Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

The pastor knew Emil was gay, since he’d listened to his confession when Emil had still tried to fit in and participate in Catholic rites, but he didn’t seem too worried, perhaps unaware of Adam’s transgression back in Warsaw. Or he just didn’t want to stir the pot. The man was happy as long as he had cake every day and a couple of drinks once a month, so why would he make his life difficult by questioning the nature of Emil’s friendship with a young priest?

By the time they reached the door of the parsonage, Adam seemed like his usual self, and Emil felt guilty over dismissing the issue of Adam’s mental state so often. What had happened brought them together but that fact didn’t make the possession any less horrific. Finding that devil figurine had been a reminder that for Adam, it was all painfully real and current.

“I need to change,” Adam said as they entered.

Emil knew this place so well that by now he could lead the way, but was struck by the lightning bolts in Mrs. Luty’s eyes when they passed through the kitchen.

“There’s no cake left,” she said with frost in her voice.

“What if I swept the yard during mass?” Emil asked, since he didn’t have much to do anyway and was eager to keep an eye on Adam.

Mrs. Luty gave a low hum and looked toward the cabinet where she kept all the sweets. “I suppose there is some chocolate babka left. It was meant to be tomorrow’s snack, but I could bake another one tonight.”

Adam discreetly patted Emil’s back and was about to go to the office where all the vestments were kept, when the housekeeper pinned him with her pale eyes. “Oh, and Father. You got a call from the curia in Cracow. They said they want five hundred units. I don’t know what this is about, but they asked me to tell you as soon as possible.”

Adam sucked in so much air he might have risen over the floor like a balloon. “Five hundred bottles. Did you hear that?” He asked, grabbing Emil’s hand and shaking it. His face glowed with joy, as if there couldn’t have been a better message waiting for him.

It took several seconds for Emil to understand what this was about. “Bottles? You mean—”

“Yes. Organic, homemade alcohol infusions in rustic packaging. Perfect presents for politicians, officials, and friends of the Church, just in time for Christmas.”

Emil blinked, taken aback by this development. The archbishop’s curia? He had no idea Adam had been pitching his products to church officials. “How much should I ask for them?”

Adam’s hand on his was as warm as ever. “I calculated it already. We’ll get 80% profit on each bottle. Five hundred bottles is a start, but a good one!”

Emil couldn’t believe that fortune smiled on him for once. Maybe Adam really was his good luck charm? He touched the little cross pendant Adam had given him on Kupala Night. “Five hundred… That will easily set me up for the first few months. I’d have time to look for a job. I was actually… looking at the stables. There are so many around Warsaw, and if I found work at one, I might get a discount on keeping Jinx.”

Mrs. Luty cocked her head, still with the plate of chocolate babka in hand. “What is this about?”

Adam spun around and let go of Emil with reluctance that made Emil’s smile grow even wider. “I helped Emil find a buyer for his alcohol infusions. You know how Father Marek likes those. And he might—”

“Move,” Emil said, taking the plate from her.

“Move? Good heavens. Where to?” She scanned him from head to toe as if she was seeing him for the first time.

Emil stood taller. “To Warsaw.”

“And what do you know about Warsaw? You haven’t been out of Dybukowo your whole life.”

“That’s not true. I’ve been away a few times.”

“For a couple of days at a time. You can’t move,” Mrs. Luty said, stepping closer, as if she’d forgotten how mean she’d been to him for the past dozen years.

Adam winked at Emil and walked off to change, which left Emil to deal with the nosy housekeeper, who stared at him as if she expected to hear it was all a joke.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Luty, you will still get to see me for a while. I need to sell the house before leaving for good, anyway.”

Mrs. Luty gasped, touching the middle of her chest in exasperation. “Sell your grandparents’ land? It’s yours to do with as you please, but that cannot be something you’re seriously considering, Emil. I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but Dybukowo is where you belong.”

How could she possibly claim she knew where he belonged? This pushiness was getting awkward, so he decided to nip the topic in the bud. “There are still many decisions I need to make.”