a few places like this in his many years. They were always welcome.
After millennia of fighting evil, places of truce and peace were a balm to his very soul. If he still had a soul. He’d never been sure. And Tanaquil refused to tell him.
The coffee was deliciously dark and richly roasted. He tried to remember the last time he’d had a coffee that was quite this perfect. Not burnt and bitter but still dark. Not weak and watery. The witch behind the counter was truly a master at her craft. And if he didn’t know better, he’d think she used magic. But he would have tasted that in the coffee. There was none of the electrical flavor of magic there. Just ordinary, if delicious, coffee.
The pastries were the same. He’d selected two croissants and a chocolate muffin, all of which were good. He was a little spoiled on croissants, having spent the better part of the last hundred years in Paris—that was where he’d expected Tanaquil to rejoin him—so he didn’t often like the croissants he got outside of France. But these were flakey and buttery, with just a little stickiness to the outside and an interior bread that was airy and rich. He took his time with the croissants, and with the muffin. Food, while not necessary, was a treat. And the process of eating, of savoring his food, something he’d learned to do over the years. To remind himself that there were many good things in this world. Many reasons to keep fighting off the shadow ghouls.
Not proper ghouls of course. That’s just what they’d been calling them all this time. Others might refer to them as demons, or ghosts. They weren’t any of those things. He’d encountered a few defenders over the millennia who simply referred to them as the shadows. But Tanaquil had thought the word ghoul added a bit of derision to them, a way to combat fear and replace it with annoyance. There were always those few years of fear in the beginning. At each reincarnation, those years of re-learning how to combat the shadow ghouls and live in this world without blinders again.
Those were always…difficult years.
The bell over the door jingled, announcing a new costumer. Patrick watched the man walk into the café out of habit. But there was nothing much remarkable about him. Another human coming in to get a coffee to go. He had sweat dripping down his face, though, and that made Patrick grateful all over again for the air conditioning inside the small restaurant.
People wandered into the café from the bookstore as well. A small stream of mostly humans moving in and out. The teenagers left. The man who’d continued to check his watch, remained, as did the goddess and the ancient one, but the vampire eventually collected her books and wandered out through the bookstore. More people came in. Two women and a man with children young enough to be in strollers. A man in a business suit with his jacket over his arm. He seemed to know the witch and they spoke a while before he retreated to a seat near the front window. Several more humans passed through the bookstore into the café. Others from the café into the bookstore.
He was a people watcher of old and enjoyed the ordinary movements of life. Settling. Though it did always make him feel distant from those around him, he still found it soothing. Especially in the periods of time between Tanaquil’s incarnations.
Centuries this time. The longest he’d ever waited for her. Hope was a tricky, messy emotion and it cut as deeply as it healed. His hope had waned, a smaller and smaller spark over the last fifty years in particular. When it became clear she didn’t seem to want to return to him.
That was probably for the best but the tiny bit of hope he still carried sliced him in so many small ways he thought maybe, if he could die, he would soon from all those wounds.
But his curse and reward was life. Forever life. At least, the sort of time that felt like forever. Sometime out there in the distant future, he knew he’d earn his final death. But Tanaquil was supposed to be with him when that happened. If she wasn’t…
He didn’t contemplate that. Too distant to think about. Too horrible to imagine.
The last centuries without her were bad enough.
The man who’d been checking his watch regularly, who’d created a sense of déjà vu for Patrick, stood from his table abruptly, the move scraping his wooden chair over the wooden floor. Everyone in the café looked up at him, including the ancient one, who frowned. But the man’s attention was on the bookstore entrance. He started toward the bookstore as if suddenly in a hurry, bumping into several tables on his way and earning some sharp looks and one rebuke, which he didn’t seem to notice.
He reached the archway between the bookstore and the café just as a woman walked through, a man trailing behind her. The watch-watcher bumped hard into the man, a collision of bodies that sent them both sprawling onto the floor.
The woman glanced back, concerned and went to help them, but the watch-watcher waved her away. She blinked, gave her head a little shake, and continued to the counter. Where the witch was watching the incident with narrowed eyes.
Patrick had trouble focusing on the fallen men, though. Because the woman who’d just come into the café from the bookstore had his full attention.
