Page 2 of Relic

TWO

After a restless night, I pull myself out of bed, shuffling to the tiny bathroom. I had nightmares all night, my mind decided to show me the moment the man stabbed his talon nails into my throat. I shiver.

Splashing cold water on my face, I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to rid my brain of the terrifying images, but they won’t go. Maybe I should’ve gone to Santa Fe after all, but something about New Orleans called to me.

My stomach growls loudly as I spit toothpaste in the sink. I never did get the meal I was looking for last night. Which means I have to go outside again. The thought twists in my chest. It’s daytime though. I should be safe.

After throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, I slide into my beat up sneakers, grab my phone and keys, and with one deep breath, exit my apartment. The air is thick with humidity and the lingering smell of beer and vomit wafts around me as I make my way down the sidewalk on St. Peters approaching Bourbon street.

A few store owners hose down the walkway in front of their shops while others sweep away the debris of the previous night’s revelers. It’s quiet and peaceful, making what happened to me seem even more surreal. Did it happen? Or was it an elaborate, lucid nightmare?

All I wanted when I came here was for the city’s creative vibe to seep into me. I was pretty sure Linx wouldn’t come looking for me, but if he did, what are the odds he’d pick this city? All I ever talked about in front of him was New York. But now it seems Linx is the least of my worries.

I peek inside many restaurants, stopping at one with the shortest line, although there are still several people in front of me. Once I’m close enough, I glance at the menu on the wall behind the hostess. The restaurant is called Bite. Clever name.

It’s finally my turn to enter, and I’m led to a small table near the window. The restaurant is dimly lit, almost dark inside considering how bright the morning is. It’s bustling too, with every table full. The scent of rich New Orleans cuisine pours out from the kitchen, making my stomach growl so loudly I wonder if people nearby can hear it.

A waiter dressed in a crisp white shirt with a red bow tie and black pants approaches my table. He’s striking with his tan skin and bright blue eyes.

“Whatcha eating today?” he asks with a deep cajun accent.

“Oh, uh, sorry. I haven’t looked at the menu yet. I was too busy taking this all in.”

The man smiles. “That’s alright. How hungry are ya?”

“Very.”

“I got you. How about our seasonal beignets filled with a rich crawfish sauce? They come with home fries and a sweet beignet at the end.”

“That sounds incredible.”

“They are, hun.” He scribbles on his notebook. “Café au lait?”

“And water please. Thank you.”

He tips his head and hurries off. Despite last night’s alarming events, I’m feeling relaxed again, listening to the sounds of Bourbon street waking up right outside the window. The more I replay the events, I realize it couldn’t be real. I mean, the magic man made the other guy shrivel up like he didn’t exist. That isn’t possible. It had to be a dream, one of many I’ve been plagued with since Linx and his friends entered my life. That’s the only logical explanation.

After my hearty breakfast, which I ate every bite of, I head out again into the busy area, using my hand to shield my eyes from the sun. Now that I’ve decided last night was nothing but a dream, I’m feeling safe. Plus, I’m surrounded by people. I can go ahead and look for a part-time job to supplement my income while I build my portfolio. There has to be someone hiring in one of these busy shops.

Not far from Bite, I pause at the corner, gazing down the street at nondescript shops. One of the shops has the door propped open slightly and a sandwich sign in front that reads ‘RELIC’. Intrigued, I head in that direction.

When I reach it, I read the Help Needed sign on the glass door.

Must have 200+ years experience

Willing to work night shift

Black magic skills a plus

Discretion mandatory

Apply within

The sign makes me chuckle. I love when businesses take their schtick seriously. Obviously, it’s a joke, but maybe they really are looking for help. I enter the small shop, glancing around, as the bell on the door jingles. It’s really dark in here, the sun unable to penetrate the few windows. Every inch is crammed with shelves and tables filled with all sorts of interesting items from fake fanged teeth to blood in vials to books on vampire lore. Very cool!

There’s an opening near the back covered in seventies style hanging beads with a sign next to it on the wall that reads Staff Only. I head in that direction. Someone should be out here to avoid theft, I would think.

“Hello? Is anyone here?”

A woman appears, pushing her way through the bead, and staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Can I help you?”

“I saw the help needed sign out front. I was wondering if you’re actually hiring.”

She scoffs, crossing her long, elegant arms over her chest. She’s dressed a bit like Elvira, in a long black dress with tons of cleavage showing, her black hair pinned up in a messy bun. Her skin is pale, and she’s rocking deep red lipstick, but unlike Elvira, this woman is covered in tattoos and piercings.

“You can’t work here.”

I frown. “Why not? You don’t even know my qualifications.”

“I know you don’t meet ours. There are plenty of restaurants and boutiques in the French Quarter for you to choose from. I suggest you keep looking.”

“Morticia?” A man’s deep voice comes from the back. “Who are you speaking to?”

He appears, pushing through the beads and halting when he sees me. His mouth and chin are tinted red and he’s clutching a chunk of meat in his hand. It only takes me a second to recognize him, backing away slowly.

“Yep. You’re right. I gotta go.”

I turn and bolt from the shop, running so fast and far I have no idea where I’m heading. I make a quick decision to turn left, darting around people crowding the sidewalk, but I’m stopped by the huge frame of a man I run straight into. He grabs my arms to keep me from falling back, pulling me down another alleyway, and as my eyes roam up to his face, I gasp.

“How the fuck…?”

“We meet again.” He tilts his head. “But I don’t know your name.”

Shaking my head, I try to pull away, but his grip is too strong. “Don’t kill me, okay?”

