Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

Emil grinned and poured them both generous helpings of the liquor. “You won’t regret it. I… I’m sorry I pushed your buttons like that last time. I was rattled by Zofia’s death.”

Adam exhaled, and while he was still a bit angry over what had happened that afternoon, the apology soothed his bruised ego. “I understand. No need to mention it,” he said, eyeing the bowl again. “What’s that? Are you feeding mice, or something?”

Emil sat by a table made of an irregular slab of wood on a frame of four legs, and had a sip from his glass. “My grandma… she used to say you have to keep Chort fed if you don’t want misfortune to enter your home. I know, it’s stupid, but tradition is all I have left of her.”

No wonder Mrs. Janina kept her bowl behind the broom, if this was to serve the devil, not ward him off. The pastor might be laid back, but he surely wouldn’t be tolerant of that under his own roof.

“So you’ve kept two opposing traditions in honor of your grandparents?” Adam asked, gesturing at the magpie and sat close to Emil. Their deaths must have been among the ones tattooed on Emil’s chest. The first one—marked with two crosses would have been that of his parents, since they’d perished together in a fire.

Emil glanced to one of the family photos, and his smile, stiff and oddly vulnerable squeezed Adam’s heart. It was the saddest he’d ever seen. “I suppose I have. You must find it all very strange.”

Adam tasted the liquor, surprised by its sharpness. It was also very sweet though, and creamy in a way that made him believe he could get drunk on it fast if he wasn’t careful. “I admit, there’s a lot to take in. I’m not familiar with this kind of stuff at all. And as a priest… I’m not always sure how to treat all those folklore superstitions. The closest we got to that in my family was putting hay under the tablecloth on Christmas Eve.”

“I know I fucked up the confession, but can this stay just between us?” Emil asked, eyeing Adam with those eyes like charcoal covered in moss.

“Can what stay between us?”

Emil bit the lips which Adam shouldn’t consider ‘kissable’ but he did. “I’m not doing very well. Financially. It’s a pain in the ass. There’s not much work around here, and the fortune telling… My gran was what some people call a whisperer woman. People considered her in tune with the local spirits, that kind of thing. Good Catholics would come from Sunday mass straight to our home and ask her for a good combination of herbs for their house, or to get help with conceiving a baby. So even if I don’t believe in any of it, some people think her gift is in my blood.” Emil shrugged. “Might as well monetize it.”

Adam leaned back in the chair, studying Emil’s eyes as he swallowed more of the homemade liquor. He did sympathize with Emil’s plight, but it didn’t make Emil’s actions any less wrong. “Why don’t you just borrow the money? You’re taking money from people who trust you, and you lie to them.”

Emil slouched. “It’s their problem if they choose to believe in fortune telling, Adam. I’m already in debt as it is.”

Adam. Not Father. Not Mister. Adam. As if they were close enough to use each other’s given names. It gave him pleasure to hear his from Emil’s lips.

“Is there really nothing else you can do around here? What is it you’re saving for?”

Seeing Emil as a man of flesh and bone, with debt, mundane problems and a knot in his hair should have been enough to put an end to Adam’s infatuation, but instead, the conversation was only throwing coal into the fire. Adam wanted to know more. He was hungry to eat up every single nugget of information Emil was willing to give.

Emil sipped more alcohol, his elbows resting on the table top as he looked at the dead magpie across the room. “I want to leave. For at least a while, but I need some serious capital to do that, because I don’t want to sell the house, and I could stand getting rid of Leia, but never of Jinx, and that horse will outlive us all, so here I am. Fortune telling. It’s harmless, okay?”

A flash of discomfort pulled at Adam’s insides. “When are you planning to go? Do you have… someone you want to visit?” he asked carefully, finishing his liquor in a single gulp.

He was ashamed of the relief he felt when Emil shook his head.

“I stopped making plans long ago. Nothing ever works out for me. Zofia was supposed to look after my homestead for a week, and now she’s dead. I tried to take care of my grandfather to the best of my abilities, and he died too. I tried to get a steady job, but all I get is seasonal work and promises nothing ever comes out of. I’m offering my clients entertainment and conversation about their issues. But I’ll only make any decisions once I save up. It’s not good to have too much hope. It will always spit in your face.”