“Good morning,” she said. “Did you sleep well in this huge, creaky, and strange house? How’s the ring going? Do you feel creepily cursed? Why did your eyes change color the day before? How’s that going for you? Is your health okay, or has a demon taken over your body?”
I whirl so fast that my coffee gurgles in my mug, nearly tossing itself over the rim and onto the floor. I find Ellis staring me down, and she’s not smiling. Her entire hand is coated in soap and oil on top of a blanket of paper towels on the island countertop.
“I highly doubt any worse demon could inhabit your body other than what is already in there.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she huffs. “I didn’t do this on purpose!”
“Didn’t you?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Even if I did, it’s not my fault the bloody thing won’t come off!”
“We’re not going through this again.”
Ellis grabs the olive oil, turns it upside down, and dumps it all over the place. I let out a grumpy-sounding grunt at the fact that it’s now everywhere. “If it doesn’t come off, I thought we could try something else. Something other than cutting it off because I’m still not sure that’s the best option.”
“We could cut your finger off to save the ring,” I supplied helpfully. And dryly.
Ellis’ eyes get huge, but then I guess she figures out from my tone that I’m not serious, and she relaxes a little. She looks great, everything considered. She has zero bags under her eyes, and even in just a regular t-shirt and jeans with her hair in a pretty, wild mane, she’s gorgeous. Even far more beautiful than Meryl. At least, I think so. But maybe it’s just my dick talking, and I learned a long time ago not to listen to that appendage’s advice.
“I was thinking more like go to a psychic or someone who reads tarot cards and get them to give us some advice.”
“Right. Get some touristy fraud-y type of person to tell us how to remove a cursed ring.”
“Not them!” Ellis gives me that overly patient kind of look that frazzled mothers often give their children when they are two seconds away from losing their control and raising their voice, causing shit to get hairy. “The cards! Or like the ball or whatever they use.”
“Oh, right. Here we go.” I can’t even have this conversation, so I gulp back some of the coffee and very nearly spit it right back out. “Holy Hannah, what did you do to make this so strong?”
She lifts one pretty little shoulder and shrugs. “I don’t know. I just put in what I always put in. Twelve scoops.”
“Twelve?! You put twelve scoops of coffee in to make a pot?”
She stares at me blankly. “If it’s not strong, then why bother?”
God. No wonder she looks so perky. No, not perky, but awake or chipper. And also eye bag-less.
“Anyway,” she goes on before adding more oil to her hand. “I guess if the ring really is cursed, the cards would know. Like it would turn over all the scary cards for me.”
“I think you’ve inhaled too much New Orleans tourist mumbo-jumbo.”
Her lips twitch, and I’m so very delighted that I could be a source of amusement at this time. “Do people still use that word? Mumbo-jumbo? I haven’t heard it in, like, I don’t know. Ever. Because it hasn’t been a thing since before I was born.”
“I’m not that much older than you, so don’t look at me like that.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, twelve years isn’t much at all. What’s a decade or two here and there?”
“That explains it.” I take another long pull of coffee, sucking it back and swallowing before the butt load of bitter can hit me.
“Explains what?”
“Explains why you buy into garbage like that. You haven’t had time to get jaded.”
“Says the man who professes not to believe in curses but so obviously does.”
This time I set my mug down so hard that the coffee does slosh over the rim. “Pull it off and leave. Please. I’ll give you three months of severance pay. Just don’t come back because this is truly the last thing I need.”
“If you’re so worried about falling in love or finding a soulmate, why didn’t you just destroy the ring? You know, toss it in a fiery pit? Isn’t there a movie about that? Oh right. There are plenty of movies and a whole bunch of books about cursed items.”
“I couldn’t just destroy it. What’s wrong with you? The ring belonged to my great-great-grandma, and it would kill my granny. Thanks, but no thanks on giving one of my favorite people a heart attack.”
Ellis looks surprised at my words, but her voice is even more bitter than the disgusting coffee she brewed up, reminding me that apparently, she doesn’t like me very much, which isn’t a first for me, though people generally do like me. They also like my granny, and they loved my grandpa when he was still alive. Not only that, they loved my dad and uncle before both of them peaced out to live a life devoid of children and responsibilities. People love my mom and aunt as well, and generally, my brother and cousins are also well-liked. Since I’m an artist, people see me as pretty harmless, plus, who doesn’t like art?