The Curse Servant (The Dark Choir Book 2) (7 page)

I had just reached the kitchen when I realized what had happened.

“I didn’t know you had kids, Dorian.”

I slipped the wine bottle into my fridge and hustled back to the front room. Before I could say anything, Elle rushed across the rug and threw her arms around me.

“Daddy!”

“Uh, no.”

“I love you, Daddy!”

“They’re not mine,” I yelled over Elle.

Ches lifted a brow and grinned as Elle crossed her arms.

“How can you say that?”

I elbow checked Elle into the couch as I stepped past her. “You are such a brat. Their parents are at the game.”

Eddie added without looking up from his electronics, “They’re getting drunk.”

“They’re not getting―well, your mother, maybe.”

Ches covered her mouth to conceal a chuckle.

“Welcome to Casa du Lac,” I announced with wide arms.

“Maison,” she whispered.

“Hmm?”

“It’s maison, in French. Casa is Spanish.”

I nodded and shrugged.

Elle beamed at Ches with unhealthy interest, so I tried to break her stare.

“She’s correcting my Esperanto now. You’re seeing this, right?”

Elle smirked at me and replied, “You’re not my real father.”

I ushered Ches further into the front room with a quick wave. “As the wine chills, can I offer you anything? I can make a vodka martini, I think, if you don’t mind skipping the vermouth.”

“That’ll work.”

I managed to keep an eye on Elle from the sideboard as I dropped a couple ice cubes into straight vodka. Ches leaned against the arm of my chair, looking over the books stacked along the bookcase. I did a quick mental check to be sure I had removed anything specifically occult. Sometimes I forgot what was and wasn’t forbidden knowledge, so it wasn’t a given.

I gave Ches her drink. It wasn’t much, but the crystal martini glass came from Italy and the vodka was top shelf. The only cheap thing in my house was my hospitality. She took a long sip and closed her eyes for a moment, and I tried not to stare.

Elle asked, “So, are you his girlfriend or what?”

Ches’s eyes shot open, and she gulped hard at the vodka. After she cleared her throat, she waved her hand dismissively. “I’m his barista.”

“What’s a barista?” Eddie asked from the couch across the room.

Ches leaned forward and replied, “It’s kind of like a secret agent.”

Eddie’s eyes moved slowly from his device to her.

Elle huffed, “No. She makes coffee.”

“Secret agents make coffee?” he whispered.

My legs buzzed with restlessness, and I nodded to the back of the house. “So, want the nickel tour?”

She nodded and stood up, cradling her martini between her fingers.

Elle hopped up as well. “I think you need a chaperone.”

“I think you need to find something on TV,” I retorted.

She glowered at me as I offered Ches my hand, leading her to the hallway.

“So, this is the rest of the house.”

Ches paused, then snickered. “This is it?”

“Well, there’s upstairs. But that’s just my bedroom, and I didn’t want to come off like a complete sexual predator.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Mostly I just needed to get away from Princess Tongue in there.”

“She’s adorable. Reminds me a lot of me when I was her age.”

“No kidding?”

“Well, yeah. I had three older brothers, and I had to yell at the top of my lungs if anyone was going to hear me. Learned how to throw a football, all of that.”

“You like football?”

“Yep. Go Dolphins.”

Sports. Great.

She gave me a sidelong glance and dropped her chin. “You’re not a big sports fan, are you?”

“I never really understood sports. If I’m going to pour that much sweat, blood, and money into something, I’m going to need something better than a trophy to show for it.”

“The trophy isn’t the point, though.”

“What is?”

“It’s the experience. Deciding to make that moment life-or-death. It’s a lot like religion.”

“I never understood that, either.”

She laughed.

“What?”

“I don’t know. It’s usually the other way around. I mention football and guys I date end up going on for hours. And I lose interest.”

For whatever reason, I didn’t really care for the way she said “guys I date” in the present tense.

“Maybe we should move on to cars or politics, then?”

“Yeah, that Audi outside?”

“Right?”

“Yours?”

“Sometimes I think I belong to the car.”

“See, now we’re getting somewhere.”

So, she liked sports and cars. Never in a hundred years would I have assumed I would end up on a date with a woman like this.

