“You’re the first person to put an offer on it, really,” the young, pimply-faced property manager told me. “After that young girl was murdered here, it seemed no one wanted to rent the space.”
I didn’t bother mentioning that the place likely would have been rented sooner if the person showing the space hadn’t informed potential renters of the homicide that had taken place there. I was just happy to claim it as mine. If the murdered girl chose to haunt me, at least my demon would have some company.
I moved out of my final foster home later that week and breathed a sigh of relief when I left, and for once, everyone was still alive.
The apartment was a two-story walk-up with a large front room that bled into a kitchenette. The cupboards were from the sixties, and the wood floor had a mysterious, dark brown stain on it that I pretended wasn’t blood. Behind the kitchen, there was a small bathroom that Norman Bates would be proud to own. It had a rickety corner shower, a toilet with rust stains around the bowl, and a little leaky sink. Beyond that was a decently sized bedroom that would fit a double bed and maybe a hamper if I bought a small one. The walls were painted off-white, and it looked like the landlord had just rolled right over all the light fixtures and floorboards instead of taping them.
It was heaven.
The first night, I slept on the floor. I had no furniture, but I couldn’t have cared less. My stray cat, Chaos, appeared on the third night to cuddle up with me.
Chaos always found me, no matter where I moved. His black, shiny coat and dazzling green eyes were the only constants I had been able to enjoy throughout my entire life. I cherished him.
Foster homes didn’t allow pets, but luckily for me, Chaos never had any interest in being my pet. He was happy to come and go as he pleased and seemed to be the only thing Death had no interest in taking from me. I had named him Chaos because of his petulant need to poke things off surfaces and create… well,chaos.
Nothing amused that cat more than perching on a counter, staring down an innocent mug or glass, and poking it with his paw until it fell and shattered on the ground.
Sometimes, I would catch him and yell at him not to do it, and I swear he knew what I was saying. The asshole would always make direct eye contact, pause for dramatic effect, then punt the damn glass off anyways. Truthfully, I didn’t care if Chaos broke every glass I ever bought. As long as he never stopped coming back.
Slowly, I saved enough from working at the bar to buy pieces of furniture from second-hand sellers online. These sites were the best option for me because I didn’t need a car. Most sellers were happy to deliver, especially if they lived in Gravestone.
For the first four years that I worked at Voodoo, I didn’t see Death once. After 12 months of working as a hostess, I applied internally for an open serving positionand got it. Shem was bummed but somehow happy for me at the same time. He even vouched for me when Rafael resisted.
After my third year, I applied for the bar. Within my first month of bartending, I had worked my way up to being the most profitable bartender on staff. My upsells were always through the roof, and I don’t think I ever sold a single shot ofanything.All my guests drank doubles.
I was a fucking wizard in service and had memorized the cocktail list overnight. I perfected free pouring and was absolutelyruthlesswith my opening and closing duties.
I wanted the Friday and Saturday night shifts, and the other bartenders knew I was coming for them. On a good night, you could make five hundred dollars or more on tips alone. Then there was tip-out, where the servers needed to give five percent of their sales to the bar, front, and back of the house.
Bartending had always been my end goal. It was a goldmine. Where I could live out the rest of my solitary, miserable days, buying gourmet treats for Chaos and making my little haunted apartment the coziest, happiest place on Earth.
On a chilly autumn Thursday night,I found myself working a busy shift with Sam, another bartender at Voodoo. It had been non-stop all night, but Sam had been the perfect teammate. He was a Med student at UoG, and he was just wrapping up his final exams. He had done most of my training and was kind, patient, and diligent. He was great with the guests on the wood, but I was faster on service, though maybe a bit messier. He tended to follow me around while I worked, tidying up when I got carried away during a rush.
He didn’t seem to mind, though. Our strengths and weaknesses complimented each other. I loved working with Sam, and I think he loved working with me too. I did my best in the confined space behind the bar to keep my distance, but I didn’t miss the way he would touch the small of my back to let me know he was there instead of saying ‘behind.’ He always asked about my day and listened to my answer like whatever I was saying was the most interesting thing he had ever heard. I liked to imagine sometimes that if things were different, maybe Sam and I could have been friends.
As the guests started to slow down, I pulled out the weekly closer list and examined it, needing to remind myself what Thursday’s big closing duty was. I groaned.
Thursday:Mop the keg fridge
I hated this one. It was especially difficult right after we received a new shipment, and most of the kegs were full. I was five foot two. Some of those kegsweighed more than I did. It was hell trying to move them around. Sam chuckled as he wiped down the bar.
“I’ll do it for you before I leave, don’t worry.”
“No, you opened. That’s not fair, I can do it. I just wish they would move this task to Sundays…most of the kegs are empty by then,” I grumbled.
Sam turned to face me, the corner of his mouth twitching up. A piece of his golden hair had fallen into his warm brown eyes, and I felt the space between my thighs burn. I swallowed. I hadn’t had sex in a really long time. When I had been living in foster homes, I had made the mistake of allowing myself to find comfort in some of the boys who had crossed my path. Most of them were sad and lonely and were looking for someone to hold them as much as I was.
Looking back, it had been foolish of me to think that my demon would have permitted a boy to love me. After the third one died, I stopped allowing men to touch me at all. Sam’s little back touches so far had gone unpunished, but I knew that it was pushing the limits of the invisible lines my demon forced me to operate within.
I took a step back, not wanting Sam to face Death’s wrath just because I needed to get laid. I shook my head again.
“It’s okay, Sam. Just take the empties down on your way out. I’m fine.”
He looked like he was going to argue when Rafael appeared on the other side of service. He ran his finger over the stainless-steel counter and examined the tip through his thick glasses, making a face as he did.
“Sloppy. I expect you to do better tomorrow night, Lilith. I can’t have my primetime bartenders slacking on cleanliness.”
Shem appeared out of nowhere, swiping up a maraschino cherry from one of the garnish bins and popping it into his mouth with a sly grin.
