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“A warlock is a very special …position. To put it plainly, warlocks serve demons, and by agreeing to be my warlock, you’ve agreed to serve me. Think of me as … youremployer.”
13
Remorseful
Gwend o...l...y...
She stared at him in a daze.
Gwendolyn heard the words—she knew he had spoken because she had seen his lipsmoving.None of the words made any sense. No more sense than her nightmares, and the odd occurrences in her apartment. Some part of her—deep, deep inside—had anticipated that there was a small chance the doll was haunted. But it never crossed her exhausted mind that it was haunted because she bought it from ademon.
Ambrosius wasn’t helping her process the information either. He appeared entirely too calm, as if talking about demons was an entirely normal thing to do. While she had been absorbing his confusing answers, Ambrosius had taken his cane and risen from his seat. He walked toward a small, wooden cabinet before pivoting on his heel to look back at her. If he was expecting commentary, Gwendolyn wasn’t ready yet. Her brain feltlike oatmeal as she tried to solidify any of the information he had given her.
But she didn’t want him to grow impatient with her, either. She had seen the way he had grown irritated at her lack of response earlier.
Word vomit it is.
“When you say ‘demon’…” Gwendolyn licked her bottom lip, feeling foolish. “Do you mean…”
Ambrosius’ eyebrows rose in amusement as she raised her two pointer fingers above her head in a poor display of horns.
“What do you mean when you do that?” he asked with a smirk.
Fuck, he wasn’t going to make this easy, was he?
“What I mean is you aren’t saying that as an expression. You mean it like…”
“Ifyou are asking whether or not I’m a demon in the sense of being thedevil—” he said it with a vicious disdain. “—then, no. I have no association with any monotheistic devils, or theism, for that matter. That’s a common misconception. I’m a demon in the sense that I’m amalevolent spirit.”
Gwendolyn blinked.
She hadn’t even considered he could have been the devil. While she had been baptized as a Catholic, she had never practiced any of it. Anything related to the supernatural had been strictly from her culture. She was much more frightened ofNightmarchersthan she was of the small figure on the cross that hung in her childhood home.
If Ambrosius was like them, shouldn’t she be more frightened of him, too? A part of her knew she was—to some extent—but not nearly as scared as Gwendolyn thought she ought to be. Was it possible that growing upwith tales of mythical creatures had better prepared her for the real thing?
Nah, it has to be from working retail.
“So…” Gwendolyn paused, waiting to be reprimanded. When Ambrosius did nothing, she continued a bit more confidently. “All the little things that started adding up—that kept happening, that was because of you?”
“A little. I’m not controlling anything you’ve experienced in the last two days, if that’s what you’re concerned with. I just … gave it a littlepush.”
“By tricking me into being your—” Gwendolyn’s nose scrunched up. “What did you call it? A warlock?”
Ambrosius shot her a look that Gwendolyn was frustrated to recognize as disapproval. She wasn’t certain if it was for pushing her luck with her questions or something else.
“You say ‘trick’, I say finding the right candidate for a position that needed filling,” Ambrosius explained with a twirl of his cane. “And you were right, warlock is the term.”
“And what exactly is a warlock? You said it was a position, but I don’t understand why you would need someone to work for you. I mean, you have…” Gwendolyn awkwardly gestured to her eye. “And I don’t know anything about antiques outside of dolls.”
“Gwendolyn, bittersweet, just because I have a few extra eyes doesn’t mean I don’t need…” his jaw tightened. He waved his hand around in a rather dramatic manner. “Assistance. And you needn’t worry about working here. I don’t have any room for you, anyway.”
Gwendolyn eyed the massive expanse of the antique store, eyes trailing toward the door frame, where she could see other rooms. When she looked back at him, he rolled his eyes.
“You wouldn’t understand,” he said dismissively.
End of conversation.
That irked her a bit, even as Gwendolyn tried to stitch all the information together into something she could see. Something held the bigger picture that Ambrosius wasn’t telling her. A flare of frustration weaseled its way up her chest as Gwendolyn stood, running her hands through her short hair.