I leaned against the steel door leading to my basement. The cold of the metal seeped through my shirt, just reminding me it was there, not three feet from Ches.

“I need to check on dinner,” I stated, brushing past Ches toward the kitchen.

“Smells homey. What is it?”

“A dish my Aunt used to make in her restaurant. It’s a cassoulet.”

“A what with the what?”

“White beans, some duck and pork, onion and carrots. I wasn’t bullshitting you about the family recipe. Aunt Viv ran a restaurant on Long Island for most of my life. I picked up a dish or two when I moved in with her after…”

Her eyes wrinkled a little, and I regretted mentioning Aunt Viv. Time to change the subject.

“Uh… let’s check that oven.”

I made a big fuss over opening the oven door and checking on the dish in order to compose myself. I didn’t want to look like one of those needy guys who has to have everything approved by his… whatever Ches was. Besides, based on the look that crossed her face when the aroma from the cooked spinach filled the kitchen, I had a feeling Ches was going to opt for the sandwiches.

I spotted Elle peeking around the corner at us.

“Out of whiskey, Elle?”

“What?”

“You finished your straight Glenny?”

Elle cocked her head at me histrionically and made a gagging noise.

Ches leaned in and said, “You two act like brother and sister.”

I shrugged. “I suppose so. Never had a sister, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Brothers?”

I shook my head.

“So, what about your parents? Are they local?”

I bent down and checked the oven again. “We’re from New York.”

“The city or the state?”

“City. People from upstate say ‘New York State.’ The rest of us just say New York.”

“What do they do?”

“My father was an investment banker. My mom wrote freelance for a few local magazines.”

“Are they retired?”

This was getting painful. “They’ve passed away.”

“Oh.” She held a hand up to her eyebrow and scowled at the floor. “I’m sorry. I keep thinking you’re my age.”

“I’m not so old. It happened during my senior year. It was a long time ago. How’s that wine looking?” I swept across the kitchen to open the fridge, thankful for the blast of cold air on my face. I pulled her wine out and searched for the corkscrew I never seemed to put back in the same place twice. “So, what about you? Dolphins fan. You’re from Florida?”

“Jacksonville, yeah. Undergrad at Miami, applied to University of Maryland and fast forward to tonight.”

I started chuckling as I tried to pull the cork out of the bottle.

“What?”

“Sorry, it’s just… my last girlfriend was from Miami.”

“Ah. Well, I hope you don’t hold that against me.”

“Nah, I think you’re safe. Unless you’re a high-priced call girl who lies about getting pregnant to screw over her boyfriends.” I grabbed the corkscrew tight.

Why did I say that out loud? Stupid. So, so stupid.

I ventured a slow peek in her direction. She was half turned, focusing on her martini glass.

“Sorry. I guess I’m a little bitter.”

“No, that’s not… You’re fine.”

I picked up the bottle to try and fish out the uncooperative cork, which only managed to break in half in the neck of the bottle. I slammed the bottle down and stepped out of the kitchen door into the side alley. It had to look so childish, but I needed a moment.

Big, fat fucking mouth. What were the odds I could pull something out of this debacle? I took a few slow breaths and looked up at the sky just beyond the glass high-rise tower behind my house. The smell of the beans in my kitchen blended with some meat one of my neighbors was grilling down the street. I could hear a city bus squealing its brakes over on the MLK. Some kids screamed bloody murder about something unimportant a block over.

This was my house. I had invited her here, but it was still my turf. I didn’t have to feel like a whipping boy. I had no reason to be defensive. Right. I just got careless.

Not that any of that mattered to Ches, who was either already out the front door, or at best standing awkwardly in my kitchen wondering what kind of man-child storms out of the room because he can’t open a wine bottle.

“Got it,” a voice drifted over my shoulder.

I turned to find Ches holding out a goblet of pale wine for me.

I took the glass and exhaled. “Thanks.”

“No problem. Those corks can be tricky. It was probably a cheap cork, anyway. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever buy that wine again.”

I smiled and took a sip. It was exquisite.

“No, you should definitely keep buying this. Very nice.”

We rejoined the kids in the front room, and I let Elle take a turn at abusing Ches for a while before Edgar and Wren hopped up my stoop and stormed into the front door.

