The Starchild Chronicles Book 1

Nova has never thought of herself as special. She thinks she's lucky when the rent gets paid and unlucky when the universe seems to conspire against her. Some mornings every traffic light turns red, every glass she touches slips from her fingers, every customer is rude. Other days complete strangers buy her groceries or hand her envelopes full of cash without explanation. She laughs loudly, often at inappropriate moments. It embarrasses her friends but disarms angry people. She is tall with long, dark waves that carry uneven blonde streaks and several strands dyed a deep cobalt blue. Her eyes are amber with flecks that seem almost metallic when sunlight catches them. Six tiny silver hoops climb the edge of her left ear, each one smaller than the last. She wears dramatic black eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and impossibly long sapphire-blue acrylic nails that click against coffee mugs and countertops. Her face is heart-shaped, framed by an upturned nose and almond eyes that make strangers stare a second too long. She walks differently than most women. Shoulders back. Long deliberate strides. She doesn't drift through a room—she enters it. The diner requires skirts below mid-thigh. When something falls she bends her knees instead of her waist, more from habit than modesty. She struggles with addiction in secret. Pills in her purse. Powder folded inside lipstick tubes. She tells herself she can quit whenever she wants. The cook slips her product during smoke breaks and always lets his hands linger too long. She dodges him with jokes, changes the subject, laughs it away, refusing to create a scene while quietly keeping everyone else comfortable. Her greatest weakness is that she cannot tolerate cruelty. If a father screams at his child, she intervenes. If a husband humiliates his wife, she inserts herself into the conversation. If someone mocks the elderly, the disabled, or the powerless, she steps between them without calculating the risk. She has been punched, fired, threatened, and followed because of it. She has never once regretted it. The regulars come for coffee but rarely drink it. One man reads the same newspaper every Tuesday for six months. Another orders pie and leaves untouched slices behind. They all tip absurdly well. Most cannot explain why they return. Some simply say the diner feels peaceful when she is working. Others admit they sleep better after seeing her. A few begin crying for reasons they cannot name. Nova notices none of it. She thinks she's just a waitress. The first thing most people noticed about Nova wasn't her face. It was the way a room changed when she walked into it. Conversations paused. Babies stopped crying. Old men looked up from newspapers they'd been pretending to read for an hour. Even the regulars who swore they only came for the coffee somehow managed to show up on her shifts and no one else's. Nova never noticed. She pushed through the swinging kitchen door balancing four plates up one arm and two mugs in the other, dark blue acrylic nails clicking against ceramic. "Morning, Tommy. Your cholesterol called. It says to stop ordering bacon." The old truck driver laughed so hard he nearly spilled his coffee. "You trying to kill me, sweetheart?" "No," she said, setting down the plate. "I'm trying to keep you alive long enough to keep tipping me." Another laugh. Another twenty-dollar bill tucked beneath the sugar dispenser. She never questioned it anymore. People tipped weird. People cried in front of her. People told her things they hadn't told their spouses. One woman had confessed to a thirty-year affair before asking for more cream. Nova figured diners just did that to people. The cook whistled as she passed. "Need help carrying all that?" "I'm good." He stepped closer anyway. His hand settled against the small of her back a second longer than necessary. She slid sideways before he could linger. "Need more hash browns for twelve." He smirked. "Need anything else?" "Nope." She said it with a grin. Like she hadn't noticed. Like she always did. She preferred peace over scenes. For now. Outside, rain hammered the windows. Inside, the lunch crowd gathered. Near the far booth sat Father Elias. Black shirt. White collar. Untouched coffee. He came every Tuesday. Ordered the same thing. Never ate. A glass of water and a notebook on the table. Only watched. The first few times she'd found it unsettling. Now she simply waved. "Morning, Father." He nodded once. "Been prayin for me?' She grins and winks. A smile almost breaks on his face. His eyes followed her until she disappeared into the kitchen. Across the room, another customer folded the same newspaper he'd been pretending to read for six months. Near the entrance, a florist who never bought flowers anymore watched her laugh with an elderly couple. At table seven, a young mother suddenly stopped crying without understanding why. Something about the place felt lighter. No one could explain it. Least of all Nova. The bell above the front door chimed. Nobody looked. Except Father Elias. He looked immediately. His breath caught. He felt an uneasiness in the air. Uncertainty rushed into his thoughts. A tall blonde man stepped inside wearing black from polished shoes to tailored coat. Extremely handsome, muscular and confident. His hair was almost silver but couldn't be older than twenty five. His posture impossibly straight. He scanned the room once. His gaze landed on Nova. And didn't move. She walked over with her order pad. "Table for one?" "Yes." "Coffee?" "If that's what you recommend." She smiled. "Our coffee could strip paint... I like mine black...just like my men.' She cackled. She swats her thigh then winks. "Just kidding...I just love saying that " "Then coffee." He says plainly. She laughed. Then winks at him. Actually laughed. Loud. She motioned to a table and puts a napkin down He sits. Something inside the stranger shifted. He studies the room. Eyes meet the priest. As if hearing a call he'd spent half a lifetime trying to remember, He smiles. When she returned with the cup, She kind of swaggers. Pretty teeth too. He is very concentrated on her now. "Do you want cream or sugar?." A smile still on her face. He looks at the coffee and back at her. "Why don't you put your finger in there to sweeten it up for me.' She laughs and turns red... definitely a bit embarrassed now. "Sure thing darlin'." She winks and walks away. He watches her as she goes from table to table and the back to the kitchen. She looks over her shoulder at him. He feels warmth all over. He notices several men sitting by themselves just watching her. He felt something he didn't normally feel. It wasn't really jealousy...it wasn't really anger. He just didn't like it. " f*****g Pervs.." He mumbled to himself. The elderly couple at the table next to him nervously look over. They see his cold expression and look away. He pulls out two crisp hundred dollar bills and a five dollar bill. He leaves the five sticking out of the napkin but when pulled it pulled out the hundreds hidden underneath. He stares a little longer and then silently leaves out the back door. She doesn't see him leave but notices he is gone She furrows her brow. She cleans up several tables picking up her tip at each one quickly shoving In her apron pocket. Almost like if she didn't hurry it would disappear. She walks over to the table he was at and picks up his half empty cup and the five dollar bill. The two hundreds reveal themselves. "What the f**k?" She says out loud and looks around pausing, then directly at the door he exited. She stuffs the money in her apron nervously. She starts to walk away. The bell rings. Door opens. Cigarettes and vodka hit her nose. A large man in a dirty white cowboy hat, western shirt opened up several buttons at the chest showing black chest hair. Pointy cowboy boots klunk their way to the now vacant table. She starts to go toward the kitchen again. "I haven't ordered yet." He huffs He slinks into the chair. She gets the rag to wash down the.table and reaches to wipe it down. " I know," she smiles. " Let me just wipe this down for ya." He grabs her wrist " Don't bother." She reached for the knife in her bra. He lets go. For the first time all morning... Nova really looked at him. And for the first time in twenty two years... Someone looked back like they knew exactly who she was.