Page 8 of A Soul's Curse
“Theo—”
James held out a hand, cutting off Mr. Carson as he sighed and went to grab the reporter’s order. “Of course not. But the fact remains that some people have frightening abilities that could level cities or unleash some unknown virus that can’t be cured. Citizens have every right to be wary of those who harness such powerful magic.” He gave me a sideways glance. It gave me the unsettling feeling that he somehow knew something about me and my magic ability to control death. “I’m not trying to discriminate, I’m trying to protect them. You must know that I’ve pioneered a number of programs to help the underrepresented people of the magic community navigate these challenges, and open businesses with the best chance at succeeding.”
“How’s that working out?” I grumbled in a low voice as Mr. Carson slid a cardboard pizza box across the counter. I pickedit up and handed it to James. “Your pizza,sir. Now if you could kindly get the fuck out of this establishment that would be fantastic. And if you could maybe not spread rumors about demons and other dangerous magical people on your way out, it would be greatly appreciated. Have a wonderful day.” I flashed him a cheesy smile and waved as he took the pizza.
“Thank you. I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” James handed me a hundred dollar bill. “Keep the change.”
Arrogant prick. Like his generous tip was going to save this business.
After James left, I went to join Mr. Carson in the kitchen, grabbing a bucket of veggies that needed to be chopped and peeled. He was stretching out a ball of pizza dough, each pull slow and deliberate as if showing the strain of his exhaustion.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Carson. It’s just … I can’t believe he had the nerve to show up here like that. It’s obvious he hates demons. The word-vomit that comes out of his mouth boils my blood. I can’t stand it.”
The shop owner hummed a cheery tune, despite the fatigue in his posture and deep lines of stress around his face. His once dark-crimson skin tone, a common trait among demons, had dimmed to a more subdued shade of burnt orange over the years.
“Could have been a lot worse. At least he tipped well. You should use it to buy yourself something nice. Maybe treat that boyfriend of yours to a fancy dinner.”
I noticed Vic had been kneading the same ball of dough since I arrived in the kitchen.
“Vic, you’re over kneading the dough.” He tossed a bit of flour onto the metal table and continued kneading.
“Vic!” I said louder as he startled himself into focus. He sighed, pushing the ball of dough off to the side. “Vic, what’swrong? Did someone break in again? Attack you? I can’t help unless you tell me what’s going on.”
A soft smile blossomed on Vic’s lips. “You’re a good kid, Theo. Too good to be a part of this mess.”
“What mess?” I asked, getting a bit worried.
“I’m sure you saw the graffiti on the side of the building. This is the second time this month the store has been vandalized. I called the police, but they’re tired of coming out here and despite the insurance company continuing to raise my premium, they keep coming up with excuses not to cover the damage because I’ve filed too many claims. I don’t think I can keep this place open for another month.”
My heart sank at Vic’s words. I had nothing but the utmost respect for Mr. Carson, and it was why, despite there sometimes being consecutive weeks I never got a paycheck, I continued to stick around to help. Demons weren’t terrible people—they were no more capable of violence or crime than any fae, vampire, shifter, or even someone without magic. But it was hard to wipe away generations of stories depicting them as monsters, and the fact the media was embellishing the myths didn’t help.
“This is ridiculous!” Leaving behind my bucket of veggies, I stomped over to the corner of the kitchen to another metal prep table and started selecting a bunch of different jars and containers from the shelf beside it.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I won’t let you shut this place down. I’m gonna do whatever I can to make sure that doesn’t happen, Mr. Carson.” I selected a big ceramic pot from the shelf and started tossing in a bunch of powders and liquids. Being a pizza delivery guy didn’t pay the bills, so I used my knowledge of things that typically made people hurt or sick to mix counter spells to combat the effects. I sold remedies to avoid nicotine, like I did for George, for things like calming anxiety, reducing nausea, alleviating hangovers,and healing minor wounds. People loved them because I’d make them into candies or teas that were much more enjoyable than the standard over-the-counter products sold. They weren’t illegal drugs, but I didn’t exactly have a business license to sell them, either.
Since the restaurant was never all that busy, Mr. Carson often let me use the kitchen equipment to test and come up with new ideas, and as a thank you, even though he never asked for it and constantly refused it, I’d give him a portion of my profits.
“Theo, you give away more of your product for free than you sell. Besides, it’s not your job to keep my business afloat.” I cringed at Vic’s statement. The people suffering the most usually couldn’t afford the care they needed, so I often ended up giving away most of my spells for free. My boyfriend and his friends were really my only customers, and even then, somehow Sly would always figure out a way to swindle me out of the cash I was owed.
“I can still try,” I muttered. “You never know. Maybe I’ll stumble upon some fancy new spell and make millions. Then you can retire!”
Vic smiled as he shook his head. “Only you would give away your fortune to demons, Theo.” Then he went back to work making another pizza.
For the next hour, I slaved over a pot of boiling water steeped with mint leaves. In went two drops of elderberry essence, one cup of honey infused with my magical energy, and a sliver of eclipse root. The herb had a deep, rich violet color with dark shadowy streaks running through it, and gave off a slight glow when cut open. Since it could only be grown using a witch’s magical energy, and only by those with the patience to grow it, it was a coveted plant used to balance the magical energies of a spell that not many people had access to.
“Hey, Theo. Delivery. Can you bring this pizza to Ellie at the museum? She’s working late tonight.” I turned around to see Mr. Carson place a hot pizza into a cardboard box. “She also asked for something to calm her anxiety and help her focus.”
“Well, lucky for her, I have just what she needs.” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder to point at the pot. “I improved the last spell. I call this one … Theo’s Don’t Panic Potion!”
Mr. Carson nearly choked on his own breath as he laughed. “That’s a good one. Better than ‘Theo’s Soothing Touch.’”
My face heated with embarrassment. Okay, so I hadn’t thought that one through. Asking people if they wanted my soothing touch hadn’t gone over very well.
I snagged a paper cup and ladled the liquid into it until it was just about full, then snapped a plastic lid on top to cover it. Its tangy, sweet aroma delighted my senses, reminding me of citrus blossoms and a baked apple pie cooling on the windowsill. This particular potion was a palette cleanser, a refreshing drink that was meant to be enjoyed throughout the day for maximum effect.
“Be safe,” Victor urged, his voice reflecting a deep worry. Delivering a pizza should not have been a dangerous job, but when your boss was a demon and you were hiding a dangerous magic that could kill with a simple touch, you could never be too cautious about who might paint a target on your back.
