9 Birdie
BIRDIE
Out in the side alley, I follow Jasper up the steps of a narrow fire escape. There’s a landing at the top, barely wide enough for two people to stand. “It’s just a studio,” he says over his shoulder. “But it has a kitchenette and a bathroom. And cable, I think.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“I have no idea what state Phoebe left it in,” he adds, slipping a set of keys from his pocket.
“Knowing Phoebe, I’ll only have to take down a few K-drama posters.”
While he works the lock open, I look down at the welcome mat.
It features a set of four cacti in different little pots with the words “NO PRICKS ALLOWED” in big, black letters underneath.
It’s so delightfully Phoebe. I hold back a snort, pointing at it.
“Boss, I’m not sure you’re technically allowed in. ”
He looks down at the mat. “Damn. Should I just wait out here?”
“Probably safest.”
“Think she added a curse to the threshold?”
“Yeah,” I tease. “Something extra spiky, like a dick-shriveling spell.”
He huffs. I think that’s Jasper for laughing.
“Do you actually sell any of those down in the shop? A dick-shriveling spell could come in handy for a girl living alone.”
“We don’t sell any spells or potions,” he replies. “Unless you count body milk as a potion.” Pushing the door open, he boldly enters the apartment, ignoring Phoebe’s warning on the mat.
I follow him in and glance around. It’s nothing to write home about but Phoebe clearly tried to make the most of it, adding cute, lacy curtains, brightly colored furniture, and funky art.
It’s a narrow, railroad-style unit, with the kitchen leading to a little living room area, which leads back to the bedroom.
Since you enter the apartment at the back of the alley, the bedroom window actually looks out on the busy main street.
Dormers to either side make the space feel a little cramped, with the walls slanting in a bit as they curve in towards the ceiling.
This first “room” is the kitchen, separated from the living area by a pair of open bookshelves that give the illusion of walls.
The kitchen has a little round table and three chairs, a small fridge, and a counter only big enough for a sink, a microwave, and some open shelves over the sink for dishes.
Jasper waits by the door with his hands in his pockets. “There’s an electric griddle under the sink, I think. And one of those shitty, single cup coffee makers. But you’re welcome to anything downstairs too.”
I step around him, moving into the middle of the unit.
Just past the kitchenette, an open door reveals a tiny bathroom.
There’s no room for a proper couch in the living area, but there’s a moss green loveseat set across from a low entertainment unit that holds a TV and a record player.
A floating shelf on the wall is stacked with records.
At the back of the unit, a queen-size bed sits framed under the large window.
The bedroom is divided from the living room by two simple clothing racks on wheels.
Angled in at each other, they create a kind of doorway between them.
With enough clothes hanging, it could actually feel pretty cozy back here.
Right now, there’s just a few of Phoebe’s sundresses on hangers and a box of her shoes on the floor.
Phoebe clearly picked the bedding. It’s a loud burgundy and burnt orange with these little gold thread embroidered moons and sunbursts.
Coupled with the abstract art pieces, and the colorful wall decor, it’s all a little jarring for me.
But there’s something homey about it too.
Maybe it’s just me knowing Phoebe was going to live here, like I feel her joy and creativity infecting the space.
“Will this work?” Jasper calls, still waiting in the kitchen.
“Yeah, it’s great. Phoebe says the apartment comes free with the job, right?”
“If that’s what she said.”
His tone feels off. Was Jasper expecting rent from me? I cross through the unit, back into the kitchen. “I’m not looking for any handouts here. If you need to collect rent from me, I’ll pay. Really, it’s not a problem.”
His frown deepens. “This land was bought and paid for by the Prescotts more than three hundred years ago. It’s never changed hands. And we’ve been in this building since the 1890s.”
Diamond Jubilee, I think to myself, fighting a smile.
God, I’m such a history nerd.
“Every dime I make downstairs is profit in my pocket,” he goes on. “So, it’ll be me who pays you, not the other way around. But we need to get a few things straight first.”
I cross my arms, already feeling defensive at his tone. “Yeah, okay.”
For a moment, he just searches my face, those grey eyes narrowed. “This isn’t going to be some bullshit like ‘recycling goes out Tuesday’ and ‘no smoking in the apartment.’”
I sink down onto one of the chairs at the table. “I’m fine with a few rules.”
