Cafe Noctem

by Willa Okati

  Stepping back inside, Grey sat heavily down in a chair and leaned his elbow on a table, dragging one hand through his hair. First one mistake, and now another. When would it end? Where?

  Damn that man in the mask for taking a bad situation and making it even worse. If he wasn’t gone by the time Grey got back down to the cellar…if he decided to go, and not head out hunting for his lover…

  * * *

  Jimmy watched the staircase, hoping against hope that he would see Nicholas or Grey come walking down it, separate or together, although he hoped for together, maybe even hand in hand. Hair slightly mussed and lips noticeably swollen from kissing, that would have been the best sight of all. But no matter how long he waited, no one appeared.

  If he’d had the nerve, he would have torn his mask off. But even as his fingers reached for the edges of the deerskin, they began to shake with some feeling he couldn’t identify. The harder he tried, the less able he was to even grasp an edge, much less peel the thing off to reveal his true face.

  So. Sint Holo wanted the game to continue. Well, fuck you, Snake Man, Jimmy thought angrily. I still don’t know why you brought me back here or gave me your mask, but I won’t play by your rules.

  I know what I have to do. Find Nicholas, find Grey, and push them back together. They belong with each other now that I’m gone, and oh, no, I’m not going to lie to myself, I’m not here to stay. I shouldn’t have been brought back in the first place.

  Since I was, though…

  I’ll find them. Either or both, I don’t care, and I’ll do whatever it takes to get them face-to-face and talking. They’re both stubborn men, and this won’t be easy, I know.

  But what’s the worst that could happen? They’d kill me?

  Jimmy removed his hands from the neck of his mask, and ducked out the back door of Café Noctem’s cellar. He had a mission, and he thought he knew just where to look.

  The very place Grey would never think to start hunting.

  It’s showtime.

  Chapter Five

  Music from a set of loudspeakers filtered through every street in Asheville, even into the hidden nooks and corners that few knew about. Nicholas had hidden himself away in one of them, and the woman’s whiskey-rough singing voice tickled at his ears all the same.

  He could hide from everything but omens, couldn’t he?

  Nicholas sat hunched on an old cardboard box outside the one place he knew Grey would never look for him—the alleyway behind Ganymede’s Grotto. They’d visited once, only once, but the dungeons had put Grey off and neither of them had been able to afford the membership fee. They couldn't afford such luxuries and still manage to stay current on the new car payments as well as keeping Café Noctem running. A shame, really.

  All the same, Nicholas had truly enjoyed the drink that swishy old queen Earl had offered, poured by a sinfully gorgeous bartender with a long white-gold braid. They’d ordered double shots of a brand he couldn’t remember, one that had gold flakes floating in the bottom. Rich, the bartender had said with a wink.

  Powerful, too. One more drink and Nicholas would have been begging Grey to get a lip ring just like that bartender’s. The thought of having a piercing to play with…perhaps he should have gotten his own.

  The liquor had tasted all the sweeter for being drunk with Grey by his side. They’d laughed and joked with the owner and the bartender, not really watching the live shows, but loving the camaraderie. Nicholas had been especially interested in their habit of celebrating ancient festivals.

  If he remembered right, tomorrow night, Valentine’s Day, that would be Lupercalia, wouldn’t it? Nicholas sighed and leaned his chin into his palm. Not his pantheon, but it would have been fun to celebrate the holiday with Grey.

  Now, he wasn’t sure at all what Grey’s plans would be.

  Sint Holo, Sint Holo, damn you, Sint Holo. I never asked for…

  But no. He couldn’t allow himself to think along those lines. If, after tonight, all he would have were memories, then he’d cherish them with every bit of his mind. Ignoring the curious glance he got from someone coming out the back entrance of Ganymede’s and passing him by, he huddled up on his box and drew on some of his favorites.

  He and Grey going swimming in a small lake, racing each other to the end of the pier and doing twin cannonballs into the water. Surfacing to find one another laughing, wiping water out of their eyes. Grey pulling Nicholas to a shallower spot where they could stand on the rocky bottom and dragging him in for a hungry kiss. “You’re fun, Nicholas,” he’d said, as if he were surprised. “You’re really fun!”

