Chapter 9
Nine
Jesper was busy in the kitchen when Michaels returned to the ground floor. Hours had passed. Exorcisms always took time to recover from and left him feeling hollow and hungry.
The delicious aroma of roasting meat struck his nostrils.
Wagner’s Ring Cycle played at full volume, filling the church with the resounding crescendo of the Ride of the Valkyries. They’d had more than one noise complaint from the neighbors. It was the last thing Michaels needed. But the acoustics were perfect.
“Hey,” Jesper shouted over the music, “did you get any oregano?”
“No.” Michaels took off his jacket and tossed it over one of the stools.
Jesper tilted his head and tutted. The pink frilly apron he wore looked rather out of place on the hairy torso of a fawn.
“Where do we hang our coats?” Jesper said in a tone just a little more patronizing than Michaels had the patience for. He picked up the jacket and threw it at the coat stand, where it magically arranged itself on a hook.
“It’s been a long day,” Michaels growled. He took a wineglass from a cupboard and nodded to the half-empty bottle on the counter. “I see you started early.”
The fawn shrugged. “It’s part of the recipe.” He took a large swig from his own glass. “And it’s past eight. Where have you been?”
“Recovering.” Michaels poured himself a generous measure.
“Dybbuk.” Jesper shivered and carved a rune in the air with his spatula. “Rather you than me. I can’t stand the smell of the possessed.”
“It’s my job.”
“Well, mine is to make sure you eat.” He pulled a roasted joint from the oven and set it on the counter. “Of course, the sauce is going to be a little mundane without the oregano.”
Michaels took another sip of wine and pinched a hunk from the meat.
“What is it?” he asked, not recognizing the flavor.
“It’s not Tiddles, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
“There’ve been several cats gone missing in the neighborhood recently.”
“How dare you? Those days are long behind me, as you well know.” Jesper’s eyes flashed violet, as they always did when he was offended. “It’s lamb.”
That was a relief. When Michaels had first met Jesper as a fawn, his diet had been primarily feline, which was a problem when you had cat loving neighbors. Jesper was a foundling that he’d discovered shivering in the church’s narthex during a terrible winter over a hundred and fifty years ago. He was of the Fae, the native magical species of this planet. One that hid in Netherwylde , the secret underworld of the mortal realm.
Jesper had become his thrall, taking care of the day-to-day running of the house, watching over the crypt, and ensuring that Michaels was fed and watered. It was a role for which he showed great prowess. A Michelin starred chef would have salivated at his culinary skills, although they might not have applied them to house pets.
Michaels forgave him. Jesper was so much more. He could move between the worlds of mortals and Fae with ease, and penetrate places that Michaels could not go. He was a highly skilled thief and tracker. Although, frustratingly, he refused to get too close to the dybbuk, which would have made Michaels’ life so much easier. Like all the Fae, he was sensitive to demonic energy. And Michaels understood exactly what his problem was. There was a miasma that surrounded the dark ones, a cloud of negative energy that left a nasty taste in the mouth. It spoiled his palette.
Michaels sighed and accepted his plate of food gratefully. The food was delicious. They ate in silence, listening to the strains of Brunhilde in the last act.
Jesper ate with his fingers and tore through the meat with long canines. Cutlery was for mortals, and he snickered openly at Michaels for using it. Michaels, in turn, rolled his eyes at the terrible table manners. They observed each other with equally long-suffering.