I stood to greet them, bracing for Wren’s inevitable bear hug. It came as expected, a little lower than I was prepared for perhaps.

“Back early?” I gasped.

Edgar bobbed his head back and forth. “They were getting slaughtered. I got bored.”

Wren sighed, sending beer breath wafting across my face. “I didn’t want to go, but he reminded me that you were in charge of the kids, and I figured ‘Hell, they’re either bleeding to death or summoning a demon.’ So we came back.”

I squinted at Edgar, who squinted back.

That was when Wren finally noticed Ches.

“Oh, holy shit. Did I just say that? Who are you?”

I jumped between Wren and Ches, trying to back the conversation up twenty seconds. “Wren and Edgar Swain, I want you to meet Francesca… uh―”

“Baker,” she finished, holding out her hand. “Call me Ches.”

Edgar shook her hand as did Wren though she spent more time giving me the “atta boy” stare.

Ches waved her wine glass at Elle and Eddie. “I’ve been chatting with your kids. They’re adorable.”

“Now I know she’s a fake,” Wren quipped.

I blurted, “Wine?” as I grabbed Wren by the arm. “You need wine to dilute that beer.”

“Uh, sure.”

I dragged Wren into the kitchen and paused by the island. She stood there rubbing her neck.

“Dorian? You’re being weird.”

“I need you to calm down.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you were all dominant and that was kind of hot, but Edgar’s got a way bigger―”

“Please don’t be so, what? You. Don’t be so you right now, okay?”

“What are you talking about?”

I stepped forward and lowered my voice, fully aware of how sound travels in my own home. “Look, she’s about half a screw up away from walking out already.”

“So? If she can’t take you the way you are, then she can fuck off.”

“Wren. I don’t want her to fuck off.”

“Oh. Oh!” Her eyes went wide. “Holy crap, you like her?”

“What do you think this is?”

Wren put a hand over her mouth. “Dorian, God. You gotta warn me when you spring a girlfriend on me. You know how I am on Orioles days.” She slapped my arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Hey, this was Edgar’s idea. I figured you were in on it.”

She reached for the corner of the island, steadying herself on her feet. “I’ll take that up with him later. So, have you screwed up in front of her, yet?”

“Maybe. I name dropped Carmen. Also, she likes sports. I mean, what am I supposed to do with that?”

“I like sports.”

“Yeah, but you’re creepy.”

She smacked me again. “Okay, now that I’m on board, I have to make sure you don’t screw this up. What did you tell her?”

“I told her about my parents. Also, what Carmen did for a living.”

“Jesus, Dorian. You didn’t.” She snickered, then stared. “What does she do?”

“Hmm? Oh, she works at the café down the street.”

Wren sneered. “Dorian, I realize there’s this special bond between a man and the person who brings him coffee. Just try not to confuse it with romance. ‘Kay?”

“I’m nothing but confused at this point.”

“Does she know what you do for a living?”

“No.”

Wren cocked her hip. “Why not?”

“You know why.”

“Because you’re an asshole?”

I wound around her to turn off the oven. “Because my line of work doesn’t really mix with romance. You know this.”

“Edgar and I do fine.”

“That’s because you’re Wiccan. You’re kind of playing for the same team. You were ready for this.”

“What about her?” she asked, fiddling with the chef’s knife on my cutting board.

“Trust me. She’s not in the Life.”

Wren gave me a squint before draining her glass. “You know this because you asked her?”

“I can tell. I think that’s why I like her.”

“But you don’t trust her.”

“I trusted Carmen. Showed her the Life. See where that got me?”

Wren frowned, then looked back into the front room. After a short moment, she beckoned me with a tilt of her head. As I sidled up next to her, she pointed into the room. Edgar sat next to Eddie, equally immersed in whatever game Eddie had been playing. Ches and Elle sat in chairs, both of them with feet tucked under their legs, animated in their conversation.

“She’s passing Elle’s test, you know,” Wren whispered. “Elle doesn’t like people. She likes you, unfortunately. And it looks like your Ches is doing pretty damn good.” She walked me back into the kitchen.

I took a deep breath and stretched my neck. Wren was nothing if not grounding for me.

“I take it back, Wren. I’m totally glad you’re you right now.”