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Pokeumans Chapter 13Reggie and I continued past my hometown and into the night. The GPS allowed us to find the area of the third gem quickly enough, but it was too dark to continue the hunt, as it was almost midnight. We had already made it to the abandoned campsites, so we parked the car, built a small fire, and settled in. The ground was dry enough, the storm blowing over a few hours ago.
"Man, I'm getting really stressed out over this gem hunt thing," I said, leaning my head against a tree, "I'm still aching from when I hit the pavement earlier."
Reggie thought for a minute. "I have an idea," he said, taking off his ring and turning into his Grovyle form again.
"What are you doing?" I asked, surprised, looking around as quickly as I could. If Reggie was caught, we'd both be dead.
"Are you sure it's safe?"
"It'll be fine Brandon, according to the minion tracker app; there are no Pokéxtinction minions anywhere within twenty miles of our campsite. I'll be right back."
Reggie went off into the woods,
Pokeumans Chapter 9The world became bright again and I fell about a foot or two from the air and landed on the grass on my back. "Well that was more powerful than when Mike teleports me " I moaned. The five of us had made it. We were in the tall grass a few feet away from a massive building. The sign said "Environmental Testing Facility" but it was a Pokéxtinction base. I just knew it. Nathan flapped his wings and preened himself, Starr sat up and rubbed her head, Cameron yawned for a second and Sakato stood and got into running position. My watch beeped. I pressed the little button on it and a holographic Asula appeared. "Brandon, did your party make it?" I nodded, "Yeah, we made it." Asula nodded, "Good, now use the holographic map to find a way inside the base. Remember, your job is to create a distraction while the B-team finds the Gemstone Files. Do not attempt to call us, for Pokéxtinction can trace the transmission back to us. We will call you in an hour once we are able to temporar
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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