Damned and Cursed (Book 2): Witch's Kurse (21 page)

"It didn't work out, and I'm in pain.
 
I don't like it.
 
What do I do?"

"When Jake and I ended our relationship, I drank three glasses of blood and watched tearjerkers all night."

"That's what a mortal female would do."

"They're onto something then, because it definitely helped.
 
Luckily, you and I have something that solves all problems."

"What's that?"

"Time."

A hint of a smile finally formed.
 
Indeed, time did heal.
 
Jack once thought he'd never speak to Victoria again.
 
After she killed the only chance for his cure, a full-blooded witch, they didn't speak for nearly a century.
 
That was behind them, and they were family once again.

He would miss Erica, then he'd heal.
 
Then many, many one-nighters were in his future.

"Listen, I've got a trip coming up to India.
 
But I can swing by before I hit the plane."

"No, that's not necessary.
 
I'll be okay."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah.
 
Hey, I'll live, right?"

Victoria laughed.
 
"That you will."

"Thanks for the talk."

"Anytime.
 
You know I love you, Jack."

"Love you, too.
 
We'll talk later."

Jack hung up.
 
The pain was gone, at least for the time being, and replaced by a dull numbness.
 
He sat on the front step for ten minutes.
 
Erica flashed through his mind several times.
 
Her smile, laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes when he put on a Marx Brothers movie.
 
He'd miss those legs, and the way she wrapped them around his waist in bed, squeezing with all her might.

But in the end, he'd be fine.

The door opened quietly behind him.

"Daddy?"

He turned to face Tiffany, a look of concern on her face.
 
He smiled and scooted, gesturing for her to sit.

"Hey, partner."

She sat next to him.

"Erica's not coming over anymore, is she?
 
You're not boyfriend and girlfriend anymore?"

"No, Tiff.
 
I'm afraid we're not."

"She stopped by my room when she was upstairs to say goodbye.
 
She looked upset.
 
I figured it out."

"That's because you're a smart girl."

She beamed for a moment.
 
"Why doesn't she want to be your girlfriend?"

"Well, I guess she just didn't really like who I am."

"Then she's dumb."
 
Tiffany crossed her arms defiantly.
 
"Miss Hernandez is stupid.
 
And that's not cool, because she's a teacher.
 
How is she supposed to teach in school if she's stupid?"

It took two centuries of finely-tuned self control for Jack to contain his laughter.

"Don't worry, Dad."
 
She took his hand.
 
"We don't need her."

Jack hugged his daughter with one arm.
 
She playfully batted his hand away after he messed with her hair.

"It's Saturday," Jack said.
 
"What do you want to do?"

She brought a hand to her chin in thought.
 
"You're sad.
 
So we should get you some ice cream.
 
Maybe we should see a movie."

"Ice cream and a movie.
 
Just no chick flicks.
 
Some action, or maybe a cartoon for you."

"Sure."
 
She stood up and pulled his hand, dragging him to his feet.
 
"It's gonna be okay.
 
I'll take care of you."

"I know you will, sweetie."

Marie rose from the couch and paced once again.
 
Looking at the clock, only five minutes had passed since the last time she checked.
 
She opened her laptop and randomly selected a station from the Pandora music service.
 
She didn't care what genre or artist filled her apartment.
 
All she needed was a distraction, anything at all to help push the thoughts away and keep them away.

The bar opened for the first time in six hours.

Nearly her entire savings were gone.
 
The bar had been cleaned from top to bottom.
 
New walls, new floor, new ceiling.
 
A kitchen had been added.

Would people even want to eat?

There were three pool tables and two televisions mounted in the corners in front of the bar.

Would people enjoy the entertainment?
 
Would they miss the jukebox she could never find?

She hired a small staff of four people.
 
She'd paid for bartending classes for the group—not a cheap expense—and one of the staff already had experience as a short order cook at a diner across town.

Would four people be enough?
 
Would it be too many?
 
They seemed like good people, but would they even show up in six hours?
 
Would they remember their training?

Werewolves didn't get sick.
 
They healed from any injury naturally over time, with blood and meat speeding up the process.
 
They didn't get a cold, or the flu, or diarrhea.
 
The only thing that affected them was pure silver.

If that weren't the case, Marie would have been in her bathroom puking her guts out.

A good night's sleep eluded her the past few weeks.
 
Even napping under the night sky didn't soothe her the way it usually did.
 
She grabbed the map of Sandy Cliffs she kept on the end table.
 
As she explored the woods of Sandy Cliffs once again, she marked off the areas on the map with a time and date.
 
A historical journal, almost.
 
It was a hobby, a pleasant distraction in the middle of the chaos that was her life.

It wasn't distracting her now.

Sighing, she put the map back on the end table and paced again.
 
Her eyes fell on the car keys on the kitchen counter.
 
The thought crossed her mind to drive to the bar, quadruple-check the layout, the position of the alcohol, the height of the stools, the lighting.
 
The thought lingered more than thirty seconds, so she decided it was a good one.

She was halfway to the door, keys in hand, when a sobering voice spoke inside her head.

Six hours early was probably a little too early.

Marie tossed the keys on the couch in disgust.
 
She was a maniac, and she was well aware of it.
 
She had to find something to do to keep her mind occupied.
 
A little beastly stroll through the woods?
 
