by A L Hart
I didn’t care where they went. My mind had been on one thing.
I could walk about my own shop freely. I could stick my nose in the going-ons of my shop whenever I pleased. I didn’t have to check the coast before racing to the bathroom. And, come to find out, those wings weighed almost half as much as I did, making it no wonder why the first day I’d stumbled around like a newborn fawn. I now felt like I’d shelved a hundred pounds.
I knew I was smiling stupidly now, namely because Danny—the kid I didn’t hire—was staring up at me in his work apron, giving me a weird look as I cradled the dirty dish tray in my hand.
“Come on, boss, that lady wants her water.”
Pulled from my blissful stupor, I remembered what I was doing and stepped out of the way of the bar’s access.
Danny didn’t have any strenuous jobs here. Namely because he was eleven, had the strong personality of a politician and, most notable—couldn’t reach half the things in this shop to be stationed on anything other than table duty and, on occasions such as this one, reeled into fetching a lady a water because she thought watching the hardworking young boy waddle behind the counter was “the darndest thing.”
Whatever. So long as none of them pulled out a cell phone with 911 on the screen, I was fine.
The kid and I had an understanding that if anyone asked him anything unrelated to customer service, the answer was strictly, “Qué?” At first I thought it would raise suspicion even more, but when the customers saw how well he and Ophelia got along, laughing over nonsensical things like a huge ant outside on the street or a cloud spotted through the windows that looked like a golden retriever, I was pretty sure they were convinced Ophelia was his mother. The succubus was undeniably smitten and attached to the boy and Danny was certainly tiny enough to pull it off.
Even if his mouth wasn’t.
“Boss!” he shouted, shaking me out of my reverie for a second time, this time trying to get from behind the bar, where I, once again, was blocking him.
I sidestepped the kid. “Sorry about that.”
“We all have those days,” Danny said, shaking his head and crossing over to the gushing woman.
I returned the gesture, watching the kid hustle around a moment longer.
Mid-November, the sun had already set. I couldn’t think of what kind of excuse the kid would formulate for his parents and I wasn’t one to ask, but I also wasn’t one that would have him walking home in the dark. I’d told him so, and he swore today would be the last day and that next time he would arrive bright and early so as to get off before sundown. When I asked about school, he said his mom homeschooled him because “the system was below college standards.”
Setting the problem aside as tomorrow’s worry, I slipped back into the kitchen and set the tray on the roll cart beside the sinks.
Jera was at her usual station. She didn’t glance at me and I didn’t look at her.
The way I saw it, I had fourteen days to value my freedom and the iota of peace I’d found in Vincent’s promise to help me. Once those fourteen days were over, once Jera became sick and turned to me for a “cure” with the rage and fire of a thousand burning suns, I could kiss that fragment of peace goodbye. Until then, if she wanted to play the silent game, I had five years of practice with Natalie. She wasn’t winning.
Didn’t mean I wasn’t in a mood because of it. I genuinely cared about the well-being of my staff, even if one of those members was a considerably heartless succubus who now had a deathwish for me.
I stepped back into lounge area, surveyed the scene, and decided now was as good a time as any to get to work on some office work I’d run significantly behind on.
However, once behind the desk—joyously occupying the desk chair again in the absence of wins— a knock came at the door.
Sighing, I sat back. “Come in.”
I was greeted with megawatts of jubilation as Vincent practically skipped into the room, his wife in tow, their arms entwined and lips stretched into the widest grin.
They didn’t have to say anything, because I had a feeling I already knew the reason for it.
Once again, for reasons unknown, the pills had worked.
“They worked!” they preened in unison.
If anything, their revelling was contagious and I felt my own face began to turn, taking on a smile of my own. I wanted to ask how. I wanted to ask exactly what they’d done. But not only were their particular case an intimate and personal one, but, as the man who’d prescribed the fix, I was sorta supposed to already know how and why it’d worked.
But just like Anisah, the couple were so ecstatic about the pill’s success, they offered the information all on their own, the words spilling from their mouth in an overlapping rush.
“We were quite hopeless before—”
“Doubtful some might consider it—”
“But we took the medicine anyhow, mister.”
“We took a pill each and we could feel the change, sir. It was a most glorious sensation, that of hope and relief. Finally I would not have to hold back from my darling husband.”
“And I could drink of my wife with peace of mind. And that was what we did. And neither of us have ever felt better for it! Neither of us were weakened by the other and yet we took as we pleased and we gave—”
“For hours.”
“Would have been days had we not remembered your bid to have us return to you this day. Which, I do realize now, we are quite early.”
Yet the sun was down so not that early.
I leaned back and let loose the breath I’d been holding under the barrage of their intimate relations. I had no words for them. I was happy their marriage and . . . needs were back on course. But it seemed I lacked Ophelia’s natural warmth of bathing in another’s bliss and showering them in kind, sweet words.
To be exact, all I really wanted to know was if he’d had time to look into HB’s organization between all of their love making. I asked him.
The sudden, blank look on his face turned mine to stone.