  Another time, another place, cooking a late lunch together. Something over-complicated and wasting time they could have spent making love, but enjoying every second they spent bumping hips in the apartment’s tiny little kitchen. What had they been preparing…? Ah, yes, veal parmesan. The room had been redolent of the smells of frying meat and tangy tomato sauce. Nicholas recalled opening his mouth like a bird to taste a bite, and Grey licking a smear of sauce off his skin…then turning the burners down to low while he kept on working with his tongue, finding all sorts of new places to investigate…

  Watching Grey sleep, having slipped under the covers after his night shift ended. Being unable to stop himself from tracing the lines of tough muscle that came from hard work and Grey's time with the weights. Feeling wicked and slipping beneath the body-warmed sheet and comforter, down to Grey’s hips—he always slept in the nude—and sucking the man’s semi-hard cock into his mouth. Feeling Grey wake, startled at first, then hearing his sigh of utter contentment and pleasure as he took hold of Nicholas’ head and guided him slowly, both of them taking as long as they pleased.

  Good times.

  Were they over now?

  Nicholas pressed his hands to his forehead. He knew he hadn’t made things better by running away. All he seemed to do lately, though, was make mistakes. He’d only stay where he was for just a minute longer, then. Just a minute, and then he’d move on, heading back to the café. Grey would have noticed he was gone by now. And he knew Grey. Whether they were still partners or not—and oh, but how his heart contracted at the thought of not—Grey would be worried about him.

  He had to go back.

  Any minute now…any minute now…

  * * *

  As Jimmy wound his way through the crowds out partying their way through the night of Celebration de la Vie, he couldn’t help noticing that for the most part the crowds parted before him like water. Was it the mask? Did he frighten them in some sense they couldn’t even put a name to? Or was it Sint Holo, up to his tricks again?

  Clever devil, Jimmy thought in exasperation. He opened his mouth to try and call out Nicholas’ name, even though he knew it was futile in this mob, and found to his dismay that his voice had no sound. He couldn’t speak. Hands at his throat, suddenly desperate—and wasn’t that stupid, for a dead man—Jimmy wondered frantically if this wasn’t why he hadn’t wanted to speak before.

  I know it’s you now, Snake Man. Damn you, anyway. You can’t stop me, though, you hear? I defy you to stop me. Jimmy put all the force of a yell into his thoughts, knowing that if the spirit were listening and paying attention, he’d hear. And even though he knew how foolish it was to challenge one of Sint Holo’s kind, he didn’t feel like being careful if caution got in his way. He was dead as hell, mad as fuck, and he wasn’t going to take it anymore.

  As if in answer to his challenge, the crowds began to press back in. Women in the scantiest things they could get away with in February, men in everything from Captain Hook to urban punk, complete with fake piercings. He spotted a small, red-haired man who ran a flower shop, dancing with wild abandon.

  Come to think of it…

  A quick pantomime later and Jimmy was walking away with a bouquet of three red roses, pressed on him in celebration of the festival. They’d been stripped of their thorns, so he was able to hold them tightly to his chest as he struggled through the mob. He h
ad plans for these flowers, and he intended to keep them whole and healthy until their time came to be used.

  Once upon a time, Grey had given him a bouquet. He’d laughed at first, joking about how he spent his entire days with flowers, so why should he want to see more of them when he got home? One look at the hurt on Grey’s face, though, and he’d quickly recanted, going over the blossoms like the precious tokens they were. He’d carried one of the posies with him to bed, laying it on the pillows between them while Grey rolled Jimmy up on top of him, readying him for the ride of his life…

  Ah, those had been good times. But they were over. Over. Grey had moved on, just as he should have. Why would Sint Holo play around with their lives now, in such a dramatic way?

  “Dance with us!” a young woman with long, swinging red hair demanded, snatching up Jimmy’s right hand. Another woman, with wild blonde curls, took his other hand in her own. Those roses, by some mysterious means of their own, clung to his heart when otherwise he would have dropped them.

