Jack was quiet a moment. "I thought it was a good joke."
"So, you just had to scratch that itch? Is that what killing someone is to you?"
"He was a child molester, Erica. He kidnapped and sexually assaulted children, keeping them in a cage in his basement. I killed a child murderer, and someone who was going to kill you. I don't see the problem."
"The problem? What…are you judge, jury, and executioner? The problem is it's against the law."
He laughed shortly. "Mortal laws. Now who's telling jokes?"
Erica looked him up and down. "Who are you?"
It wasn't so much the words, but the tone. The question was like a knife cutting into the chest, if he could imagine what that felt like. Erica's expression was that of staring at a stranger, which, sadly, was close to the truth.
She knew so little about him.
"I'm going home." She turned around, and didn't face him again. "I guess this is obvious, but please don't call me. Just leave me alone."
Jack said nothing. He watched her walk to her car and drive away.
He wanted to get up, but his legs didn't want to obey. He simply sat on the front steps, watching the world in front of him. Ten minutes passed. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, which was rare for him. Emotions worked their way in, taking the place of thoughts. Regret, confusion, plain old sadness.
The front door opened behind him.
"Uh, Mis—…Jack?"
He looked over his shoulder to see Andee standing with the screen door partially open. Her eyes reflected genuine concern. Her movements were slow, deliberate.
"Andee," he said, giving her a nod.
"Is everything okay?"
He didn't answer. He fished in his pocket.
"T-That's okay," she said, nearly stuttering. She joined him, standing next to him on the steps. "Five hundred dollars is plenty. I was only here like two hours."
He smirked. Two hours. It was amazing how short a time it took to completely transform someone's life.
"A deal is a deal, Andee."
He counted out five hundred-dollar bills, and slipped the money in her palm. She didn't accept it, not right away.
"Listen, I told my mom that one of my friends was having some problems with her parents, and her boyfriend, and that she needed to cry on my shoulder. I really laid it on thick, and Mom said she'd cut me some slack on the curfew. I can stay and watch the house a while longer if you want to go for a walk, or whatever. Tiffany's just in bed sleeping. It's not like I'm actually sitting anybody."
Jack finally managed to climb to his feet. Andee offered a helping hand, which he didn't accept.
"No. That won't be necessary. But…thank you. If I know you, you have the courtesy to not have eavesdropped on our conversation?"
"Of course not. I wouldn't do that. I did poke my head out once, before you got here. I asked Erica if she was okay, but she didn't say anything. I just left her alone. After I saw you outside I stuck my head into my iPhone."
He nodded. "Thanks again, Andee. Especially with the short notice."
"Anytime." She looked him up and down. "You've got holes in your clothes, Mr. Jack. I can almost see your butt."
"You're too young for that. Goodnight."
Jack didn't bother watching her leave. He stepped foot inside his living room and closed the door behind him. There was a sense of finality as the door slammed home, like he was shutting the door on a small footnote in his life. The night was coming to an end, but he didn't feel a sense of relief.
He looked up to see Tiffany sitting at the top of the stairs. She was still in her pajamas, and from the look on her face, didn't sleep much. Hugging her legs close to her, she hid behind her knees. Only her eyes were visible, her wild hair framing her face.
"Are you and Miss Hernandez fighting?"
His heart ached. She was supposed to be in bed, having nine-year-old dreams. She was supposed to be thinking about Halloween, and the upcoming sugar coma it represented. She wasn't supposed to be thinking about adult problems.
Jack marched up the stairs. Tiffany moved aside, making room for him on the top step. He sat down and put an arm around her. She scooted closer, leaning her head into his chest.
"Yeah," he said honestly. "We're fighting."
"Did I do something wrong?"
"What?" he said, leaning back to look at her. She eyed the floor sheepishly. "What kind of horse-shit is that? We're not fighting because of you."
Tiffany sighed and wiped her brow, as if she'd been sweating. The gesture was adorable.
