Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (16 page)

Her cheeks turned red.
 
"You killed someone before the PTA meeting?"

"Hey, you want to keep your voice down?" he said, scanning the neighborhood.
 
There wasn't a mortal in sight.

"I can't believe this.
 
You killed someone, and then calmly walked into a
school
?
 
You walked into a parent meeting, to discuss the future of our kids, after you'd just
murdered
someone?"

"Well, I'd already lined up the babysitter."

Erica's face looked about to explode.
 
"Did you…just make a joke?
 
Is this funny to you?"

Jack was quiet a moment.
 
"I thought it was a good joke."

"So, you just had to scratch that itch?
 
Is that what killing someone is to you?"

"He was a child molester, Erica.
 
He kidnapped and sexually assaulted children, keeping them in a cage in his basement.
 
I killed a child murderer, and someone who was going to kill you.
 
I don't see the problem."

"The problem?
 
What…are you judge, jury, and executioner?
 
The problem is it's against the law."

He laughed shortly.
 
"Mortal laws.
 
Now who's telling jokes?"

Erica looked him up and down.
 
"Who
are
you?"

It wasn't so much the words, but the tone.
 
The question was like a knife cutting into the chest, if he could imagine what that felt like.
 
Erica's expression was that of staring at a stranger, which, sadly, was close to the truth.

She knew so little about him.

"I'm going home."
 
She turned around, and didn't face him again.
 
"I guess this is obvious, but please don't call me.
 
Just leave me alone."

Jack said nothing.
 
He watched her walk to her car and drive away.

He wanted to get up, but his legs didn't want to obey.
 
He simply sat on the front steps, watching the world in front of him.
 
Ten minutes passed.
 
His thoughts were a jumbled mess, which was rare for him.
 
Emotions worked their way in, taking the place of thoughts.
 
Regret, confusion, plain old sadness.

The front door opened behind him.

"Uh, Mis—…Jack?"

He looked over his shoulder to see Andee standing with the screen door partially open.
 
Her eyes reflected genuine concern.
 
Her movements were slow, deliberate.

"Andee," he said, giving her a nod.

"Is everything okay?"

He didn't answer.
 
He fished in his pocket.

"T-That's okay," she said, nearly stuttering.
 
She joined him, standing next to him on the steps.
 
"Five hundred dollars is plenty.
 
I was only here like two hours."

He smirked.
 
Two hours.
 
It was amazing how short a time it took to completely transform someone's life.

"A deal is a deal, Andee."

He counted out five hundred-dollar bills, and slipped the money in her palm.
 
She didn't accept it, not right away.

"Listen, I told my mom that one of my friends was having some problems with her parents, and her boyfriend, and that she needed to cry on my shoulder.
 
I really laid it on thick, and Mom said she'd cut me some slack on the curfew.
 
I can stay and watch the house a while longer if you want to go for a walk, or whatever.
 
Tiffany's just in bed sleeping.
 
It's not like I'm actually
sitting
anybody."

Jack finally managed to climb to his feet.
 
Andee offered a helping hand, which he didn't accept.

"No.
 
That won't be necessary.
 
But…thank you.
 
If I know you, you have the courtesy to
not
have eavesdropped on our conversation?"

"Of course not.
 
I wouldn't do that.
 
I did poke my head out once, before you got here.
 
I asked Erica if she was okay, but she didn't say anything.
 
I just left her alone.
 
After I saw you outside I stuck my head into my iPhone."

He nodded.
 
"Thanks again, Andee.
 
Especially with the short notice."

"Anytime."
 
She looked him up and down.
 
"You've got holes in your clothes, Mr. Jack.
 
I can almost see your butt."

"You're too young for that.
 
Goodnight."

Jack didn't bother watching her leave.
 
He stepped foot inside his living room and closed the door behind him.
 
There was a sense of finality as the door slammed home, like he was shutting the door on a small footnote in his life.
 
The night was coming to an end, but he didn't feel a sense of relief.

He looked up to see Tiffany sitting at the top of the stairs.
 
She was still in her pajamas, and from the look on her face, didn't sleep much.
 
Hugging her legs close to her, she hid behind her knees.
 
Only her eyes were visible, her wild hair framing her face.

"Are you and Miss Hernandez fighting?"

His heart ached.
 
She was supposed to be in bed, having nine-year-old dreams.
 
She was supposed to be thinking about Halloween, and the upcoming sugar coma it represented.
 
She wasn't supposed to be thinking about adult problems.

Jack marched up the stairs.
 
Tiffany moved aside, making room for him on the top step.
 
He sat down and put an arm around her.
 
She scooted closer, leaning her head into his chest.

"Yeah," he said honestly.
 
"We're fighting."

"Did I do something wrong?"

"What?" he said, leaning back to look at her.
 
She eyed the floor sheepishly.
 
"What kind of horse-shit is that?
 
We're not fighting because of you."

Tiffany sighed and wiped her brow, as if she'd been sweating.
 
The gesture was adorable.

"Are you two gonna break up?
 
And she won't come over anymore?"

"I don't know yet.
 
She needs to think about some things, and then I guess she'll let me know.
 
Or maybe not.
 
Hell, I don't know.
 
Girls are a mystery."

