Kindling the Moon
Page 15
“Have a seat,” I said, pointing toward the sofa in front of the television. At least the downstairs wasn’t too messy. My bedroom looked like a bomb had gone off in it, and the master bath was disgusting. “I’ll be right back. I need to … put something on,” I murmured as he sat down.
The trek up the stairs was excruciating. Why a thong— why today? I guess it could have been worse. I mean, yes, the lower half of my rear was hanging out, but at least I wasn’t wearing cheap multipack cotton panties, full of holes with the elastic worn out, like half of my others. When I got the nagging feeling that his eyes were on my backside, I wondered if it would look cowardly if I took two stairs at a time.
“Nice ass.”
My bent leg hesitated on the step. I turned my head to glare, but found him staring intently at the screen of his cell phone—as if he’d never said a word. For a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it, but I hadn’t. Thoroughly uncomfortable now, I continued my climb in silence without responding.
After I’d finished dressing, I started running a brush through my frazzled hair, then stopped myself. What the hell are you doing, primping?
Mildly irritated at myself, I walked back downstairs and found Lon right where I’d left him. He was leaning down, face-to-face with Mr. Piggy. My curious hedgehog was standing on his hind legs and sniffing the air, trying to flirt his way into the man’s lap.
“Mr. Piggy, get down,” I scolded, reaching to pull him away.
“What is that?”
“It’s a hedgehog.”
“Is he your familiar?” he asked with a lopsided smile.
Funny. My “other car” was not a “broomstick,” and if I saw that sticker on one more bumper in my neighborhood, I was going to ram somebody. I had nothing against Witches, Wiccans, Pagans, or anyone else on their own spiritual path, but my mother always taught me that “witch” was a slur; serious magicians were not witches. I didn’t spend Beltane dancing around in the woods naked or calling up friends to hold a fucking drum circle: I do real magick with real results.
I glowered at Lon without answering the taunt. His eyes narrowed to slits in what I suspected was silent humor. Was he laughing at me? It was hard to tell. After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced at the hedgehog.
“I didn’t know they were so small,” he admitted as I scooped up Mr. Piggy by his belly.
“He’s a pygmy.”
I shuffled over to a small gated pen set up in the corner of the adjoining dining room and placed him inside. He had a small bed, a couple of toys, a miniature litter box, and a water dish there. If I let him roam free all the time, he’d tear the place apart.
“Are you going to help me find my demon?” I asked. “Because if you are, I’ll offer you something to drink. If you aren’t, I’m not gonna bother.”
He chuckled once and leaned back into the sofa. “Straight to the point, I like that.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ll take coffee,” he said.
Was that a yes? I wrinkled up my nose. “I’m out.”
“What do you have, then?”
“Water or Coke.”
“No liquor? And you’re a bartender?”
“I don’t drink liquor. I might have a beer, but—”
“I’ll take it.”
I stared him down for a few seconds, then retreated to the kitchen. I returned with two cans of PBR that were abandoned in my fridge by one of my hipster friends; the look of disdain on Lon’s face was priceless. He set his beer on the coffee table like it might explode.
I stepped over his legs and alighted at the far end of the sofa, sitting with my back against the arm and my feet tucked under my legs. “So, you’re going to help me.”
“I talked to Father Carrow.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
“He seems to trust you, but he doesn’t know exactly why you want the albino demon.”
No, he sure didn’t. I reached for my beer, cracked it open, and swigged. It tasted like dirty water and sweat.
“I decided that I would help you—”
“Great,” I said with a fake smile, setting my beer back down.
“—if you are honest and tell me the real reason you want it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
Tired and angry, I began speaking louder. “You mean to tell me that you’re some ex-priest, and you’re not only refusing to be helpful, you’re holding information hostage unless I give in to your demands?”
“I was never a priest.”
“Oh, that’s right. You were kicked out, weren’t you? What could you have possibly done that was so bad, they sealed your records? That’s like a dishonorable discharge, right?”
His eyebrows lowered as he scowled at me. After a short pause, he answered, “One of my teachers suspected I was a demon.”
Oh.
“Are you?” I squinted at his strangely colored halo.
“Are you?” he countered, looking up at mine.
“Of course not.”
“Well I am,” he said. “So how come you can see my halo if you aren’t?”
“I was … born different. That’s all.” You know, just your average magical breeding experiment.