She was tall, though for this era not as tall as some, with dark brown hair cut in a short style that spiked around her heart-shaped face. Brown eyes, pale skin with a line of freckles over her nose. Wearing pink shorts and a white t-shirt with a logo on it that he didn’t catch, flat sandals. Her only jewelry, a pair of small diamonds in her earlobes. Of an age that was hard to judge at a glance, but he’d say early to mid-thirties. Pretty in a way that required a second look, with a settled sort of confidence in the way she moved.
Outwardly, nothing like the last time he’d seen her. And yet…
He thought he might be hallucinating from the heat—despite the air conditioning—or the centuries had finally caught up to him and he was growing addled. Maybe he was imagining her because so much time had passed. Because he’d been thinking about her a lot lately. He could simply be seeing her in any number of women falsely.
But he never did that. He always knew. The minute he saw her, no matter what shape her new incarnation took, he always knew. Always recognized her.
Tanaquil. After centuries. Centuries.
The collision at the entrance to the bookstore had created more noise, enough of a scene that Patrick forced himself to look away from Tanaquil’s new incarnation. Something in the noise had the hair on the back of his neck prickling. Something not…right.
The watch-watcher was standing, brushing off his dress slacks. He wore a vest over a button down shirt and the outfit looked excessively warm to Patrick on such a hot day. The man he’d bumped into was snarling and cursing as he gestured at something on the wooden floor. A small pile of broken glass.
Patrick blinked at the glass as the scent finally penetrated his awareness. That stench of shadow magic. The bitter, putrid bite of rotting plant life mixed with petroleum oil. Rising from the broken glass shards in an almost visible wave of heat.
“Terribly sorry,” the watch-watcher said. “Didn’t mean to step on it. Please. Allow me to pay for a replacement.”
Despite his words, the watch-watcher didn’t reach for a wallet. Which struck Patrick as odd. That sense of déjà vu washed over him again. He felt like he knew the man. Had encountered him before…somewhere.
The man on the floor snarled up at the watch-watcher. “It is irreplaceable! You moron. How dare you.”
“Again, terribly sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.”
“I should…” The man on the floor glanced around. Realized he was being watched. Closely. By the goddess, the ancient one, the wizard sitting at the front window, the witch behind the counter, the witch’s familiar.
And Patrick.
The man on the floor’s gaze collided with Patrick’s and Patrick sucked in a sharp breath. How had he missed it? He should have known, should have felt it instantly.
A shadow ghoul rode inside the man.
Patrick rose from his seat, his hand reaching automatically for the small, palm-sized knife inside the hip pocket of his cargo pants. It wasn’t the sort of weapon people would look at and assume both ancient and deadly. Which was the point of its appearance.
The man on the floor scrambled up to his feet finally, his gaze widening as Patrick approached. Without another word about his broken bauble, he spun and escaped out through the bookstore. The bell over the bookstore’s front door rocking so hard it clanged as the man rushed out.
Everyone in the café shifted their attention from the man who’d just run out to Patrick and the watch-watcher. A silence that made Patrick’s ears ring held sway for a beat, two. And then movement and life flowed back into the café. The humans watching the scene all went back to their drinks and conversations. The goddess, who hadn’t bothered to rise, raised her brows but went back to reading her magazine. Barely acknowledging Patrick with a slight nod as her gaze passed over him. The ancient one returned to her book as well, her expression thoughtful.
The man who’d caused the collision smiled as he met Patrick’s gaze. “They’ve been hiding her for so long, I’m sorry I couldn’t do this any earlier,” he said. “But this was the correct time.” He glanced down at the broken bauble, then looked up at Patrick again and winked. “Everything will be okay now.”
The witch rushed up with a broom and dust pan to clean up the broken glass, but she paused with the broom raised above the shards, frowning. She no doubt sensed the shadow magic, maybe even smelled the stench.
Patrick was so off balance from the watch-watcher’s words, he was almost too late to step in. He held up a hand to the witch and said, “Please. Let me. It would be…better, if I took care of that specific mess.”
She narrowed her eyes and then slowly nodded. “Yes. Yes, I think it would.”
The watch-watcher twisted the loose leather band of his wristwatch and gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry I can’t stay and help. Must be off. Good luck, though.” He gave Patrick a firm nod. “I’m sure things will go much better this time.”