"No we're not.
 
Just give us chocolate."

He leaned his head back and laughed, which he desperately needed.

"If me and you—"

"You and I," he corrected.

She rolled her eyes.
 
"If
you and I
fight, you won't get rid of me, right?
 
You'll still be my Dad?"

He kissed her on the head.
 
"Always, partner.
 
We're family, me and you—"

"You and I."
 
Tiffany couldn't get the smile off her face.

"I just did that to see if you were paying attention.
 
You're not going anywhere, sweetie.
 
I tried to get rid of you once, remember?
 
You showed up in my shed.
 
We
will
fight.
 
You'll be upset because I want you home before ten o'clock.
 
And I'll be mad at you because you're playing some ridiculous thing you call music too loud in your room.
 
But you're not going anywhere.
 
No more foster homes.
 
This is it, right here."

Tiffany said nothing.
 
She didn't need to.
 
She squeezed Jack as hard as she could.
 
He kissed her on top of the head and brushed hair out of her eyes.

"Okay.
 
It's time for bed."

They stood up and Tiffany let out a relieved breath, looking very much like an adult.
 
Jack smiled.

"It's been a long day," she said.

"You have no idea."

He decided he wasn't in the mood for sleep.

Marie Johnson stopped her car outside the old, run-down building in the middle of Sandy Cliffs, Montana.
 
Stepping foot in the empty parking lot, she couldn't stop the smile spreading across her face.
 
She breathed in deeply the cold, crisp air.
 
Various scents registered.
 
A dog in heat passed through the lot not long ago.
 
A delicious dinner in one of the neighborhood homes.
 
Pasta with homemade sauce, with hints of oregano and garlic.
 
Traces of old pipe smoke, which was rare for the current times.
 
Sweat, semen, and sex.
 
Some lucky couple nearby was getting it on.

Pleasant memories wrapped around her, like a cup of hot chocolate, as she simply watched the building.
 
It used to be a bar, many decades ago.
 
She'd spent just as much time inside with her parents as she did in school.
 
One of her earliest memories was of pouring a drink for a customer with her mother's help.
 
She even thought she remembered what it was, a simple shot of bourbon.
 
Her tiny hands gripped the bottle, with her mother's over hers, guiding her along.
 
The patron, she couldn't remember his name, laughed and winked at her.
 
He gave her a nickle.

She sighed as not-so-pleasant memories visited.
 
The entire incident surrounding her attack, her parents.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts, and studied the building before her.
 
She couldn't take control of the bar after her parents' death, and it fell into the shape it was in now.
 
It wasn't even possible to tell it was a bar in its old life, full of laughter and people having a good time, of fun, crazy stories filling the air.

The long, dark windows that kept the sun at bay were long gone.
 
The smell of dirt, dead rodents, human waste, wrinkled her nose.
 
The front door was long gone, probably a part of some child's homemade fort in the woods somewhere.
 
The simple sign with the word
Bar
over the awning was actually still there, but it was faded and worn.
 
It was dented from rocks and other mysterious objects chucked at it.
 
The awning itself hung on only at a single point, and actually blocked the front door partially.

Marie imagined the inside was much worse.

Perhaps she was naive, maybe clouded by her memories, but she thought she could revive the place.

The bar was at the end of a residential neighborhood.
 
She remembered people stopping at the bar on their way home, or even sometimes on the way to work.
 
People from all over Sandy Cliffs stopped over, mainly due to the atmosphere.
 
Her parents were lovely, wonderful, and people gravitated toward them.
 
She knew she didn't light up a room like they did, but she could see herself touring the bar, with a small, friendly staff.
 
Laughing, having fun, making money, sharing stories once again.

There was also the simple fact that people loved alcohol.

Marie smiled as she took her first step toward the front door.
 
Humans still loved alcohol, even in the twenty-first century.
 
She laughed aloud as she thought of her parents once again.
 
She wondered how much time they spent in illegal speakeasies when they were kids.
 
They seemed to know a lot about alcohol when first starting out.

She lowered her head under the awning and stuck her head inside.
 
As she feared, the stench was far worse.
 
She loved her supernatural senses.
 
She loved being a werewolf.
 
But her extraordinary senses were hit or miss.
 
She could choose to see in the dark, but she couldn't choose to turn off her nose.

For the first time, her hopes started to dwindle.

The inside of the old bar was far worse than the outside.
 
An old mattress sat in the middle of the junk and debris.
 
Used needles and condoms littered the floor.
 
Broken liquor bottles, bags of trash, an old dead possum, even parts of cars.

"Holy shit," she said slowly.
 
"Is this even worth it?"

Her eyes fell on an old car door in the middle of a pile of bricks.
 
That pile used to be the bar itself.
 
She could almost see it in her mind.
 
Stools were lined up, men and women both enjoying a drink.
 
Her parents worked, smiling and laughing, while she sat on the very end, looking very out of place among the adults.
 
But they all accepted her, told her jokes, even kept an eye on her when her parents had to turn their backs occasionally.
 
The men would flirt with her mother, a beautiful, amazing woman, but not in a serious manner.
 
Her father was just ten feet away, and he would jokingly shake his fist at whoever stared at his wife.

It'd been too long since Marie came back home.