Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore 1)

Emil sighed and shook his head at the birds. They had followed him everywhere since he could remember, to a point where other children used to be afraid of spending time with him. Yet another reason to be ostracized.

The witch’s grandson. The boy with no parents. Guarded by jealous crows. And whether they saw the evil in his heart, as one girl put it, or were in love with him, as Granddad used to joke when he was still at Emil’s side, the consequences were all the same.

He lit himself a cigarette and leaned half an inch closer to Radek’s slender form. The staff of the general store would watch them at a time so quiet, so any and all displays of affection were out of the question, but with no one else waiting for the bus, they could talk frankly at least.

“Cracow is six hours away, if you’re lucky. There’s no one who could take care of the animals overnight.”

Radek groaned, for a moment looking much younger than his twenty years. Emil would miss him—the way his freckled nose wrinkled when he smiled, and the fiery red hair scattered over Emil’s old monogrammed pillows. “Oh, come ooon! Can’t you get a pet-sitter for a week, or something? I bet someone out there is dying to spend a few days in a thatch-covered house in Bieszczady, petting a beautiful horse. I could take some photos of the place next time I’m here.”

Emil took a long inhale of smoke, struggling not to raise his voice at Radek in those few precious minutes together. Everything seemed so easy for him. Maybe that was what happened when your family had money to spare for ‘pet-sitters’. Emil, on the other hand, was a flytrap for bad luck. If he asked someone to take care of his home, he’d surely come back to find his most precious things gone.

“Nah, the house is old and it’s got all these quirks, you know. It’s hard to handle for someone who doesn’t know it.”

“Airbnb it?”

Emil groaned. “What did I just say?”

Radek’s shoulders slumped. “Right. No Internet. This really sucks,” he said, and his hand discreetly rubbed its way down Emil’s spine. No one could see it, even through the large windows of the store. “But it would be great if you came over. There’s no other gay guy around here, right? I feel bad leaving you behind,” he said, exhaling as he looked across the empty road, at the store owner, Mrs. Golonko, who stepped out, still talking to someone inside.

Emil shrugged and put on a smile for Radek’s benefit. “I’m fine. You know I’ve got an eye for spotting thirsty tourists.”

Radek laughed and shoved at Emil’s arm. “You’re so nasty.”

“And you love it,” Emil whispered with a grin but lowered his voice when Mrs. Golonko adjusted her velvety jacket and stepped across a hole in the asphalt, approaching the bus stop in heels so high they might bend her ankle backwards if she made a wrong move. It seemed play time with Radek was over.

“Good morning. You going somewhere, Emil?” she asked, attempting a frown, but her smooth forehead only twitched.

“Why? You keeping tabs on me, Mrs. Golonko? I’m flattered, but what about your husband?”

“I was just surprised you have enough money for a ticket. Or gas.”

Ah, the joys of being unworthy of the unofficial queen of the village.

Radek cleared his throat. “Why would you be interested in the contents of Emil’s bank account?”

She snorted and pushed her permed hair back. “He doesn’t have one. I know. I employ him sometimes. Isn’t that right?” she asked, stabbing her gaze into Emil’s chest.

Emil put out his cigarette against the wall of the bus stop. “That is correct, Mrs. Golonko. I’d be nothing without you.” He knew Radek would enjoy the sarcasm, but the fact that she wasn’t lying made his insides twist in shame. Emil had no prospects for full-time employment and lived day-to-day, so doing odd jobs for the Golonkos often kept him afloat. If he antagonized her too much, he’d be left with one option—to seek employment at the fox fur farm belonging to Radek’s dad and her—something he’d promised himself he’d never stoop to.

Mrs. Golonko raised her chin, as if she wasn’t sure how to take his answer, but Jessika, Mrs. Golonko’s daughter chose that moment to call her mother back into the store. “Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” she grumbled before hopping back across the road in the fancy red-soled shoes she clearly wasn’t comfortable in.

Emil smiled at Radek, eager to savor the short time they had left, but his ears were already picking up the tired groans of the old bus.

“I’m really glad you could give me a lift. Next time, I’ll take you for a ride in that new car Dad promised to get me,” Radek said, oblivious to the nail he was hammering into Emil’s pride.