Page 7 of A Soul's Curse
“No thanks.”
“You sure? I work right across the street at Carson’s Pizza,” I said, pointing at the building. “It’s owned by a demon. You’ll be safe there. Have a slice on me while I look over your injuries.”
“I appreciate the offer, but no thank you. I have to go. I work at the grocery store down the street, and if I don’t hurry, I’ll be late and I’ll lose my job.”
She was about halfway across the parking lot before I blurted out, “Emberheart Place!” She turned around and gave me a confusing glance. “On Jefferson Ave. It’s not really close to here, but Pastor Nick is the demon who runs the place. If you ever need help with anything—food, clothing, a safe place to sleep or clean up—go there.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“I volunteer there a few times a week. Maybe I’ll see you there sometime?”
“Yeah. Maybe.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder and tucked a strand of black hair behind her ear. “See you later, Theo.”
And then she hurried off, scampering away as she tried to hide the limp of her right leg.
4
Thevampire’sbiteonmy ankle throbbed like hell, but if there was any venom left, my magic would take care of that before it caused any serious damage. I’d rub a little ointment on it later but for now, I’d just have to deal with it until the pain subsided. At least the dizziness and blurry vision had subsided.
As I crossed the street and headed back toward Carson’s Pizza, my hair stood up on end, an uneasy feeling settling over me. I turned around, expecting Jack or Emma to be there offering me a farewell punch to the face, but I was greeted with nothing but the whiz of a passing car. I checked the side of the building … the only thing there a fresh coat of graffiti from vandals.
Paranoid, I told myself. Just like I had been earlier when the mutant unicorn was chasing me. I was tired, paranoid, and my mind was playing tricks on me.
“Mr. Carson?” I said as I pushed open the door. The bell chimed at the top of it, announcing my arrival, but there was no one standing at the front counter. “Victor?” I tried again, gettinga bit worried. Attacks like what happened to Ivy or Lucas weren’t out of the ordinary. Over the years, a prejudice against demons and others with unsettling types of magic took hold. Although demons took the brunt of the relentless attacks, anyone with what society deemed impure magic had a target on their back, including me, which was why so few people knew my secret.
Even though this restaurant was Mr. Carson’s pride and joy, it was in complete shambles. Most of the tables and chairs were falling apart, sauce stains decorated the wall, and despite my best attempt to keep things clean, there was always garbage to be found somewhere. I picked up a sheet of grease-stained newspaper, watching the old television in the far corner replaying some talk show. I clenched the newspaper in my hand when a blond-haired pretty boy appeared on it, gloating and smiling like he was saving the world single-handedly by turning everyone against those with unacceptable magic.
“I hope you die a horrible death by a thousand paper cuts,” I muttered to the TV.
James Whitfield was the Editor-in-Chief of the local Salem newspaper, but often made appearances on television. His expertise was politics and law, and everyone seemed to be keen on getting his opinion on everything.
“Our towns and cities are becoming more dangerous by the day. What are you suggesting we do?” Rob, the middle-aged interviewer with graying hair and metal-rimmed glasses, asked his guest. He leaned back in his chair as he brushed a finger under his chin in thought.
The bell above the door chimed as a customer entered, but I didn’t look away from the television.
James’s grin started with a slight upturn of the lips, just wide enough to project friendliness without seeming overly casual or forced. “Extra precautions need to be put into place. Companies have already started increasing interest rates on loans for high-risk business owners, and doing more thorough background checks on demons wishing to open businesses in the area. If they’re deemed a liability, then their cost of running a business should reflect that.”
“You’rethe liability!” I screamed at the TV, crumbling up the piece of newspaper and chucking it at the screen.
“Excuse me?” a deep male voice spoke from behind me. “I’m here to pick up a pizza.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said as I turned around. “Let me go see—” I cut myself off. Blond hair. Devilish smile. Sensibly dressed. My gaze tracked back toward the TV, then to the customer.
“Oh. You have some nerve. Get the fuck out of this restaurant right now. You are not welcome here.” I was proud of myself for not screaming. I pointed toward the door, hoping he’d go willingly on his own. Unfortunately, James Whitfield kept his feet firmly in place, flashing me that falsified grin I’d just seen on the TV.
“That’s no way to treat a paying customer.” He tsked at me. “And from the looks of it, I’m sure this place could use all the business it can get.”
“The only reason we need the help in the first place is because of you! You and your stupid need to reform society. Do you know how many times this restaurant has been broken into? How many hours I’ve spent scrubbing off hateful slurs painted on the side of the building? Your slander is driving businesses like this into the ground.”
“Is something wrong, Theo?” Mr. Carson came out through the door from the back kitchen. The older demon paused his cleaning duties to look up at me, greeting me with his tired golden eyes that somehow still carried a glimmer of friendliness. When he went to wipe his brow, he pushed aside his shaggy, ebony hair that fell messily around his face. He rolled hisshoulder, trying to ease the tension from his aching muscles, and my rage skyrocketed seeing him so overworked.
“Everything’s fine, Mr. Carson.” I turned my attention to James. “I just stopped two thugs from ganging up on a defenseless demon, all because they said her magic was disgusting and dangerous. They got that idea fromyou… from your stupid preachings on TV. Are you okay with that?”
“Theo, perhaps you should head into the kitchen. There are a few pizzas that need to be finished. I’ll handle this.” Mr. Carson set aside his broom and rounded the front counter. “I’m sorry, sir. Things have been difficult here lately. Forgive my employee’s rudeness. Are you here to pick up an order?”
“Yes,” James answered with an air of arrogance. “There should be a large Meat Lover’s pizza for James Whitfield.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” I crossed my arms and ignored Vic’s order. “Are you okay with other magical beings being hurt because of your propaganda?”