He chuckles. “Kill you? I have no intention. Do you think I’m a mindless killer?”

Shrugging, I answer. “Don’t know. Don’t want to know.”

“So you didn’t find me intentionally?”

“Definitely not. I was looking for a job.” My eyes dart around. “You said if I saw you, there would be trouble.”

“Not in this setting. You came into my shop.”

“You own Relic?”

“I do. What is your name?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“I will only ask you nicely once.”

The subtle threat in his tone is unnerving in contrast to the smile on his face. I’d really rather not see what he does after he stops asking nicely, so I blurt out my name.

“Emery.”

“Emery,” he repeats. “That’s a nice name. I am Horatio Bouchard. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

I nod, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Do not fear me, Emery. I won’t hurt you.”

“How do I know that? You… Last night…”

He nods. “That was necessary for your protection as well as the city’s. It’s my job to take out threats. You are not one of those threats.”

“Okay. Was that man, like, a serial killer?”

“That’s a good way to describe it. Come back with me. We’ll have a coffee and a chat.”

“Oh no, that’s okay. I don’t want to take more of your time. Morticia said I didn’t have the qualifications to work there.”

“Why are you looking for work? I thought you said you were an artist.”

“I am, but I need supplemental income.”

“I see.” His hand moves to my shoulder, weirdly calming my nerves with his touch. “But I insist. Please come with me.”

Weirdly, my feet move before my mind is convinced I should, and I find myself agreeing to follow him. “Is Morticia your wife or girlfriend?”

A boisterous laugh leaves his lips. “Far from it. She is like a sister to me. A dear friend. She can be a stickler for rules though, whereas I like to follow my instinct. We balance each other well.”

“Oh. Cool.”

“I have no partner at the moment.”

I simply nod, not sure what to say.

“And you, of course, are here alone, so I assume you have no partner as well.”

“Right.”

Horatio stops abruptly, turning to face me, his movements unusually quick. “And you prefer men as your lovers, am I correct?”

How did he do that?

“Do I give off mad gay vibes or what?”

Horatio chuckles, twisting back around to walk forward. “Not at all. I excel at understanding people.”

“What do you prefer?” I ask, feeling a burst of bravery and curiosity about the odd man.

“Anyone I fancy,” he answers.

After two blocks of traveling, in which I struggle to keep up with his pace, we round the corner for Relic.

“Were you eating when I came in?”

Horatio glances at me. “Yes.”

“It looked…” Like a dead animal. “Raw.”

“Yes.”

“You eat raw meat for breakfast?”

“For all meals.” He tilts his head at me. “You’re an interesting little thing, Emery. You don’t know much about New Orleans, do you?”

“No.”

“Ah. Perfect.” He whispers the last word.

“Why is it perfect?”

“You’ll see.”

Once we reach Relic, he opens the door, ushering me inside. Morticia is behind the counter, glaring at me as she taps long black fingernails on the desk.

“Found him,” Horatio announces.

“What a shock,” she says, clearly unamused. “You can’t keep him.”

“I can do as I wish, Morti. Have you not learned that yet?”

She huffs. “It’s a liability.”

“It is mine alone.”

“Hi.” They both look at me. “I can hear you, you know. Just saying.”

Horatio chuckles while Morticia continues to scowl.

“Are you good with people?” Horatio asks.

“Pretty good. I’m not good at restaurant jobs. Clearing people’s dirty dishes grosses me out. I’m a little clumsy too, so bartender isn’t good.”

“Oh gods,” Morticia murmurs.

“But I can work nights. It’s fine. Whatever hours. I’m only looking for part-time hours, so I can keep working on my art.”

“Charming,” Horatio says. As he studies me, his gaze intensifies, turning from somewhat pleasant to downright sinister. A shiver of apprehension moves down my spine. “You’re hired.”

“What?”

“Horatio,” Morticia says through clenched teeth. “In the back, please.”

“Stay here,” Horatio says, not giving me any choice from his tone.

The two of them disappear behind the beads while I look around. I notice the sign with the hours on it. They open in twenty minutes, and people are lining up outside. On the desk near the register is another sign that says Capacity 8 People At All Times.

As I peruse the books, mentally accepting that last night wasn’t a dream at all, the two voices in the back become hushed yelling. I can feel the tension between them. It seems I’m not wanted here. My heart sinks. I should go. There are a lot of places around here where I can try to find work, and frankly, Horatio creeps me out a little.

I head toward the door, pausing when a man and women step inside. They look like your average tourists, both wearing NOLA t-shirts, shorts, and sneakers. They eye me up and down before stalking towards me.

“The store is still closed.”

Neither speak, but as their eyes glow red, flashbacks from last night grip me. I back away, hitting the desk behind me. The bell above the door jingles as it closes, Morticia blocking it with her body. How did she get there?

“Duck,” she says.

I do as she says, flinching as first the man, then the woman are decapitated. The man’s head rolls down the crooked floor toward the back, while the woman’s lands at my feet. I open my mouth to scream but not a single sound comes out. Horatio appears, crouching in front of me, a bloody sword in his hand.

“Did they touch you?”

I’m breathing so hard I can’t answer him. Pretty sure I’m about to die of shock.

“Emery. You’re safe. Speak to me.”

My eyes twitch from the woman’s head to Horatio. Gasping for breath, I try to speak, but only jilted sounds make it out.

“I’ll handle this,” I hear Morticia’s voice. “You handle him.”

My feet leave the floor, and as we pass through the beads, everything around me goes black.