"Are you two gonna break up? And she won't come over anymore?"
"I don't know yet. She needs to think about some things, and then I guess she'll let me know. Or maybe not. Hell, I don't know. Girls are a mystery."
"No we're not. Just give us chocolate."
He leaned his head back and laughed, which he desperately needed.
"If me and you—"
"You and I," he corrected.
She rolled her eyes. "If you and I fight, you won't get rid of me, right? You'll still be my Dad?"
He kissed her on the head. "Always, partner. We're family, me and you—"
"You and I." Tiffany couldn't get the smile off her face.
"I just did that to see if you were paying attention. You're not going anywhere, sweetie. I tried to get rid of you once, remember? You showed up in my shed. We will fight. You'll be upset because I want you home before ten o'clock. And I'll be mad at you because you're playing some ridiculous thing you call music too loud in your room. But you're not going anywhere. No more foster homes. This is it, right here."
Tiffany said nothing. She didn't need to. She squeezed Jack as hard as she could. He kissed her on top of the head and brushed hair out of her eyes.
"Okay. It's time for bed."
They stood up and Tiffany let out a relieved breath, looking very much like an adult. Jack smiled.
"It's been a long day," she said.
"You have no idea."
He decided he wasn't in the mood for sleep.
CHAPTER 8
Marie Johnson stopped her car outside the old, run-down building in the middle of Sandy Cliffs, Montana. Stepping foot in the empty parking lot, she couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face. She breathed in deeply the cold, crisp air. Various scents registered. A dog in heat passed through the lot not long ago. A delicious dinner in one of the neighborhood homes. Pasta with homemade sauce, with hints of oregano and garlic. Traces of old pipe smoke, which was rare for the current times. Sweat, semen, and sex. Some lucky couple nearby was getting it on.
Pleasant memories wrapped around her, like a cup of hot chocolate, as she simply watched the building. It used to be a bar, many decades ago. She'd spent just as much time inside with her parents as she did in school. One of her earliest memories was of pouring a drink for a customer with her mother's help. She even thought she remembered what it was, a simple shot of bourbon. Her tiny hands gripped the bottle, with her mother's over hers, guiding her along. The patron, she couldn't remember his name, laughed and winked at her. He gave her a nickle.
She sighed as not-so-pleasant memories visited. The entire incident surrounding her attack, her parents.
She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and studied the building before her. She couldn't take control of the bar after her parents' death, and it fell into the shape it was in now. It wasn't even possible to tell it was a bar in its old life, full of laughter and people having a good time, of fun, crazy stories filling the air.
The long, dark windows that kept the sun at bay were long gone. The smell of dirt, dead rodents, human waste, wrinkled her nose. The front door was long gone, probably a part of some child's homemade fort in the woods somewhere. The simple sign with the word Bar over the awning was actually still there, but it was faded and worn. It was dented from rocks and other mysterious objects chucked at it. The awning itself hung on only at a single point, and actually blocked the front door partially.
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Marie imagined the inside was much worse.
Perhaps she was naive, maybe clouded by her memories, but she thought she could revive the place.
The bar was at the end of a residential neighborhood. She remembered people stopping at the bar on their way home, or even sometimes on the way to work. People from all over Sandy Cliffs stopped over, mainly due to the atmosphere. Her parents were lovely, wonderful, and people gravitated toward them. She knew she didn't light up a room like they did, but she could see herself touring the bar, with a small, friendly staff. Laughing, having fun, making money, sharing stories once again.
There was also the simple fact that people loved alcohol.
Marie smiled as she took her first step toward the front door. Humans still loved alcohol, even in the twenty-first century. She laughed aloud as she thought of her parents once again. She wondered how much time they spent in illegal speakeasies when they were kids. They seemed to know a lot about alcohol when first starting out.
She lowered her head under the awning and stuck her head inside. As she feared, the stench was far worse. She loved her supernatural senses. She loved being a werewolf. But her extraordinary senses were hit or miss. She could choose to see in the dark, but she couldn't choose to turn off her nose.