Both Patrick and the witch watched the man hurry out the front door, his tan slacks and short sleeved white shirt bright as he stepped into the sunshine.
Patrick frowned. Wasn’t he…wasn’t he just wearing gray dress slacks and a vest? And Patrick would swear his watch had had a silver metal band before.
“Strange,” the witch murmured. “Feel like I know that guy.”
“I had the same feeling.”
They frowned at each other. Shook their heads at the exact same time. And the witch pulled in a deep breath. “Anyway. Drama over.”
She glanced at the counter where the woman who’d walked in right before the man carrying the shadow ghoul stood. Patrick followed the witch’s gaze, his breath catching again as he realized that woman at the counter really was Tanaquil. After all this time. He wasn’t imagining things. She was here. Finally here.
“Customer to see to,” the witch said. “Thanks for managing…that.” She gestured at the glass shards still oozing spilled magic into the air. “It would take me a little longer to sort out than you I think.”
“It is my specialty.” He was still staring at Tanaquil, so he only caught the witch’s gestures from the corner of his eye, only realized a moment after the words had left his mouth that he’d likely revealed too much.
Witches sometimes worked with the shadow ghouls. Sometimes took them in and helped them burn their enemies to the ground. The last time Tanaquil had incarnated, there’d been a witch working with the shadow ghoul they hunted. But Patrick knew already this wasn’t one of those witches. This one ran a place of neutrality and peace. No one who allowed a shadow ghoul to ride their souls would produce a safe space like this.
The witch walked back to the counter without another word. And Patrick knew he should be cleaning up and neutralizing the broken shadow spell on the floor, but he couldn’t look away from Tanaquil.
And she was staring back at him.
This part was always…strange. Some lifetimes, she recognized him instantly and the truth came flooding in. But many times, she did not. And they had to spend several conversations talking before the memories returned and she knew him again. The curse and blessing of reincarnations. Curse, because they had to waste days, weeks, sometimes months before her memory of him returned. Blessing because if they didn’t find each other in one of her incarnations, she didn’t have to suffer from missing him.
He always missed her in between incarnations. But that was his lot to carry. His burden. He didn’t have to die regularly, the way she did. His blessing and curse.
The way she looked at him then, the furrow in her brow, the way her dark brown eyes narrowed, it was as if she recognized him as instantly as he’d recognized her. But he couldn’t be sure. And if he approached her wrong, she’d run away. He’d have to waste more of their valuable time tracking her down.
At least he knew she was alive, though. She was here. She existed on this plane. She was back. Their paths had crossed, and they had this new chance.
He could apologize finally.
The scent of rotting detritus and burnt electricity reminded him that he had a shadow spell mess to clean up before anyone touched it. He wasn’t sure what the spell did, but it was born of a shadow ghoul. It would do nothing good.
The witch had left the broom and dustpan leaning against the wall. Patrick could use them both, but first he had to dispel the magic. Dragging his gaze away from Tanaquil, he squatted down next to the broken glass shards. The stench was stronger, the foul magic a wavering of dark light above and around the glass. It was a smoky colored glass, grayish with hints of purple. Hard to tell what it might have looked like before it broke. There was a silver oval on the ground under the glass and a small silver chain, so he assumed the bauble had been imbedded in the silver oval, a charm on a silver necklace.
Odd. He glanced back at Tanaquil. She’d turned to the counter and was placing her order with the witch, who kept glancing between him and Tanaquil. She had good instincts, the witch owner of this café. He should get her name. Having allies never hurt. Even witch allies. Tanaquil didn’t turn to look at him, though, and that was probably best for the moment because something about the chain, a glass charm that carried shadow magic, the watch-watcher’s comment…
They’ve been hiding her for so long…
Patrick hovered his hand over the broken glass, let the feel of the magic weave through his fingers. He twisted his palm and waved his fingers, twinning the magic around and around until he got a good sense of the spell.
A confusion spell.
He glanced sharply back at Tanaquil. A confusion spell.
Meant for her.
To keep her hidden from him.
They’ve been hiding her for so long…
The shadow ghouls had been finding Tanaquil’s incarnations before he could. And hiding her from him. Using a confusion spell. They could have crossed paths multiple times, been in the same room, literally bumped into each other, and the spell would confuse his recognition, make it impossible for him to know he was looking at the other half of his soul.