Terrible idea.
 
Night was her friend, not the day.
 
Maybe she could rent three movies and watch them in succession.

Or, perhaps, she could give in to the mania, and go to her bar.

Her pitiful excuse for a bedroom finally had a mirror.
 
She stood in the middle of the room and examined herself thoroughly.
 
She wasn't vain, didn't typically spend a lot of time primping or choosing outfits.
 
However, tonight was a big night.
 
She might not be able to control how many people showed up, but she could definitely control how she looked.

Despair tried to work its way in as she tried to think of what to wear, and nothing came to mind.
 
She didn't need a flowing evening gown, but she needed to look good.
 
What was
good
for a bar setting?
 
What was good for a bar setting, as the
owner
?
 
Her supernatural looks aided her.
 
She had perfect skin, and a figure that mortal women frowned at in jealousy.
 
But what clothes was she supposed to wear?
 
Did she show some leg, shoulder, cleavage?
 
None of the above?

It took an hour to decide on a pair of black jeans that hugged her curves, with a pair of boots that stopped above the ankle.
 
Originally she went with a white blouse, but figured it would probably have beer on it by the end of the night, and decided to go with something darker.
 
She playfully spun in front of the mirror, enjoying herself.
 
Simple, but effective, and was sure to turn a few heads.

Marie thought about changing her hair, but decided not to experiment.
 
Werewolves could control the color and length of their hair, but she'd grown used to strawberry blond and shoulder length.

Her hands actually shook as she drove to the bar.
 
The parking lot was empty, a sight she hoped wouldn't remain throughout the evening.
 
Emotions overwhelmed her as she stood in front of her bar, her parents' bar.
 
She knew the world was full of the supernatural.
 
Vampires and werewolves, just like her.
 
They used their extended time in their own ways.
 
Seeking fame and fortune, or simply living in the forest.
 
Marie just wanted to have a successful bar.

She felt silly as a few tears leaked out, but she couldn't help it.
 
The simple sign with the word
Bar
looked down from above the awning.
 
From a marketing perspective, she knew the name had to change.
 
Bar
wouldn't set the world on fire as the people of Sandy Cliffs drove by.
 
Perhaps Sandy Cliffs Saloon, or something along those lines.
 
But
Bar
was what it was called when her parents were alive, and for this special night, in honor of them,
Bar
would do nicely.

"I miss you guys," she said aloud.
 
"I'll try to make you proud."

A car slowed down and stopped behind her.

"Hey there," a man called.
 
"Is that place open?"

She turned to see two men in a Mustang in the middle of the street.
 
Marie wiped the tears from her cheeks and waved politely.

"It will be in a few hours.
 
Tonight is the grand opening.
 
Stop on by.
 
We've got food, beer, drinks, the game will be on."

"Will
you
be here?"

"I'd hope so," she said, giving her best business-like smile.
 
For just a moment, all the anxiety and near-panic faded away, replaced by a deep pride.
 
"I own the place."

The two men spoke to each other, unaware she could hear their entire conversation.

"You want to swing here later?"

"Yeah.
 
I'll tell Ron to pick up the girls."

"If Linda doesn't come, I want first crack at her."
 
The passenger indicated Marie.

"Cool.
 
But if you crash, I'm next.
 
She's fine as fuck."

She rolled her eyes.
 
Such elegance.
 
Still, she was somewhat flattered.

The passenger leaned back out the window.
 
"We'll be back later tonight."

"Great.
 
I'll see you then."

They drove away.
 
Marie took comfort in the fact that at least they'd have a few customers.

She spent the next few hours killing time, and being nervous.
 
She swept up the floor again, although it didn't need it.
 
The kitchen was in perfect order, but she looked it over anyway.
 
The bar itself was in immaculate condition.
 
She turned both TVs on, but kept the volume low.

Her first employee showed up an hour early, just like she asked.

Rob Faraday walked through the open front door.
 
Marie smelled him as he pulled up in the lot.
 
She smiled and waved as she checked the shot glasses one last time.

"Hey, boss lady," he said.
 
"Someone looks a little nervous."

"I've been nervous for weeks."

"You know, I think I noticed that.
 
Back when we were learning about mixing drinks, when your hands shook and you dropped two bottles, I thought you might have been nervous."

Marie laughed.
 
She liked Rob.
 
The past few weeks were full of stress, and he helped lighten the mood.
 
He'd fit in very well.
 
She could easily see him behind the bar, flashing that crooked smile while he poured drinks, flirting with the ladies.

"How'd your day go at the grocery store?" she asked.

"Eh, about as fun as it gets, I guess.
 
I know I said this before, but thanks for giving me a shot at this.
 
If this place really takes off, hopefully I can make a lot on tips.
 
Maybe even quit the grocery store.
 
Stocking shelves isn't as great as it sounds."

"You're welcome, Rob.
 
And if it
doesn't
take off, then you'll always have a place to stop by and shoot pool."

"It'll take off.
 
I don't know many people, but I've been spreading the word."

"Thank you.
 
Seriously."

He winked.
 
"Hey, it's not just for you.
 
I need to see me some honeys, and make some green."
 
He took in the bar as well.
 
They'd all been so busy the past few weeks with training and setup that they hadn't seen the bar quiet.
 
"The place looks great."