“That is what you requested. My last two years of client lists, services performed, and contact information as well as confidentiality agreements signed stating I have express permission to share it in the case of legal action. One folder is myadvertised services, methodology and deities, spirits and forces I call upon. The second manila folder is mostly repeat information from the accordion, but I made additional copies of all enchantments performed a week before and after his supposed affliction date as well as a list of my male centric performed spells and a citation of all clients whom sought the services. The plastic folder is copies of all my permits, licenses, accreditation, coven dues paid, and registration of all non-planar entities I have contracts with.” He pulled a pen from his apron pocket, clicked it succinctly and, one by one, ticked off all the documents I’d requested save for the last one.
“This is absolutely fantastic. Color-coded tabs?” I opened a folder; its documents were tabbed with one of those sticky color notes, clearly labeled in neat script handwriting. “You are a dream client. Now, for the last one?”
“I’m afraid I don’t have a method for the spell you’re requesting. If I was to come up with such a spell, I’d have to spend a few weeks researching, ask my matron from the wild spring if she’d allow me… Actually, I think if I even asked for this spell, she’d rescind our contract. See the green tab in my non-planar contracts folder.” He gestured a hand, and I flipped through. Signed in blood, the photocopy plainly stated an accord for virility and the spread of life. A spell of the nature the litigant had accused Gre and many other mages of would have nullified it. Or at least sullied it.
“Can you put that in writing?” I smiled hopefully, ages of grief falling away from me with a sigh.
He nodded, positioning a wineglass by the candle, the gesture somewhat romantic as he poured crimson wine into it with a flourish.
“Oh. I’m— I cannot drink.” I held up a hand, and he raised a brow.
“No, but he can.” He pointed to my shadow as the form of it pantomimed a gesture of delight and leaned in to sniff the distorted shadow of the wineglass on the wall, a red cast coming through the dry red within. The faint vinegar, floral, and sharp astringent notes filtered by me as my shadow grabbed the glass and sipped exaggeratedly. The wine on the table lowered in the glass with each sip.
Gre passed me by and from the other room, he did something with a brief gesture I couldn’t fully see and returned with the sneaky piece of my shadow as it swam up and joined me. Being whole again made something in me feel calmer.
“Now, as for your statement,” he said, sitting down and drawing out his pen again. He scribbled on a notepad, pen moving rapidly in purposeful sharp strokes. The very act had a graceful feel to it, from the angle of his left hand to the quick flicks of his fingers.
I thumbed through his non-planar contracts to find one for his poltergeist. Vincenzo? It was farther toward the back, but apparently the contract was legitimate. The ghost had consented to being bound in service until such time as he was willing to move on. In exchange, Gre agreed not to destroy his totem of attachment, and allowed him to cook only what he fancied. I struck that question off my list and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of garlic and steam, faint dairy, mushrooms, and starch. My stomach growled enviously.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer. Is there anything else?” He tented his fingers, and I swallowed my own drool.
“The attraction charm out front?” I tapped my pen to the paper, almost embarrassed to make such a bold statement to someone that had treated both me and my shadow kindly.
He glanced up in confusion, brow cinching in the center giving him a strong pair of elevens that didn’t leave creases. Such smooth skin. In deep thought, he rubbed his hand along a raspyjaw, dark stubble budding from a morning shave. “I suppose one could say it was enchanted attraction, but no. I cast a spell of arrangement to best structure my window to attract the right clientele.”
I scratched that from my list.
“Last question. You can tell me in strict confidence, but did you cast this hex?” I flinched, but he didn’t react.
“No, work like that is not for me. For this reason, specifically.” He nodded sharply.
As I wrote his response, two steaming plates floated in, a reasonable portion size that wouldn’t leave me carb-loaded and sleepy, a neat slice of French bread toasted and coated in a thick, light-brown paste and a garnish of black pepper. As if noticing an unspoken question, the ghost spoke. “Garlic confit. I roast garlic in olive oil and strain the oil as a topping and the roasted cloves as a spread.”
My mouth watered as I plucked a napkin from the table to lay across my lap. I caught myself taking a bite without even seeing if my host had taken one and moaned at the flavor of the pasta morsels, garlic-infused olive oil roasted to perfection, a creamy sauce, and a slew of minced mushrooms. Crimini, I believed.
A motion in the corner of my eye showed my shadow, head thrown back in ecstasy, pantomiming sexual pleasure before making a finger-fucking gesture and pointing at Gre. My cheeks burned, and I gestured at him to cease with a hiss of warning. Instead of reprise or perversion, Gre only chuckled.
“It’s that good?” He took a bite and hummed, his deep voice resonating through me as if his entire body was a tone board, amplifying his music. “Excellent work, Vincenzo. My compliments to the chef!”
The ghost appeared for a moment to give a wispy bow before strolling out.
“I had prepared to spend a few hours with you, but you’ve done most of the work for me already. I thank you for preparing all this.” I took another bite.
“Thirty minutes of work at most. I already keep detailed notes and accounts. I take my role seriously.” He extended a warm smile to me, and I nodded. An ideal client. “Hopefully, that means you can enjoy the meal.”
“Thank you. I’ve not had anything this good in a while. And thank you, again, for being understanding. How did you know how to deal with…” I gestured toward my shadow, who rose up the wall, clawed fingers looming high above us.
Gre merely topped off his wineglass, and my shadow, appeased, resumed his eerie sipping.
“You’re by no means the first daeva I’ve come across. You’re not the type I’ve come to expect, but the shadow tells me a lot.” He shrugged and spooned a bite of risotto onto the bread and took a tentative bite.
“I’m sure you’re curious. I—” I paused as he raised a hand, chewing and swallowing as fast as was polite.
“Immeasurably so. But, I also know it’s none of my concern. What you choose to divulge and what I wish to know are two very different things.” He smiled. “Think very carefully before you tell your secrets to people.”
I usually did.
I told so few people that I could count on one hand.
