Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

“You’ll miss the chance to inconspicuously grind against my ass in public once Daddy gets you a Porsche” Emil said nevertheless, determined to keep his chin high.

Radek laughed, and his fingers briefly slipped under the back of Adam’s T-shirt, caressing his skin. “I’m sure I’ll generally miss your ass, Mr. Mentor,” he said, and for a shocking moment that had the hairs on Emil’s back rising, it seemed like Radek might break the unspoken code of secrecy and lean in for a kiss. But he wouldn’t. Not in Dybukowo. Not in front of Mrs. Golonko’s store. Even if Radek were willing to come out, Emil’s unlucky run-in with a bunch of skinheads years ago had taught him a lesson painful enough he would never forget it.

He pulled away. “Take care of yourself.”

But as the bus emerged from behind a hill, Radek pushed a rolled-up bank note into Emil’s hand. “For the gas.”

The need to reject the cash was like the worst heartburn, but Emil was in too much of a bind to be prideful. “Thanks. But I’ll get you some boar sausage next time you come over, deal?”

“Always up for your sausage.” Radek grinned but had already picked up his large backpack and stepped toward the bus, which came to a halt, trembling from the efforts of its journey so far. The sun shone through Radek’s red locks, turning them into a halo that beckoned Emil in a helpless need to keep one of his few friends close. But he wouldn’t be an obstruction in Radek’s life and waved at him with a sparse smile.

He watched his friend take a seat by the window, and they looked at one another until the bus disappeared between the trees.

Emil’s heart thrashed in protest, tempting him to get on the bike and follow the bus all the way to Cracow, but he knew that as long as Jinx was alive, his place was here. And he couldn’t leave Jinx. No matter how much he loved the beast, his horse was one of the things that kept him in Dybukowo. At twenty-one, he was still fit as a buck, and sometimes Emil wondered how his life could change if one day Jinx peacefully passed away. He doubted he’d be able to sell his grandparents’ house even if he wanted to, but maybe he could rent it out for parts of the year and travel, no longer a prisoner to circumstance and obligation.

But he’d have to save up for that anyway, and his pockets were like sieves.

When Mrs. Golonko called out from her store, he pretended not to hear her and darted back toward his home, making the motorcycle roar as it left behind a cloud of dust and fumes. This day had already started on a bad note, and he could always listen to her insults some other time.

He drove past the tiny wooden building that used to house an elementary school before the advent of school busses, the notice board, homes of neighbors who knew all about his failures yet rarely did anything to help him out, and sped out of the main body of the village, so that nobody could see the twist on his face.

He could only breathe normally again once he dashed between two fields, nearing the crossroads between the church and his own home.

Maybe the stallion could find another owner, but he wasn’t the picture-pretty horse most people wanted for entertainment or sports, and the thought of Jinx ending up at a slaughterhouse somewhere in Italy or France made everything inside him ache. And who was he even kidding? He might be telling himself it was just a horse, but he’d promised Granddad he’d never get rid of it, that he’d always keep Jinx close, and he couldn’t break that promise, no matter how badly he yearned to leave Dybukowo behind.

But the worst thing was that he didn’t even know if he truly wanted to move to a big city anyway. Accustomed to having nature on his doorstep and plenty of space he didn’t have to pay in blood for, he might never get used to the noise and pace of life in a place like Cracow.

So maybe he was dirt-poor, lonely, and his future didn’t hold any promise, but at least he could go skinny-dipping in the nearby lake, or take long horse rides in the dense forests that smelled of moss, pine, and rain. Because when he was on his own or with people who treated him well, he didn’t feel stuck at all. The sun greeted him each morning and kissed his cheek goodnight, and when grass tickled him between the toes, he knew that his soul was bound to these mountains, and he would never find happiness anywhere else.

Without Radek to keep him occupied, Emil’s thoughts drifted to the handsome tourist Jinx had scared last night, and he glanced toward the church. He could inquire about Adam—just a bit of small-town courtesy extended to a lost stranger, but his mood was still grim, and he chose the safety of his home, with its thatch, small windows framed with blue paint, and his animals.