  Startled, he found himself linked in a circle with a dozen wild women, each of them dressed in what looked like leaves made out of green and brown leather, garlands on their heads, and wineskins—Christ, are those real?—hanging at their hips.

  “Dance with us,” another woman hissed. “Play with us. Sing with us. Make love with us.”

  Jimmy tugged hard, knowing he wanted only one thing—out of there. The women held on tight. “We are of the Frenzy,” a brunette warned him. “We want you to play with. You’re touched by magic, old magic, and we crave the powerful tonight.”

  The Frenzy? Damn me! Jimmy tugged harder, desperate to get away. Seemed like Sint Holo wasn’t the only spirit or god playing games that night. The Women of the Frenzy, trying to stop him from going any further, though that could only mean one thing. He was close to his goal.

  But if he tried to leave before the women had had their fill, he knew enough of his mythology to realize what trouble he’d be in. He might be dead already, sure, but they could still tear him limb from limb—these women, probably ordinary wives, mothers and students during the day, possessed by the wild women of old for the night of Celebration.

  Instead of pulling away, then, he pulled forward, into the middle of their circle, and began to dance. He’d been good once upon a time, had even won a handful of slam competitions, and he’d served it up a few times. The women hooted and cheered, starting to race around him hand in hand in a dizzying circle while he entertained them, listening to the drumbeat inside his head instead of the melancholy pop playing on the loudspeakers.

  At the height of their frenzy, Jimmy tipped his head back in laughter, and whirled as fast as he could, breaking out of their circle. The women weren’t prepared for his lunge, and they parted in shock, but before they could come after him Jimmy shoved a young punk in their direction. They seized on the distraction as if he were a new toy, pushing him into their circle.

  The lad looked dazed, but not altogether unhappy to be there. Best of luck to you, fella, thought Jimmy, a little dizzy but still bent on his quest. With Greek and Roman folk about, what he sought couldn’t be far off…and ha, yes, there it was. An ordinary-looking building on the outside, but a cave of wonders within.

  Ganymede’s Grotto.

  And behind it, an alleyway that would be perfect for…yes. Jimmy stepped neatly around some boxes, and came almost toe-to-toe with Nicholas, sitting crouched on a cardboard box with his head in his hands. He must have sensed someone there, but he didn’t look up. “Go away,” he muttered through his fingers without any force or vigor in his voice. “I want to be alone.”

  “Well, that’s too bad, isn’t it?” Jimmy reeled back a little as the words came out of his mouth instead of merely being thought. His old voice, distinctively rough around the edges, like a rich rum—or so Grey had once described it. His own accent, too, touched with the deep tang of the Appalachians.

  Nicholas’ head came up in shock. He stared at Jimmy, his mouth working, and then blurted, “It’s you, isn’t it? It’s Jimmy. You’re back.”

  And Jimmy had no idea what to say at all.

  Nicholas gazed at his friend and found himself at a loss for words. Jimmy’s eyes stared back at him through the mask. His mouth, that wide, mobile mouth he’d seen speak a hundred thousand times was still, no more words coming out. “Can you speak?” he asked finally, not taking his eyes away.

  Jimmy looked uneasy. “It would seem that now I’m with you, yes, I can.” He tilted his head, eyeing Nicholas narrowly. “And why is that, I wonder?”

  “Ah. Yes.” Nicholas leaned against the wall of the alley, not caring if his shirt got smudged or dirty—who would care?—and folded his arms. “You know, once upon a time, my great-grandmother told me a story,” he said absently, as if he weren’t talking to Jimmy at all. Jimmy just happened to be an incidental listener. “I had wanted to keep a garter snake as a pet, and she’d forbidden it.”

  He glanced up. “She told me about Sint Holo, the Snake Man, and what he could do.” He kept his gaze fixed on Jimmy. “She recited the story of a mask made out of deerskin, and what it could do. She warned me against keeping any snake talismans, for fear of drawing Sint Holo down to work his mischief.”