“I asked around,” he said after a long pause. “Lots of stories about bindings in your bar, but most Earthbounds seem to respect you.”
The trek up the stairs was excruciating. Why a thong— why today? I guess it could have been worse. I mean, yes, the lower half of my rear was hanging out, but at least I wasn’t wearing cheap multipack cotton panties, full of holes with the elastic worn out, like half of my others. When I got the nagging feeling that his eyes were on my backside, I wondered if it would look cowardly if I took two stairs at a time.
“Nice ass.”
My bent leg hesitated on the step. I turned my head to glare, but found him staring intently at the screen of his cell phone—as if he’d never said a word. For a second, I wondered if I’d imagined it, but I hadn’t. Thoroughly uncomfortable now, I continued my climb in silence without responding.
After I’d finished dressing, I started running a brush through my frazzled hair, then stopped myself. What the hell are you doing, primping?
Mildly irritated at myself, I walked back downstairs and found Lon right where I’d left him. He was leaning down, face-to-face with Mr. Piggy. My curious hedgehog was standing on his hind legs and sniffing the air, trying to flirt his way into the man’s lap.
“Mr. Piggy, get down,” I scolded, reaching to pull him away.
“What is that?”
“It’s a hedgehog.”
“Is he your familiar?” he asked with a lopsided smile.
Funny. My “other car” was not a “broomstick,” and if I saw that sticker on one more bumper in my neighborhood, I was going to ram somebody. I had nothing against Witches, Wiccans, Pagans, or anyone else on their own spiritual path, but my mother always taught me that “witch” was a slur; serious magicians were not witches. I didn’t spend Beltane dancing around in the woods naked or calling up friends to hold a fucking drum circle: I do real magick with real results.
I glowered at Lon without answering the taunt. His eyes narrowed to slits in what I suspected was silent humor. Was he laughing at me? It was hard to tell. After a moment, he cleared his throat and glanced at the hedgehog.
“I didn’t know they were so small,” he admitted as I scooped up Mr. Piggy by his belly.
“He’s a pygmy.”
I shuffled over to a small gated pen set up in the corner of the adjoining dining room and placed him inside. He had a small bed, a couple of toys, a miniature litter box, and a water dish there. If I let him roam free all the time, he’d tear the place apart.
“Are you going to help me find my demon?” I asked. “Because if you are, I’ll offer you something to drink. If you aren’t, I’m not gonna bother.”
He chuckled once and leaned back into the sofa. “Straight to the point, I like that.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ll take coffee,” he said.
Was that a yes? I wrinkled up my nose. “I’m out.”
“What do you have, then?”
“Water or Coke.”
“No liquor? And you’re a bartender?”
“I don’t drink liquor. I might have a beer, but—”
“I’ll take it.”
I stared him down for a few seconds, then retreated to the kitchen. I returned with two cans of PBR that were abandoned in my fridge by one of my hipster friends; the look of disdain on Lon’s face was priceless. He set his beer on the coffee table like it might explode.
I stepped over his legs and alighted at the far end of the sofa, sitting with my back against the arm and my feet tucked under my legs. “So, you’re going to help me.”
“I talked to Father Carrow.”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
“He seems to trust you, but he doesn’t know exactly why you want the albino demon.”
No, he sure didn’t. I reached for my beer, cracked it open, and swigged. It tasted like dirty water and sweat.
“I decided that I would help you—”
“Great,” I said with a fake smile, setting my beer back down.
“—if you are honest and tell me the real reason you want it.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Then I can’t help you.”
Tired and angry, I began speaking louder. “You mean to tell me that you’re some ex-priest, and you’re not only refusing to be helpful, you’re holding information hostage unless I give in to your demands?”
“I was never a priest.”
“Oh, that’s right. You were kicked out, weren’t you? What could you have possibly done that was so bad, they sealed your records? That’s like a dishonorable discharge, right?”
His eyebrows lowered as he scowled at me. After a short pause, he answered, “One of my teachers suspected I was a demon.”
Oh.
“Are you?” I squinted at his strangely colored halo.
“Are you?” he countered, looking up at mine.
“Of course not.”
“Well I am,” he said. “So how come you can see my halo if you aren’t?”
“I was … born different. That’s all.” You know, just your average magical breeding experiment.
“I asked around,” he said after a long pause. “Lots of stories about bindings in your bar, but most Earthbounds seem to respect you.”
