Page 15 of Hell and Hexes
Chapter 7
Sylvie
Isat at the bar, turned around so I could see the band, a glass of ginger ale in my hand. I’d gone straight home from Cassie’s office, downed a glass of Glenda’s smoothie, and napped the afternoon away, waking up around five. While eating my leftover Chinese for dinner, I’d taken stock of my physical stamina and what options I had for the evening. I wasn’t about to go back to bed after lying on a couch for two weeks. I needed to get out. I needed to start resuming my normal life so I could get over the physical and emotional trauma of my death. So, after a pep talk and some determined effort, I got a shower, slapped on some makeup, and headed to Pete’s to listen to the band.
They were only on song two and already I was realizing this probably wasn’t the best idea. I was tired. The day had taken a lot out of me, and the effects of Glenda’s smoothie were starting to wear off. My goal of enjoying a night out had quickly turned to sipping my drink, waiting for the band to break, then heading home and to bed.
Despite my exhaustion, I was glad I’d gone out. The band was excellent, and it felt good to be out and about among the townsfolk. There had been three fairies, two harpies, two nymphs, six gnomes, a goblin, a fetch, two minotaurs, a bear shifter, four pixies, and half a dozen werewolves all in the bar when I’d arrived. I was pretty sure by the time I’d left, another twenty of Accident’s residents would be packed in, drinking, dancing, and occasionally fighting. Pete tried to keep the peace the best he could, but it was expected that a few brawls would break out during the course of an evening. If things got too out of hand, Pete would come around the bar with the towel Bronwyn had enchanted for him, and the fighters would either take it into the parking lot or play nice. No one wanted to get whacked with a magicked towel. It was Pete’s way of keeping the order, and it worked.
Fear the towel.
Right now, the bar was lively but not wall-to-wall people. Everyone seemed to be sober enough that no fights had broken out, although there had been a few words exchanged. As usual, it was the werewolves who were causing the most ruckus, and I glared over at them to see if I knew any of the six well enough to chide them for their rowdy behavior. I recognized three, but not enough for my word to carry any weight with them. It was just as well since I really wasn’t in any condition to be confronting werewolves.
The band had just announced their break and I was getting ready to pay for my ginger ale when someone slid into the seat next to me. I looked over and saw a dark-skinned man with a close-cut beard and short curly black hair. He wasn’t any taller than me, was average in build, and although his features were attractive, he wasn’t what I’d call particularly handsome. But his grin and the sparkle in his brown eyes made my heart skip a beat.
“Eshu. I didn’t realize you hung out in town. Are you here for the band?” I asked.
“Nope. I’m here for you. What are you drinking?”
I slid off the stool, my heart rate increasing. “Me? Does Cassie need me for something?” He was a messenger. I figured Lucien had sent him to get me because of an emergency.
“I hope not.” He waved down the bartender, then scooted his stool closer. “It took me forever to find you. You weren’t at your house when I went by this morning, so I followed your sister around for a few hours, hoping she’d lead me to you. Then I started to search the town. Let me tell you, that sister of yours does some boring stuff. Do you know the majority of her day is spent in a tiny office with stacks of papers?? Reading them. And typing things on a computer. I’d shoot myself. What do you do all day? When you’re not lying on a couch, that is?”
I smothered a laugh at his description of Cassie’s job. “Well, I sit on a chair and listen to people talk.”
He turned, grabbing the two beers from the bartender and passing me one. “That doesn’t sound any more exciting than looking at papers. You should definitely consider a different job. Or maybe just stop showing up and do something fun instead like have sex with me.”
I rolled my eyes and handed him the beer back. “I can’t drink this. I died two weeks ago. I haven’t fully recovered from it yet and alcohol probably isn’t going to speed that process along.”
“You actually died?” He eyed me over, gaze lingering on my chest. “That happens to meallthe time. How did you die? Did a piano fall on your head? An angry demon rip your guts out? Someone throw you so far up into the sky that you fell into the sun?”
“I was electrocuted while microwaving hot fudge.”
His eyes widened. “That’s amazing! How many other times have you died?”
I felt like I was getting my second wind, so I grabbed the beer back from him and took a sip. “None. I only died the once and let me tell you, I really don’t want to ever experience it again.”
He sighed. “I know. You die as much as I have, and you get kinda used to it though. Death by hot fudge. That’s really impressive. Why are you not recovered?”
“Probably because I’m a human and not a demon.” I was worried I wouldn’t fully recover, that I’d always have this exhaustion, that I’d need to drink Glenda’s nasty smoothies every day for the rest of my life just to have some sort of normalcy, but I didn’t want to go into all that angst with a guy I was contemplating inviting into my bed.
“You’re not really a human, though. You’re a witch.” He guzzled down the beer and flagged the bartender for another. “I’m not really a demon, although everyone calls me one. I’m not an angel, either. I was born before the demons, before the angels, before the first spark of creation.”
“And your job is to deliver messages,” I teased.
He shot me a wicked look and spun his empty bottle around on one finger. “And other things. My job is to be Eshu and let me tell you, that is enough of a job for me.”
The werewolves a few feet away roared in laughter over something. I’d been trying to ignore them, but it was growing increasingly difficult as the volume of their conversation increased.
They were discussing something about an upcoming fight and how they couldn’t wait to kill those who’d left the pack and tried to steal territory from them. One of the wolves mentioned Stanley and Shelby, saying they deserved the same fate, even if they hadn’t tried to take territory on the mountain. I stiffened, worried that the two lone wolves might find themselves in danger. Cassie had given them sanctuary in town and had put the force of her magic behind her demand that no one in the wolf pack could harass or bother them.
Was that coming to an end? Was it not just a war on the mountain between two werewolf packs that I needed to be concerned about? Could we be facing a war in the future between the werewolves and the witches?
Eshu spun the bottle around on the tip of his finger again and started singing some bawdy song about a pirate and a prostitute. I tried to tune him out and listen in on the werewolves. Were they planning something? I’d need to figure out what was going on and warn Cassie.
“I don’t give a crap about that skank screwing a troll, but the traitor should die,” one of the werewolves said. “He was spying on us for Clinton. He shouldn’t be getting sanctuary. The witches need to give him back to us to deal with.”
I winced. They might be drunk and just talking smack, but just in case, Stanley needed to be warned.
