Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,36

anyone about this?”

Adam exhaled, studying Emil in silence. “If you’re not angry, do you… need money, and the opened tabernacle was too much of a temptation?”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m managing just fine. Sorry.” Emil couldn’t have felt like more of an idiot and took a step back. Adam followed him, as if pathetic men were his catnip.

“I have savings. If you need money for something important, you can tell me.”

Anger buzzed deep in Emil’s chest at the pity in Adam’s eyes. “I don’t need your money, okay? I can handle my own shit!” He turned on his heel, rushing for the way out. This time, he was the mouse, and Adam—the cat wanting to play, and Emil did not enjoy being on the receiving end of this game.

He needed a new way to earn money, and fast, because Dybukowo was encroaching on him, trying to suffocate him each day. Until he found someone to mind his animals, he would intensify his attempts. And then he’d go to Cracow and Grindr the hell out of any handsome alternative guy in sight.

Chapter 7 - Adam

Over a week on, the words Emil had said to Adam in the confessional kept coming back at the most inconvenient times. Emil had told him about having sex with another person, but the way he entrusted his secret to Adam had been so filthy that each time he thought back to the muscle-melting seconds in the confessional, his ears tingled, as if he could sense Emil’s breath again.

“Adam? Hello, Adam.” Father Marek waved his hand in front of Adam’s face, startling him back to the reality of the lunch they’d finished moments ago. The disapproving gaze Mrs. Janina sent his way was yet another indication that everyone noticed he’d drifted off.

“I’m sorry. I thought about my parents, that’s all.”

The pastor’s face softened, and he exhaled, looking out of the window. “You’ve never been away from them for so long, have you? What has it been? Almost a month.”

Adam leaned back in the chair and took in the peaceful dining room that already felt a bit like home. The four weeks had passed like a breeze, and he already knew the area quite well. He did miss his parents, friends, and the easy access to culture, but the simple life in Dybukowo made him oddly peaceful. He’d become less nervous and more patient, which meant that maybe, just maybe, Archbishop Boron had been right to assign him to this parish, no matter how much it had initially angered and worried Adam. Even the sleepwalking had ceased as he settled into the new rhythm.

“Yes. I’m feeling very well here. What did you want to ask me?”

“There’s cake. Do you want some?” Mrs. Janina asked in a low tone that betrayed barely held back annoyance.

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.” He wouldn’t say no to Mrs. Janina’s cake. Her baked goods were as sweet as her face was sour.

“It’s leftover from the wake,” she said. “I suppose people didn’t have much appetite after hearing the accounts of what happened to poor Zofia.”

“May she rest in peace,” Father Marek said, and cut himself a generous helping of the cocoa sponge.

“Are people still blaming Emil?” Adam asked, trying to sound casual because of Mrs. Janina’s negative attitude toward Emil. He’d been appalled at the gossip about him. Sure, Emil was definitely a self-professed sinner, but not in the ways rumors portrayed.

“Bad luck is not a sin, but bad luck always clings to a sinner,” Mrs. Janina said, about to sit down with her own dessert when someone knocked. “Who comes to visit at lunchtime? So rude,” she added and padded out of the dining room.

The pastor shook his head and filled his mouth with a huge piece of the cake, which left crumbs on his damp lips. “People always look for a scapegoat, but poor Emil isn’t doing himself any favors. It all went downhill for him after his grandfather died.”

The sweet sponge got stuck in Adam’s throat, and he had to wash it down with water. “What do you mean?” he asked, already on edge.

Father Marek shrugged. “He looks different. He doesn’t do things like he’s expected to. His granddad, Zenon Słowik, he used to be a sort of… buffer. But when he died and Emil was left on his own, he stopped connecting with people.”

“And that should excuse their hostility toward him?”

The pastor scowled. “Some of them might have their reasons,” he said, and it struck Adam that if Pastor