Hal grew serious. “Don’t worry about it, kid. If you have to leave in a hurry, I won’t be any worse off than the way you found me. Right?”
Storm wanted to give Hal a smile in return, but was suddenly afraid that, if he tried to smile, he might mist up instead. So he nodded and looked away.
“Then it’s settled. Here’s the plan. We open at four and close at two. You’ll be on from six to two. I’ll come in and get things started at four and stay until one person can handle it. Like now. You’ll close up.”
Storm looked around. It wasn’t yet midnight and the place had cleared out except for one guy sitting by himself in a corner booth nursing a long neck like he was in an ice house. Of course, it was a week night. Weekends might be different. Probably were.
“Alright.”
Hal turned toward the cash register, opened it again, pulled out a small stack of cash and laid it on the bar where the keys had been.
“Consider this an advance. You’re going to need some stuff that play money of yours won’t buy. Hope you’re not hungry ‘cause there’s nothing open.”
“I saw a donut shop down the block.”
Hal’s eyes flicked over Storm’s upper body. “Guy your size needs real food. Not puffy fried cardboard dusted with sugar. There’s some frozen stuff in the apartment, but it’s probably not much better for you.” He waved his hand at the bar. “Obviously something to drink is not a problem.
“There’s a little pocket grocery two blocks east opens at seven. I think. Run by Chinese, but they carry regular stuff. Nice people.
“So I’ll close up tonight. You go on and get settled. Tomorrow I’ll show you the ropes.” He motioned toward a door behind the bar. “That way. Have a good night.”
Storm looked toward the door and back at Hal. “Thank you. I…”
“Okay, look. If you really want to thank me proper, then one of these days when you think the time is right, I’d like to hear your story. Got a feeling it’s a collectable.” He nodded toward the back. “Go on now.”
Storm wandered through the swinging door behind the bar. There was only one locked door, so he figured he was at the right place. Hal was right. It wasn’t much.
He closed the door. The space had a half bath, a little dinette with two chairs, although Storm seriously doubted Hal had ever entertained a guest. One window facing the alley had iron bars. A low two-shelf book case that was filled with books. Alarm clock. No TV. He was going to have the company of the constant hum of the refrigerator. It was white with a curved top, about as tall as his chest, and it looked like it could qualify for display in the Smithsonian Americana section.
There was an old porcelain sink with a few black scars where chunks of the porcelain were missing. The room seemed to be clean though. No dust. Bed was made. He hoped the sheets hadn’t been slept on. But beggars can’t be choosers.
Sitting on the side of the single bed that wasn’t really long enough for him, he indulged in a deep sigh while he studied the mock marble veins on the linoleum floor tiles and remembered the picture of his beautiful girls saying goodbye, thinking he’d be home in a little over an hour. He looked at his watch and thought, “Right about now.”
His mind wandered to a mental candid of his idea of a perfect day. He and Litha had bought their vineyard and given the previous owners the two weeks they requested to vacate. Since the newlyweds had nowhere in particular to be, they reasoned that there might never be another time so opportune for sightseeing Northern California.
The picture that came to his mind was of a day driving the red convertible Aston Martin south on the Pacific Coast Highway from Eureka. The top was down. A cloudless sky met a cerulean blue sea on the western horizon and the water shimmered with the magic of reflected sunlight.
As he looked over at his new wife, her loosely bound hair whipping behind her in the wind, he was thinking that paradise could not hope to be as perfect as that moment. As if reading his mind, she turned toward him and laughed.
He could almost hear the sound of that laugh bounce around the walls of the little studio apartment. He saw a drop of something fall on his jeans. Oh, shit no. Black Swan knights don’t leak. Not unless they’re Elora. At least not over something as trivial as being temporarily misplaced.
Storm considered that he didn’t have a lot of experience with sadness. He had parents who loved him. He’d gotten what he wanted for Yule when he was a kid.
From the moment Sol recruited him, he’d been busy learning and drilling. Then patrolling and fighting. He had a mission to occupy his drive and his needs were taken care of so that he could focus on the work.
The closest he’d ever come to sadness was when Elora chose Rammel, but if what he was feeling at the moment was sadness, then getting on that plane without Elora would have to be categorized as a minor annoyance.
He told himself to pull it tight and get ready to wait it out. He would be found. He knew that Litha would never stop looking until he was back at home.
His f**k up of a father-in-law would have to do something right for a change. Storm’s mood lightened a little when he imagined what Litha would be saying to the incubus when she found out. She’d put him through seven levels of Hades.
Litha.
CHAPTER 10
A week had passed without finding Storm. Both hope and enthusiasm were starting to wane. Every day fewer searchers showed up to help.
Litha’s friend, the angel Kellareal, was committed and pressed his crew to keep looking.