I tried to still my anxious thoughts and the bubbling waves of tension that coursed around my body as I attempted to make my fourth or fifth Old Fashioned. The first one hadn’t had enough bitters, the second one had an orange rind that had apparently not been curled enough, and the third, well, on my third attempt, the scowling man in front of me had decided he didn’t want whiskey. Or bourbon. Oranything elseI’d scrambled to shove his way in some last-ditch effort to appease him.
Nick shuffled past me with a crate of non-alcoholic beers that would never get drunk, as I attempted to make yet another unsuccessful drink. He flashed me a quick smile as I looked up at the scowling man with a pleading expression that begged him to put me out of my misery. The glimmer of extra tip money–although quickly fading–and the thought of dropping onto my sofa at the end of the night were the only things carrying me through this shift.
From shot glasses to bottles of questionable spirits to the occasional handful of maraschino cherries that replaced my dinner once I’d all but consumed my jelly snakes, the shift had been nonstop. Nick and I had darted past each other behind the bar all night in a flurry ofwhat the fucks?Andwhy are so many people in tonight?
As the night went on, my feet began to hurt, and the novelty of making a few extra bucks was really starting to wear off. TheBoardroom Butchersat in his usual booth, nursing the same drink he had ordered at the start of the evening. I’d only walked past him once to get a mop from the broom closet, doing my best to avert my gaze. But he was acting stranger than usual,as if that was fucking possible.He fidgeted a little more, and his eyes seemed to linger a little bit longer every time I caught him glancing at me from across the bar.
From under the bar in front of me, I heard my phone vibrate against the surface of the wood, knocking a slightly askew lime onto the sticky wood. Usually, I left it in my jacket downstairs, but given the last few conversations I had had with my grandfather, I wanted to make sure I was easily accessible just in case something happened to Maura. I flashed Nick a smile and trudged downstairs under the guise of popping to the toilet before plopping myself on the cool metal of a keg barrel.
Gramps: I know you are probably at work. But, call when you can.
Gramps: Grandma isn’t doing so well.
In the flurry of trying to piece together my own tangled emotions and the Old Fashioned-induced haze that was thelongest three hours of my life, I began to feel incredibly dizzy. I gripped onto the side of the barrel, and for a moment, I was infinitely grateful that I was already sitting down because I was sure, if I hadn’t been, I would be on my back, seeing stars right about now.
Fuck. Fucking fuck, Quincey. I scold myself internally for spending so much time with Jude instead of trying to find the answers to things that actually matter. I study Occult Sciences for fuck’s sake. There had to be some information about making deals with demons somewhere in the Cedar Ridge library. And I had instead spent my time failing to bat off the advances of a Clark Kent look-alike.If something happens to Maura, it might as well be your fault.
Gramps: We are at Chesterwood for some appointments. Water the Rhododendrons will you?
Quincey: Of course. I love you both.
Gramps: We love you, Quincey girl.
I took a deep, much-needed breath, letting my head fall into my hands?—
“What the fuck do you think you are doing, Quincey?” I looked up from my keg to find Orson Hobb's beady eyes sneering down at me. Orson Hobb as inowner of The Bootmaker.As inman who indirectly pays my rent.And from his point of view, the state I was currently in wasn’t exactly a glowing representation of my stellar work ethic.
I stammered as I pushed up on my legs to stand, at the same time a heat crept up the side of my cheeks. Standing there, I struggled to formulate coherent sentences that would allow me to explain myself. And what I was met with was not only a complete lack of understanding but a barrage of insults hurledmy way, just because he could.
“If you would just le—” he cut in before I could even finish.
“Did I say you could fucking talk? I have just about had enough of it with you, Quincey. Don’t you see how fucking busy we are up there? You’re supposed to be making me money, not scrolling through beauty pages on social media.”Sexist pig.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, a little breathless and worse for wear. “I appreciate that this doesn’t look good, but if you’ll just let me explain. My grandmother is?—”
“I don’t give a shit about your family.”
I just looked at him, my jaw slackened, and tears threatened to spill down my cheeks.No.I wouldn’t let him see me as anything other than a stoic wall of unflinching feeling. These tears were not for him, and I would not allow him the satisfaction of thinking that they were.
“I’m in half a mind to fire you right here,” he snarled at me, clearly irritated by his inability to rile me up.
I scoffed in his face before letting the thought linger at the forefront of my mind. At the end of the day, I could alwayswishfor more money. “You know what, Orson?” I smiled at him. “I fucking quit. Have fun running the bar yourself.”
“You fucking what?” He stepped in closer as if trying to intimidate me. After seeing Thallor in his demon form, I knew I’d experienced something far more terrifying than Orson. Something far scarier than his meager, little brain could come up with in his darkest nightmares. I had stared into the face of Hell itself–it had been dark and mind-altering and beautiful.
From his mouth came a landslide of vitriol that aimed to destroy everything in its path. I heard every curse and uttered word and stood there in apathetic indifference as he wound himself up further. There are worse things in the world than this snivelling little man and hisgood-for-nothingbar. He continued to call me every curse word under the sun, andhonestly, I had to at least respect the man for how creative he got with it.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a rise out of me. I was already on the edge. I was already so shattered from everything my grandfather had said, and there was nothing Orson could say to make it worse. That was the thing about me: I was already too broken to break.
I’d workeduntil the end of my shift, not wanting to leave Nick to deal with the fallout of my actions. I’d apologised profusely for leaving him on his own, but as it turns out, nobody had even ordered a drink in the space of time I was downstairs, making the whole thing feel as pathetic as it felt laughable. I’d hugged Nick goodbye, hoping that the next time I saw him, he would be on better terms before heading off in the direction of my apartment.
Quincey: Hey. Do you think you might want to stay up and watch a movie later?
Spawn of Satan: Can I choose?
Quincey: Do you even know any films?
Spawn of Satan: No. But I know you.
