Page 9 of A Sip of Sin

“Sure thing,” said Hollen, grasping the dish from Munro’s hand and spinning it so the details caught the light. “I think Adair’s grandma has something like this, but we were never allowed to use them. She always called them her guest dishes and had them in a glass cabinet.”

His finger hit a chipped corner on the dish, and it nearly slipped from his grasp, flickering against the light. He scrambled, catching it at the last moment and bringing it to his chest.

“That’s enough of that,” said Munro, plucking it from his hands before it could hit the floor. He rubbed a hand over hisface, letting out a loud sigh. “My son better have a good reason for sending you to me.”

Hollen beamed. “I’m cute.” He smoothed his shirt. “Maybe not right now because I’m a little wet, but trust me. You’re going to absolutely love me. And I’m a hard worker you can count on. I never call in sick, so don’t worry about trying to find coverage for me.”

“Just take this to the laundry,” said Munro, waving his hand to cut off Hollen’s rambling. He passed Hollen the towel that was stained and soggy. “The towels and tablecloths can be washed in cold water, but we send the uniforms away.”

“Yes, sir.” Hollen emphasized the latter, flipping the towel around so it didn’t drip and create yet another mess. “Uh, where is that exactly?”

“At the end of the hall, take a right then the first left. There is a laundry facility there. You’ll find a new uniform for yourself and a spot to set your…soiled one.” With that, Munro waved him away, approaching the chef and eyeing up the fresh dough he was kneading.

“Already?” asked the chef, sending a raised eyebrow his way as Hollen ducked out of the kitchen.

As soon as he was around the corner and out of the kitchen, Hollen slumped his shoulders, leaning his back against the wall.

“It could be worse,” said George, startling Hollen as he broke his silence. “I could be in a pizza place.”

Haha.Hollen rolled his eyes. “That would be a relief at this point,” said Hollen, taking a deep breath and starting down the hall. If dishwashing really was his fate, then he wouldn’t last long. But the pay Munro had mentioned was too tantalizing to walk away from. Three shifts and he could have their rent squared away. Another week and he could get that jacket he so desperately needed.

Hollen pushed away from the wall as laughter came from the kitchen, the chef’s chuckle lightening the air. “How do you know, Munro? He seems to have some major issues.”

That was such an understatement. Sometimes bosses were just not nice people, putting money and productivity before anything else, but Munro took that to the next level, treating it more like a passion. Hollen wouldn’t be surprised if the place was filled with tiny spy cameras so he would be able to micromanage the place that much more efficiently.

The hall darkened the farther he got from the kitchen, antique wood lining each side, along with a single painting of a sunset. A fluorescent light flickered ominously, sputtering out for a second before it struggled to turn back on. Warmth faded to something dank that clung to the cold material of his soaked uniform, making it stick to his skin. He let out a shudder, slowing his step.

“Did we miss a turn or something?” Hollen glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t see any doorways that led off the hall. The turn from the kitchen and the red exit sign looked so far away, flickering in and out of view.

“If you knew what was best for you, you’d drop off your laundry and get out of this place,” said George. His presence slithered over Hollen’s skin, prickling his nerves.

“I’m not giving up this job,” said Hollen, pausing and grasping the wall as a shiver racked his body. It was cold and slippery beneath his touch, the dampness of the wood impossible for oak that looked freshly polished and almost new. Something twisted in his belly, and he looked over his shoulder again. “Are you sure this is the right way?”

George didn’t answer this time, his presence retreating to something Hollen could almost ignore. There was no choice but forward in search of the turn, then another. It didn’t seem possible—the restaurant so warm that he’d been sweatingbeneath his clothes. Now he was freezing, every alarm in his mind going haywire.

It was almost completely dark by the time he hit the end of the hall, a small red light in the corner the only thing that gave him anything to see by. There could have been two doors or five in front of him, and he wouldn’t have been able to tell.

“George?” Hollen whisper, shivering in the dark. Reaching for the wall, he met only empty air, nearly losing his balance. He was frozen in the dark with no way to know forward or backward, the light that had guided him flickering out completely.

Something shifted—a shadow or a trick of his mind—and he shrank back, tripping over his own feet. He landed on his ass, letting out a hiss at the sting. His heart pounded, his breath heavy in his own ears.

Something isn’t right.A creaking noise had the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as a small slit of light appeared on the wall. He could see the edge of a door appear as it drifted wider, the warmth of light calling to him. There were voices, too—loud ones.

Scrambling to his feet, he raced to the door, blinking in the light as he slipped inside. It was hot, even hotter than the kitchen and somewhat stuffy. As his eyes adjusted, the room came into view, and he nearly stumbled right back out again.This isnotthe laundry.

The voices lulled, the conversation dulling as they seemed to notice Hollen standing there, clutching the doorknob behind his back. Some of the faces peering his way seemed familiar, as if they had been the ones spotted around the tables the night before. The man in green velvet was there, but this time he had on some kind of purplish satin that clung to his body.

There were about twenty of them, only two women amongst the men, and all of them looking his way within a minute. They were gathered around a large, black table, the surface clear andso dark that it seemed to suck the very light from the room. At the end there was what could only be called a throne, carved of thick wood and polished until it shined.

Beside that was something similarly shaped that could never be used as a seat, the base and arms made of jagged antlers instead of wood. Each tip was dipped in something that shone silver in the light. Hopefully, it was a decoration, because it would be absolute torture to sit in something like that, with the sharpened points pressing into his flesh, piercing him any time he shifted.

“Run,” whispered George, the sound resounding in his skull. Hollen shook him off, clutching his hands together.

“Hi,” said, Hollen, waving his hand with a tentative smile on his lip. “I think I took a wrong turn. Any idea where the laundry is?”

The man in satin tilted his head, his grip going tight on the strange cane he carried.

There was no answer except for the looks, most of them morphing into glares. “Sorry for disturbing you.”

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