For the first time, her hopes started to dwindle.
The inside of the old bar was far worse than the outside. An old mattress sat in the middle of the junk and debris. Used needles and condoms littered the floor. Broken liquor bottles, bags of trash, an old dead possum, even parts of cars.
"Holy shit," she said slowly. "Is this even worth it?"
Her eyes fell on an old car door in the middle of a pile of bricks. That pile used to be the bar itself. She could almost see it in her mind. Stools were lined up, men and women both enjoying a drink. Her parents worked, smiling and laughing, while she sat on the very end, looking very out of place among the adults. But they all accepted her, told her jokes, even kept an eye on her when her parents had to turn their backs occasionally. The men would flirt with her mother, a beautiful, amazing woman, but not in a serious manner. Her father was just ten feet away, and he would jokingly shake his fist at whoever stared at his wife.
It'd been too long since Marie came back home.
It was worth it. However, was it possible?
She had money. She'd saved over the decades, and being a werewolf had certain advantages, namely in the way of hunting for food. Marriage and children were never in the cards for her. Werewolves couldn't have children. Dating as a werewolf brought its own set of problems, and was an exercise in frustration she gave up a while ago. Life was simple, with relatively little money flying out the door. She even came into some money through not-exactly-legal means.
Living in the dating world or not, she still had needs. When a congressman tried to have her killed for having a one-night-stand with his son, she had no problem killing the congressman and taking whatever money was lying about. She had no illusions about what she was. She was a powerful, terrifying werewolf. When people tried to kill her, she killed them first.
Marie simply stayed away from government officials since that incident.
She carefully ducked under the awning as she left the bar. It wouldn't have surprised her if it collapsed behind her from her simple movements. Did she have enough money to bring the bar back from the dead?
She was going to find out.
A man jogging down the sidewalk slowed as he passed the bar. He came to a stop, hands on his hips, taking deep breaths. The runner kept his eyes on Marie. She could only imagine what she looked liked. Jeans, tennis shoes, a gray sweatshirt, stepping out of a dangerous, ruined building.
"Uh, ma'am," he called. "Is everything okay over there?"
He took a step toward her. Marie's stomach dropped as she sighed. She wasn't in the mood to be social. She wanted to get back to her apartment and wait for the delivery of her furniture. A small, simple home-cooked meal was calling her name. Regardless, she forced a smile and a polite wave. Feeling social or not, there were plenty of benefits of being nice. The jogger could be a future customer. She also planned to spend the next fifty years in Sandy Cliffs. It wouldn't be wise to start those years blowing off a local in his twenties, with a memory and plenty of time to age.
"I'm fine. It's just a little messy in there."
"I'm sure," he said, approaching her. "It probably doesn't smell all that good, either."
Marie laughed. "You can say that again."
He returned the smile, and held out his hand as they met in the middle of the lot. "Hi. I'm Rob. Rob Faraday."
She shook his hand and met his gaze. "Marie Johnson."
She didn't get the feeling it would be a meet and leave talk, so she decided to examine him. Mortal, mid twenties. His scent wasn't unattractive, even with his perspiration tugging at her nose. A nice mix of apple and cinnamon, with as dash of daffodil. It made her hungry. Short, dark hair, bangs covering his forehead. Lean, athletic body. Crooked smile, with a hint of mischievousness.
"It's not really any of my business," he said, looking over her shoulder. "But I've seen nicer, better crack-houses in the neighborhoods."
Marie laughed and turned to stare at her bar with Rob, shoulder to shoulder.
"It's not a crack-house. I actually own the building."
"Oh. Well, uh, congratulations, I guess?"
"I don't live here—"
"I would hope not."
She smiled. "I'm new in town. I'm hoping to turn this—" It pained her to say the word, but it was true. "Dump into a bar."
"No shit?"
"No shit."