He still looks skeptical. Raising a hand, he lifts a finger. “Rule number one: If I give you a command in the store, you must follow it. Without question, and without delay. Can you do that?”
I laugh, but the sound dies in my throat when I see the look in his eyes. “Wait . . . are you serious?”
“Completely. I don’t see this working any other way.”
My mind hums as I try to work out what he means.
Phoebe didn’t say anything about her uncle being into some kind of dom/sub role-play with his employees.
Maybe that’s because his only other employees are his niece, an arthritic eighty-year-old woman, and a cat.
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “Well . . . what kind of commands?”
Grabbing the chair opposite me, he drags it back on two legs and sits. The poor legs creak under his weight. He holds my gaze until I feel like I’m glued to this damn chair. After a moment, he smirks. “Don’t mistake my intent, Birdie. There will be nothing sexual between us.”
Apparently, I’m not the only one sensing this simmering tension. But he’s right, sex with my boss is literally the last thing I need. Trying for a casual air, I shrug. “I didn’t think there would be.”
“I will be your boss,” he goes on. “You’ll be my employee. Help me run the store, and we’ll have no problems. I’ll pay you every Friday in cash.”
Sitting up a little straighter, I nod. I definitely like the sound of that. “But you may make occasional commands?”
“It’s possible. And if I do, I need to know you’ll heed me.”
“Heed you?” I laugh again. It’s just such an unexpected word.
My laugh seems to irritate him. “Do you agree or not? Make up your mind because I have a shop to open downstairs.”
“Well—you won’t command me to hurt myself or anything, right?”
“Never,” he assures me with a curt nod.
“I mean, I guess as long as the command is reasonable—”
“But that’s my point,” he says over me. “It may not be reasonable. At least, not to you.”
“Why wouldn’t I find your commands reasonable? I’m an extremely reasonable person.”
He crosses his arms, leaning back in his creaking chair. “Exactly. That’s the problem.”
My mind is spinning like a top trying to follow his logic. “Being reasonable is the problem? Make that make sense.”
“I run an occult shop,” he replies. “To the tourists, it’s about tea tasting and bath salts.
But Salt & Sage has been a bedrock of the Burr Island Wiccan community for more than three hundred years.
Whether you believe in the Craft or not, there are people on this island who do.
Which means you may see or hear things that seem strange to you.
So, I need you to trust me. For your safety, I need you to heed me. Will you?”
Sitting back, I cross my arms too, mirroring his stance.
Honestly, I’m starting to get a little offended that he and Phoebe think I might be so close-minded.
I consider how to state my position as plainly as possible.
“Look . . . I don’t have to believe in witchcraft to appreciate that it has a social and cultural relevance as old as humanity.
And I have no problem with people peacefully practicing their faith.
But this sounds like you’re citing witchcraft as a possible job hazard.
Am I understanding you correctly? Will I be in danger working for you? ”
He’s quiet for a moment, clearly considering his answer, which doesn’t offer me any comfort. “In the five years I’ve run this shop, I’ve never lost an employee.”
“Well, of course you didn’t lose anyone,” I cry, pushing back from the table.
“The shop’s not big enough to lose someone.
I’m asking about accidental maiming, poisoning, and loss of freaking limb!
That dick-shriveling spell was just a joke.
But if I’m at risk of someone cursing my tits off for working here, I think I deserve to know. ”
Great, now I’ve opened the door for him to glance down at my boobs. His lips twitch as he keeps whatever he’s thinking buried deep. “No one will curse your tits off, Birdie. You have my word.”
“I find I’m less than relieved,” I deadpan. “I mean, seriously, what is this?”
“Will you do as I say, or not? If you won’t agree, then, I’m sorry, but we’ll have to part ways here and now.” He rises slowly from his chair. “If it’s money you need, I can help—”
“Whoa, stop right there.” I hold up a hand. “I’m not taking your money. I’ll take it for honest work and for no other reason. I’m no one’s charity case.”
His gaze softens a little. Surprising me, he nods. “Fair enough.”
“And I swear I’m not trying to be difficult,” I quickly add. “I just—help me understand. Clearly, this is important to you, or you wouldn’t be asking. But drop all this weird cloak and dagger stuff and just talk to me. Tell me what you need in clear terms, and I’ll tell you if it can be done.”
Slowly, he sits back down. “What if I told you to run?”
“Like, from the shop?”
He nods. “From the shop . . . from someone in the shop . . . from me.”