“You didn’t get the information?” I growled.
Count down from ten.
“Now, now, mister, you listen to me. My dear Elise’s here health was of the utmost concern, but you’d better believe I am a man of my word and will get you the information you seek. It’s not as though you gave a specific date—”
“Thought it was pretty obvious I meant ASAP when I mentioned them wanting to kill us, but I’ll be more precise next time,” I said drily.
“‘Atta boy,” he chirped, leaning forward in his extravagant suit and plucking my collar straight. “And now that it’s stressed, trust that I’ll see you tomorrow night. And if it helps your mind any, my guards scouted the area before we entered your shop. There’s not a hunter in the perimeter for miles. Which isn’t too abnormal. They typically keep their distances from immortal hotspots unless they’re planning a ripe killing fest. In which case, there would be much blood spilled on both sides; they don’t want that, now do they?”
Just like Jera had told me in the beginning. Which was why she’d chosen this shop and why she’d been keen on making me into an immortal magnet, because the hotter the hangout spot for those creatures, the farther we fell off of HB’s radar. Which meant, essentially, she’d forced me into the role to protect her and her sister, yes, but by extension, also myself. Not that it made it any better. I was only a tag-along, someone she’d unintentionally assisted.
I didn’t want to think about it. Not when the wings—wherever they’d disappeared to—were finally behaving.
I gave the vampire a stern look. “Tomorrow, the information. It’s important.”
The expression and tone must have hit its mark. Vincent shifted beneath it and cleared his throat. “Why, of course. But also, though my wife here tells me you weren’t looking for monetary means, I simply could not do otherwise.” He slid a wallet from his back pocket and retrieved a check from the slit, pressing it facedown on the desk. “No, no, no,�
� he said, holding up a hand just as I was prepared to passionately decline the check. “It’d be a shame for you to go ruining a good gesture.”
I stared at the yellow rectangle of paper. How could I accept it, even if it was just two dollars, when everything was just fraudulent nonsense? I wasn’t sure why these creatures were healing with chocolate milk, but I knew I didn’t deserve to get paid for it. And if they’d adhered to Jera’s charge of five hundred dollars, I definitely didn’t deserve that kind of cash.
Another knock came at the door.
Miserable, I said tiredly, “Come in.”
It was Kevin. “We got another squatter,” he said briskly then returned to his work.
Great. It was the second one today.
I looked back at the couple who were quietly prattling over one another. “Tomorrow, then?” I asked, since apparently precision was a must here.
“Undoubtedly,” Vincent assured, right before they went off to no doubt make use of more of my “medicine”.
I sighed, not wanting to go and confront the no doubt homeless person who’d decided to take up residence in my shop. I didn’t want to do much of anything anymore except handle the hunter problem. Even if they stayed clear of the shop, I wanted to be able to go beyond a five mile radius with some peace of mind.
With a deep breath, I glanced at the face-down check on my desk. Later.
Before I could become further discouraged, I came to my feet and forced them towards the door and out into the public world, where the speakers belted out a song by who knew what pop artist and chatter carried on indistinctly.
At the cash register, Kevin caught sight of me and notched his head towards a table settled at the rear of the arched windows’ arbor.
An old man sat with a cane leaned against the back of his chair and clothes like you’d see in one of those old noir films. So maybe not homeless, but based on how he window-watched, his back to all of us, not a cup in sight, he was definitely a squatter.
There was a code of ethics in dealing with these sorts. A way to be both the good and the bad guy.
First, you had to start off with a charming smile, one that said ‘I’m here to cater to your every whim’, and maybe throw a compliment in there somewhere. Right before you found a way to indirectly ask them if they had intentions of buying anything. Generally, the charm got to them and those who weren’t dirt poor inevitably bought something. Those who were adamant in not buying anything, depending on the busyness of the day, I either let them stay or politely asked them to come back another time.
However, normally I’d have sent a female worker over to do this (seeing as the stigma held true that elderly men responded better to the opposite sex, sue me), but the only women on duty today were the twins. Jera was a no-go for obvious temperamental reasons and Ophelia didn’t have the mind to press a purchase if it ever came down to it.
Which was why I ended up at the man’s table, smiling stupidly and saying, “Hello, sir. That’s a nice hat you have there. My dad used to own one just like it.”
Silence. The man didn’t even look up at me.
Sucking my teeth quietly for a moment, the day’s weariness caught up with me. Of all the problems I had on my plate, respecting a rude squatter didn’t have to be one of them. I dropped the act. “Did you want us to get you a drink, sir, or . . .?”
“Do I look thirsty to you, boy?” he snapped.
Alright. A squatter with a bad attitude, I noted.
“No, not thirsty. But given this is a beverage shop and given you’re sitting inside of it, I made the logical deduction that you wanted a drink.”
“Well I ain’t thirsty. Now how ‘bout you go on and bring me the owner of this shop.”
“I am the owner,” I retorted impatiently. Nevermind the glances I got.