  Nicholas reached into his shirt pocket, where a small lump had been all but burning him the whole night long. He drew out a tiny snake’s head, carved from bone, mouth open to show its fangs. Letting the object rest in his hand, he turned it over and over again, rolling it like a marble. “I had wondered if this was all more of Great-Grand’s wild tales, or if it were true. Somehow, I believed her. The Cherokee were a powerful People, and they drew their strength from the spirits. If the benevolent ones existed, then why not…”

  Above him, Jimmy drew in a sharp gasp. “You brought me back. Didn’t you?”

  Nicholas nodded.

  Jimmy let loose with a string of curses that should have colored the air blue, finishing with a hearty, “Fuck me!”

  “Thank you, but I think Grey has already taken care of that,” Nicholas said dryly. He squeezed his fist around the bone snake’s head, feeling the sharp fangs prick his palm. “Are there thorns on those roses?”

  “What? No.” Jimmy looked baffled through his mask.

  “Hmm. And why did you put the mask on, when you rose out of your grave? Curiosity? I would have thought as much. You never could resist anything that piqued your interest, Jimmy.” Nicholas rose, a bit taller than his friend, but not having to look down far. He reached out and pressed the snake’s head into the bloom of one rose, where it rested like a beetle. “There. I don’t have any power over you. I might have called you, but you answer to Sint Holo, and what he has planned, I have no idea.”

  Jimmy shook his head, clearly baffled. “But why, man, why?” he asked, voice desperate. “I was resting in peace. There was no need for me to come back. You and Grey look to have been happy together. Why summon up someone you’d long since said goodbye to?”

  Nicholas bit his lip and was silent. Jimmy apparently refused to take that for an answer and grabbed him by the forearm with his free hand, giving him a hard shake. “I asked a question, damn you. Answer me.”

  “I had to know,” Nicholas murmured softly. “When I was with him, I always felt like you were there, as if you were a real ghost watching over our shoulders. I had to know if he would really choose me over you, or go back to you any way he could have you, if it came down to the line.” He raised his face, proud as any warrior of old. “That is why I dared Sint Holo’s wrath. But outside of that, the magic’s not being made in my hands. Believe me or believe me not. I don’t care.”

  Jimmy plucked the bone snake’s head out of his rose—or tried to. It stuck there, leering up at him with fangs sharp as needles, hissing. Nicholas almost imagined that he could hear snaky laughter at the edge of the alley. Jimmy tried again, prying a fingernail beneath the edge of the carving.

  “I don’t think that’s going anywhere,” Nicholas said, r
eaching out to touch the small carving with one finger. “Three roses. One for Grey, one for you—this one—but who gets the third?”

  Jimmy glared at him. “You’re a deep one, aren’t you? Have all your plans in a row and everything lined up. Well, I’ve a few secrets of my own, Nicholas, and I’ll be kind enough to tell them, unlike yourself.”

  Nicholas rested his shoulder against the wall and indicated that Jimmy should go on. His heart ached to see his old friend in such a fury, but at the same time it was pounding with excitement at having the man back again. God, but he’d missed Jimmy, had grieved for him terribly, and to see him standing here—he didn’t know whether to venerate Sint Holo or curse the Snake Man.

  Because Jimmy couldn’t stay, of course. Nothing good lasted forever. Unless Grey laid a claim to him, the moment his mask came off he would go back to his grave, to lie sleeping throughout the ages, polished river rocks resting on his headstone.

  If Grey found out this was Jimmy, that was.

  If, and if, and if.

  “Come on,” he said abruptly, reaching out to nudge Jimmy’s shoulder. “If you want answers, I’ll take you to go find them.”

  Jimmy frowned at him. “What answers? What do you mean? Answers where?”

  “Just follow me.” Nicholas felt suddenly very weary. “We’re going back to Café Noctem, to find Grey.”

  “Oh, now, don’t—” Jimmy swore again. “Don’t tell me this is all about having him choose between the two of us!”

  Nicholas gave him a slanted look. “Why else do you think I would call you back? I missed you, of course I missed you, but I respect the dead and their need to lie quiet in their graves. That was the heart of Sint Holo’s mischief, you know. Bringing back the ones who had already passed over to the other side. But I had to know. I had to, Jimmy. And now we’re going.”