They’ve been hiding her for so long.
Centuries. They’d hidden Tanaquil from him for centuries!
A mixture of devastation, heartache, and rage tightened around his throat, choking him. Centuries. They’d hidden her from him for centuries! He’d thought, this whole time, she’d refused to incarnate or refused to find him in her new incarnations. Because she was angry with him. Because she didn’t want to see him.
Because she was done with him.
And all this time it wasn’t her doing. Wasn’t Tanaquil making the choice to distance herself from him. To refuse to incarnate. Or if she was incarnating, refuse to meet him in those lifetimes.
The shadow ghouls had found a way to keep them apart. To hide her from him. For centuries!
The regrets and rage and devastation swept through him, a dark shadow all their own. And yet with the pain…relief. And hope. And so much gratitude for whoever that watch-watcher was who’d finally finally been able to step in and break the spell. End the centuries of separation.
Patrick’s soul danced with the realization that his love, the second half of his soul, was here. Finally. After all this time. And he knew her. And she would know him. Soon enough. They would have each other again. At least for a little while. They had another lifetime. And the gratitude for that overwhelmed his devastation for the time lost.
He murmured a little prayer to the old gods, ignoring the huff from the younger goddess sitting nearby. Then he carefully bound the confusion spell, running the tip of his palm-sized knife over it until the shadow magic was twisted into a tight, harmless knot. That knot he collected into the handle of the knife, for later disposal. Then he swept up the now harmless glass shards into the dustpan and carried them to the counter. The witch pulled out a large plastic trash bin from under the counter and held it out for him to dump the glass in.
“Thank you,” she said after returning the bin to its spot under the counter and taking the broom and dustpan back. She glanced to where Tanaquil had taken her coffee and chocolate muffin to a nearby table.
Patrick followed her gaze and caught Tanaquil staring at him before she quickly dropped her gaze. He smiled to himself.
“Someone you know?” the witch asked, sounding amused.
Patrick blinked and looked back at her. “Someone I’ve known. And intend to know again.”
“Hmm. Fair enough.” She stretched out a hand. “I’m Nina, by the way.”
“Patrick.” He shook her hand, allowing the little frizzle of energy exchange that would confirm he was an ally and not an enemy to her.
“Well, thanks again, Patrick.” Her gaze flicked to Tanaquil. “Hope things work out.”
“They will.” His gaze moved back to Tanaquil too. “Now.”
Tanaquil glanced up when he stepped close to her table, and her dark eyes widened. “Can I help you?”
He smiled. “May I join you? I think we have some…history to discuss.”
“History? Oh. Are you in one of my lectures?”
“Lectures?”
“I’m a history professor at the university.”
He grinned. “Of course.” He gestured at the wooden seat across the small round table from her. “May I?”
“Yeah. Sure.” Her eyes narrowed. “Yes. I feel like we do have some…history to discuss.”
His heart soared as he caught the first hint of recognition in her dark eyes. Taking the seat across from her, he felt lighter than he had in centuries.
“My name’s Patrick, by the way,” he said.
“Tani,” she said. “Well, it’s really Tanaquil.” She chuckled. “But everyone calls me Tani.”
“Nice to know you. Tanaquil.”
Her smiled brightened, and he felt the glow of it like warm sunshine on his skin on a winter day.
He’d explain everything now. As much detail as she needed. Until she was satisfied. Until she felt reassured and safe with him.
And maybe, when she was ready, they’d go for a walk, despite the sticky, humid heat. To let her memories flow back. Until she remembered everything. Remembered him. Remembered their lives together through the millennia.
Until she remembered just how much he loved her.
Then he could say the words he’d been waiting centuries to say again.
“Welcome home, my love.”
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Thanks for reading PATRICK AT THE CAFE. I hope you enjoyed it. If you’d like your own personal eBook copy of this story, you can find it for sale here. You can also peruse the previous Café stories that are individually available for sale here. You can also get the current collections of Cafe stories which has all of the stories from 2025 and the first half of 2026.
And don’t forget to check back on November 15th for the next Free story from The Café!
PATRICK AT THE CAFE Copyright © 2026 Kat Simons
All Rights Reserved. No part of this story may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This story is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.