Chapter 2
“Max likes your yabbos. In fact, he loves ‘em.”
— DANI DENNISON, HOCUS POCUS
I had applied to as many restaurants as I could in the entertainment district in the city of Gravestone. In an effort to be taken seriously, I wore the only collared shirt I owned and what I was sure were very outdated dress pants. I needed to land a job and make enough for first and last as quickly as possible. I heard that servers and bartenders made great tips on this strip, so I was willing to stomp concrete all day with my little stack of resumes until someone was willing to take a chance on me.
The first few restaurants had taken one look at my empty resume and shook their heads. I nearly walked right by Voodoo with its trendy black exterior and mellow mood lighting. If Yabbos hadn’t been interested in hiring me, I doubted somewhere as swanky as Voodoo would bother giving me a shot.
I was staring at the towering, sleek glass doors when an attractive man came out with an arm full of menus to stack the stand guarding the entrance of the patio. It was almost October, but the patio was furnished with industry-leading heaters that kept the space cozy for guests who wanted to extend outdoor eating a little longer.
“Hey, sweetheart. We don’t open until six,” the man said smoothly as he brushed by. He had a dark mop of midnight hair and was wearing a pressed black button-up shirt. He’d rolled up the sleeves, exposing lean but toned forearms. The inside of his left arm was tattooed with a block of tight, neat scripture. The writing was too small to read, but his nametag said ‘Shem .’
“Oh, okay, nevermind,” I muttered, turning to leave. Shem frowned at me and eyed up my stack of resumes.
“You looking to apply?” he asked, giving me a friendly smile and flashing perfectly white teeth. I stared at him, marveling at how green his eyes were and how much they stood out against his flawless, bronze skin.
“Um, well…”
“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the bar manager. We’re desperate for people right now, especially at the host stand. How old are you?”
“Eighteen…” I said, bracing myself for him to change his mind and send me away.
“ Perfect,” he purred, draping an arm over my shoulders and leading me into the dark entryway. “That means you’re too young to serve or bartend. Rafael always steals the pretty ones for the bar.” He winked at me, and I swallowed, feeling extremely uncomfortable. Not just because Shem was devastatingly attractive but because he was touching me, and people who touched me had a tendency to die.
“Raf! I’ve got a live one!” Shem called out into the empty dining room. A tall man with a perfectly groomed beard glanced up from his clipboard. He was standing behind the long black lacquer bar, counting bottles of beer and making little marks on his inventory sheet. He wore thick black glasses and had the most impeccably coiffed hairstyle I’d ever seen on a man.
“Better alive than dead,” Rafael muttered distractedly as he resumed his work.
Shem rolled his eyes. “Come on Raf. You know we need people. Check it out. I brought people.” He gestured to me. Rafael finally looked up, clearly annoyed that his opening duties were being interrupted.
I attempted a small, awkward wave, feeling frumpy in my hand-me-down, out-of-style business clothes.
Rafael gave me a critical once-over and sighed. “Alright. We are short-staffed. Follow me.” He moved out from behind the bar and led me deeper into the restaurant.
The entire space was a cacophony of soft velvets juxtaposed with sleek black wood and ebony marble. Massive, macabre paintings adorned the midnight walls and hung in contrast to the bare, Edison-bulb light fixtures that warmed perfectly set tables.
Rafael slid into a large, sinfully luxurious booth dressed in a pristine black tablecloth. I looked up at an extremely high-quality replica of the Francisco de Goya painting ‘Saturn Devouring His Son’ and shivered. It was an interesting choice for a space where people would be tucking into filet mignon and prime rib .
It felt as if this is where the King of Hell would dine if he were looking to indulge in a steak dinner.
“Let’s see your resume,” Rafael said brusquely, holding out a well-groomed hand. I fiddled with the papers, hoping he wouldn’t notice my own fingernails, which were chewed, and hadn’t seen a manicurist in… well… ever .
He snatched a sheet out of my hand and slid his large glasses further down his nose, reading through it quickly. I wasn’t surprised it didn’t take him long to read it. There wasn’t much on there. He pursed his lips and put down my CV, folding his hands over the top of it and leaning forward.
“Why do you want to work here?” he asked sharply.
I felt like ‘because I need money’ wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
“Because I’m looking to start a career in the service industry, and Voodoo is one of the most well-established franchises in Gravestone,” I replied, impressing myself with my answer.
He raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“You don’t have any experience,” he paused, glancing down at my resume to remind himself of my name, “Lilith.”
“I know. I’m a fast learner though, and I won’t ever complain.”
“We’ll have to start you up front. You look much too young to serve.”
“That’s fine, I would love to start up front!” I could barely keep the excitement from my voice. He made eye contact with me and leaned over the table, his face serious as a grave.
“I run a tight ship here, Lilith. Voodoo has a reputation for being the best. You look like you need someone to give you a chance. I’m willing to do that, but you have to promise me you will take this job seriously.”
I felt my eyes widen, and the intensity of his words settled over me. I had just wanted a job so I could pay rent and survive without anyone falling prey to my demon. This bar manager was making me feel like I was selling him my soul.
I bit my lip. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, I supposed. This felt like the chance I was looking for, so I reached out a hand and nodded.
“I won’t let you down.”
He gave me a suave grin and took my hand, squeezing it firmly.
“Good. You start tomorrow.”