Rob brought a hand to his chin. "Well, I've only seen one liquor store when I'm out running around. You might not have a lot of competition."
Marie noticed his words. "Sounds like you're new here, too."
"Been here two days. Got an apartment at Southdale. Nice little place, if a little overpriced." He looked at the neighborhood behind him. One man was cleaning leaves from his gutters, and a single car drove down the road. Besides that, silence. "Sandy Cliffs is riveting, isn't it?"
She nodded. The peace and quiet of Sandy Cliffs was one of the many reasons she missed home so much.
"I have to admit, I like it here."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. Me, too. It's just I lived in New York for a few years. It's a nice change of pace here, but it could use a little more…excitement. Maybe a bar will do just that. There could be scandals, bar fights, people hitting each other over the head with a pool cue, drunk wives searching for their husbands. Or hell, drunk husbands searching for their wives."
Marie had to laugh. "Well, I'm hoping to avoid some of that."
"Do you live around here?"
She narrowed her gaze, ever so slightly. "I don't live at Southdale, if that's what you're asking."
"Ah, very smart," he said, flashing her a thumbs-up. "But I'm not a stalker. I'm actually thinking of a job. If you're serious about turning that into a bar," He frowned at the run-down building. "That means you'll be hiring. I'm working two part-time jobs right now. To be honest, I could take or leave either one."
For the most part, she'd been thinking of the cleanup and construction. She could only imagine how many finer details she was missing. How many people would she need to help run the bar? What kind of food should they serve? Rob mentioned pool tables, an idea Marie hadn't even thought of. Television didn't even exist when her parents first opened the place. She could almost see it in her mind. A TV, perhaps two, in the corners. A few pool tables, maybe an old-fashioned jukebox.
She pulled herself back to the present. All of that was still a long way off.
"Do you know anything about tending bar? I'm thinking about running a small kitchen, too. Can you cook?"
"Absolutely not, to both questions. Probably not the answers you were looking for. But I work hard, and I learn fast."
Marie looked him up and down, almost playfully. She wondered if she was staring
at her first employee.
"Look, how about this? Let me have your phone number." He looked down at his sweaty exercise clothes, his tee shirt and shorts. "This is not the first impression I want to make on a job interview. We can talk on the phone. And I swear, this is just an employment thing. I'm not asking for your number because you're absolutely gorgeous. Even though that part's true, too."
She smiled once again. Attractive, charming, funny, nice smile. If she were interested in a one-night-event, perhaps she'd consider Rob Faraday. But she had to be very selective on who she chose to strip naked. Plus, it took a special kind of man to handle her. Rob wasn't it.
"Let's do it this way," she said. "You give me your phone number instead. Once I get my head wrapped around this whole thing, start getting it off the ground, I'll give you a call."
Rob nodded. "Hey, that works for me." He looked down at his clothes once again. "You have a pen and paper, or just your phone handy?"
"Back at the car."
She led him away from the building and back to her Ford Focus. If she were still mortal, she might have second-guessed what she was doing. The man cleaning his gutters was long gone. She was leading Rob to her car, at the far end of a neighborhood block. There wasn't a single soul around. She'd seen it before, the terrible things mortals were capable of. A quick shove inside, a knife or gun pointed at her.
Marie laughed at the images in her head. She could snap Rob in half if she wanted to.
"I don't have a phone yet," Marie said, reaching for her purse. "But I've got a pen and paper in here somewhere."
"Seriously? No phone?"
She shook her head, not at Rob's question, but at the times they lived in. She remembered the excitement and awe of making her first phone call without using a switchboard operator. Now it was considered odd to not have a phone on hand at all times.
"Nope. No phone." She shrugged. "I might not even get a cell, just a simple land line for the apartment. I really don't know anyone. It's not like my phone would ring off the hook."
"Well, you know me now, so that's someone. And when you get that bar running, whether you hire me or not, I'll make sure the whole damn town comes along. You'll know a lot of people."
Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse Page 10