Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

Adam had always despised the way some villagers gossiped about Emil being a Satanist just because he wasn’t like other people his age, but what if there was a grain of truth to it that went beyond Emil’s band T-shirts and long hair? Emil could be Adam’s greatest blind spot since Adam was so desperate to believe him. If he ignored his own hunch and it then turned out to be true, he’d be the greatest fool in history. Even if not the first to suffer because of ill-placed love.

When Emil came back in, Adam was still on the floor, but he squeezed the figurine in his hand to hide it. He didn’t want to believe what his mind suggested, but if, possibly-maybe, Emil dabbled in black magic, Adam couldn’t let him know his suspicions yet.

Emil smiled at him and put two mugs of tea on the side table, irresistible with the dark hair cascading down his chest. Adam didn’t want to believe the smiles and loving touch, or the endless patience he’d offered had been only a front, but the fact that he so desperately didn’t want something to be true didn’t mean it wasn’t.

“Mrs. Luty’s in a weird mood,” Emil said.

“Weird?” Adam uttered.

“Yeah. I kind of expected her to be angry over us oversleeping, but she was all charm. Maybe that grandson of hers just got engaged or something? Are you okay? You’re pale. You should eat, let’s go.”

“Am I?” Adam asked and dragged himself up, glad that the walls and floor were back to normal.

He wondered whether he shouldn’t take a shower first but decided against it when his stomach rumbled, and the scent of the cut apple teased his mouth into salivating. He put on a T-shirt and nodded, leading the way to the dining room.

“Father Adam!” Mrs. Janina had the widest smile for him, and she hurried past him, pulling out the chair as if he were incapable of doing it himself. “How kind of you to take Emil in for the time being. The moment you arrived in Dybukowo I could feel we had a good one on our hands.”

Had she used the wrong berries in her jam and was now tripping? “Oh. Well… I just did what was right. Everyone needs a helping hand once in a while,” Adam said and sat, discreetly watching Emil wink at him from behind the housekeeper’s back.

“Do you want anything hot? Scrambled eggs? Pancakes?” she asked, as if the feast laid out on the table weren’t extravagant enough. She even popped open a fresh jar of her homemade mustard. “And you, Emil? You must be feeling terrible after what happened last night. For as long as I live, there will always be a meal and a bed for you here.”

Emil sat next to Adam, and despite Mrs. Janina’s presence, the whole scene felt weirdly domestic. As if having meals together each morning might become a new routine. “Thank you, it means a lot, Mrs. Luty.”

She smiled, resting her hands on her hips. When both of them insisted they would settle on what had already been prepared, Mrs. Janina remembered she had a cake—Adam’s favorite plum sponge at that—in the oven, and walked off, leaving them in stunned silence.

“What is going on?” Adam asked, glancing at Emil, who already helped himself to some cold cuts of meat, as if this wasn’t the strangest morning in living memory.

Emil rolled his eyes. “Maybe she woke up to what a pity party I am. You won’t see me complaining.”

Adam watched Emil’s every move as he put a hard-boiled egg in a cup and used the spoon to crack the shell at the top. There couldn’t have been a more ordinary sight yet Adam’s thoughts ran wild with worry that maybe Emil somehow managed to bewitch Mrs. Janina as well, because why else would her attitude change so suddenly?

The black clothes causing gossip about his Satanism could have been something he chose on purpose just to have less people around his homestead. But would he burn down his own house? His reaction was surely impossible to feign.

“It’s just… everything about this day seems out of place,” Adam said, staring at the fresh bread, even though what he wanted was apple. He took one from a fruit basket in the middle of the table and bit in, only to be disappointed by its tartness. He’d expected it to be sweet, like the scent of the one Emil left in his room for Chort.

“I mean…” Emil lowered his voice and looked over his shoulder. “We’re dealing with evil magic. Maybe Mrs. Luty was possessed by an angel to even things out.”

Adam kicked Emil under the table, enchanted by the green of his eyes. The depth of their color lured his thoughts away from the figurine hidden under his bed, away from suspicion. Were eyes like that even capable of lying?