This got the old, grumpy man’s attention, his face finally turning to mine where I took in every last wrinkle, every last browned spot on his dark skin and the sagging flesh at the corner of his doleful eyes. “Peter, then?” he asked, garbling his words the way old people did, as if they were literally chewing on them.
I looked down at my name tag then back at him. “Yes.”
“There somewhere private I can talk to you?”
Inwardly, I let out a breath. “Sir, what does this pertain to, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Well I do mind, boy, ‘s why I asked for somewhere private.”
The man was raising his voice, attracting more eyes, which meant it was definitely time to give him his wish, somewhere private and out of the public eye.
“Sure,” I said tightly. “The office is right back there.” Unpresentable as the bathroom might be.
He grumbled something, his movement jerky and slow like a puppet doll’s as he bent down, lifted his pant leg and—
I kept my face neutral at the sight of his prosthetic leg and the way he twisted it, screwing it leftward so he could turn and stand from the table properly. When I moved to get his cane for him, he snatched it up with a speed that defied his age, his dark, rheumy glare aimed right for my heart.
“I got it,” he barked, coming to a stand that took so long, I was sure I could have completed three tasks by the time his bones finished popping and complaining.
It was only when we started towards the office that I felt my core stir. A tingling sensation burrowing beneath my skin, searching for something.
The wings.
I knew then what this man was.
He was like Kyda. Like me.
Not an immortal, his trace of dark energy too faint, but definitely not human.
Still I tried to keep my face blank as his dark energy searched for my own. Casually, I scanned the shop for Ophelia. She was in deep conversation with one of the customers. I was beginning to wonder if that was just a hoax of hers. After all, this was a woman who observed everything. Did she know that this man was afflicted with dark energy and just chose not to involve herself? Last time, I’d brought her into the situation with Elise without offering much of a choice. She was probably seeing to it I didn’t make that mistake twice.
Which left me looking to the kitchen door, but quickly looking away on that front.
The last thing Jera wanted was to be present on a case with me. She’d made that much impossibly clear with the aggressive way in which she’d been snapping at Elise last time—well, more so than usual.
I was alone.
I took the man into the office, where I told him to sit anywhere he pleased. He chose the nearest seat, the one between the bookshelves, his breathing much heavier than before as if the walk had drained him of everything he was made of.
As he struggled to catch his breath, I refrained from offering him a water and getting scolded again. Instead, since there was no seat across from the lounger he’d chosen, I leaned against the wall between the potted ferns, crossing my arms, then, rethinking the defensive stance, I shoved my hands in my pockets.
Silence passed between us. I kept my attention on the long window above my desk, pretending the sky was just that interesting instead of watching his struggle.
Until finally the labored breaths evened to little huffs.
“Hear you can help me,” the man started.
I didn’t nod, but my gaze did slide slowly towards his.
Where to start. I didn’t have Jera here to prompt me to lie. I didn’t have Ophelia here to make me feel guilty(er) about it should I choose to. If I wanted, I could tell this man here the truth—that I was practically useless and didn’t know a lick of how to control dark energy. If anything, I wouldn’t have to deal with one more potential problem on my shoulders.
But then, Anisah’s shining eyes botched my thoughts.
Elise and Vincent’s bright smile and lovestruck energy wrapped its hands around my heart.
And all at once, I was cursed with one condemning question: what if it did work?
I mean, the milk had worked on the others. What if the answer was that simple. What if dark energ
y was combated with nothing more than the placebo effect? So long as the patient thought the pill was working, the dark energy was expelled, their woes dissolved?
If I didn’t accept money for it and if it worked, was I really doing anything wrong?
“Well, you got a tongue or the cat done took it?”
My eyes trailed down to his leg. Had the dark energy stolen it from him? Did he want it back? Chocolate milk was good, but not that good. I doubted any placebo effect or dairy would grow a whole limb back.
And yet . . .
“You came to the right place,” I said with that practiced doctor smile.
He studied me a moment, then gave me a single nod.
But he didn’t reach down to his pant leg to show me the prosthetic like I thought he would.
Instead, he unbuttoned his long coat, opened its flaps, and made me regret my words.
Ch. 16
A vacuous, ominous black port stared back at me.
The man showed his chest off, grumbling all the while. There was the sign of age, the small curls of chest hair—some of it anyway. Where his pectorals met in the middle, there wasn’t any skin, but a glaring, disorienting black hole.
The man had no heart.
Despite the sheer macabre sight of the gaping impossibility before me, I was drawn in closer, squinting in some morbid, perverse fascination. Where his heart should have been was nothing but vacant space. A hole I could see straight through to the wall behind him.
With a deep swallow, my mind rearranging its expectations, I dared look at the inside, to the right, where I was sure I’d see veins, ribs, cartilage. I saw nothing remotely close to that. Instead, there was a black residue coating the insides as if, rather than skin, the dark energy had healed over it.
And it was dark energy, I decided. The closer I came to it and the more I analyzed it, the more the sensations riding my spine intensified. To the point I had to take a step back when I felt something might actually leap from me and latch on to him.