Where the Devil Says Goodnight (Folk Lore #1) - K.A. Merikan Page 0,42

go? Do you have… someone you want to visit?” he asked carefully, finishing his liquor in a single gulp.

He was ashamed of the relief he felt when Emil shook his head.

“I stopped making plans long ago. Nothing ever works out for me. Zofia was supposed to look after my homestead for a week, and now she’s dead. I tried to take care of my grandfather to the best of my abilities, and he died too. I tried to get a steady job, but all I get is seasonal work and promises nothing ever comes out of. I’m offering my clients entertainment and conversation about their issues. But I’ll only make any decisions once I save up. It’s not good to have too much hope. It will always spit in your face.”

This might have been the single saddest thing anyone had ever told Adam in person, and he leaned forward, giving Emil’s hand a gentle squeeze. Despite the heat of the day, for once he longed for more of Emil’s warmth. “Whatever happens, you’ll have a friend in me. But it’s wrong to profit from people’s naïveté.”

Emil put his glass away and turned Adam’s hand in his. There were calluses on his palms, but their touch wouldn’t stop resonating throughout Adam’s body. “I’ll stop. Just for you. But you have to let me read your fortune. Free of charge.”

Adam exhaled. His eyes locked on Emil’s. In the dusky light, they had the depth of a primeval forest that opened up to him in invitation. He forgot that his body existed beyond Emil’s touch. “You’re kidding. I’m a priest.”

“It’s just a bit of fun,” Emil said, his charming smile back in place. The words sounded exactly like what the devil would have said to entice a man to get up to no good. But Adam wasn’t pulling away and just let Emil hold his hand as the birds outside sung cheerful hymns, as if they were welcoming their king.

“Oh,” Adam whispered, staring at the empty eyes of the skull tattooed on Emil’s arm.

Emil had promised to stop after this one last time. And wasn’t that what Adam was sent to accomplish here?

Long fingers ran over the lines in Adam’s palm. “I see a very strong fertility line, a confirmation of your male prowess.”

Adam rolled his eyes at that silliness. “Really? What else do you see in my future?” He took a deep breath when Emil’s forefinger trailed all the way to his wrist, leaving behind a line of fire.

But he didn’t move, his muscles lax, as if Emil’s body heat rendered them useless. They were so close a kiss would have been only a heartbeat away. A sin away. But he couldn’t pull back, hypnotized by the steady movement of Emil’s hand and the scent that would lull Adam to sleep tonight.

“A tall brunet?” Adam asked, trying to joke about it, even if the suggestion was inappropriate.

Emil grinned, his touch still testing Adam’s virtue. “Yes! How did you know? Tall, handsome…” Emil’s expression faltered, the smile gone in favor of slack lips. Before Adam could have asked was this was about, Emil’s thumb pressed on the inner side of Adam’s wrist, as if feeling his pulse. “No, it’s not a man. A goat.”

Adam laughed. “Are you saying Leia wants to be my bride?”

Emil shook his head. “This goat walks on its hind legs. Follows you wherever you go.”

Dread danced down Adam’s spine like a single drop of ice cold water. This wasn’t funny anymore. He recalled the sound of hoofs, which followed him when he first arrived in Dybukowo. He tried to pull his hand away, but Emil dug his nail into Adam’s wrist so hard Adam twisted, yelping as fear clutched at his flesh. The smoke on Emil’s right arm seemed to swirl, penetrating the skulls tattooed there too. This wasn’t possible.

Emil met his gaze, his eyes bright, as if the forest in his eyes were on fire. “I know you’ve never been hungrier in your life, but on the night of the Forefathers’ Eve you will feast on four meats. Pork, venison, even wolf and fox! Don’t hold back, you’re finally back home. Here, all is yours, and you are king.” Emil made a clicking sound with his tongue, and it imitated the dreaded sound of clopping hooves, knocking Adam out of his stupor

Adam ripped his hand out of the hard grasp, and as he stood, frantic with the need to get away, he gave the table a hard shove