Page 3 of A Sip of Sin

“Don’t be so picky, George,” said Hollen, playing with the earpiece in this pocket. He could peel the plastic nearly off without it breaking before he let it snap into place again. He wasn’t sure why he kept charging the thing when he rarely used it.

“I liked the bakery,” said George.

Ah.Hollen took in a deep breath of cold dampness with a hint of stale bread that still clung to his clothes. Walking into that place had been like stepping on his own slice of heaven every morning. The downside to being surrounded by all those carbs was that he’d put on ten pounds in two weeks. But he wasn’t destined for a job like that.

“I can’t go back.” Hollen kicked a stone on the sidewalk, watching it roll away. The owner had been nice about letting him go, but it was hard to hold down a job when everyone thought he was bat-shit crazy. “He caught me talking to you—multiple times.”

George huffed, something ghosting over Hollen’s hand. Sometimes George was like that—projecting himself beyond the little voice in Hollen’s head so he could touch with the barest of sensations.

Hollen thought it was comforting, while George always insisted that he was testing the waters to plan his eventual escape from his host. George was funny like that—reassuring Hollen when he screwed up, then a moment later monologuing about his eventual freedom.

“Don’t feel bad,” said Hollen, ducking his head. Touching his hand where it was tingling, his fingers met cool flesh that was exactly the same as anywhere else on his chilled body. “It’s hard not to talk to me when I’m such great company.”

Hollen waited a moment, but there was no response, George’s presence retreating in his mind to nothing more than a wispof thought. Letting out a sigh of relief, he pushed himself away from the wall.

It was hard enough to find a job in this economy, but doing it while he was possessed by a demon was so much worse. Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad if George wasn’t so vocal about his opinion regarding everything and everyone around them. He was the ‘negative Nancy’ in Hollen’s sunshine day—the half-empty glass of his free drink from a handsome man at the bar—the single thorn on a beautiful rose.

“Love you too, George,” said Hollen, pressing out into the rain and quirking his lips as he skipped a few steps. George had also saved his life more than a dozen times since Hollen had stopped to pet a cat in an alley and had ended up with a nasty infection and a passenger in his thoughts that he couldn’t get rid of.

A few shops were closing down, flicking their lights off minutes before the posted time on their signs and leaving the sparse lamps to be the brightest things on the block. Even the cars started to disappear as he turned off the main street.

He’d never been down this particular road, but the pavement was worn, the curbs sagging and pitted, leaving pools of water along the path. It seemed almost forgotten, from the drooping lamp to the faded lines on the street that had once marked where someone could park for all of thirty minutes before getting a ticket.

He almost turned back, but the wind pushed him on, pressing through his hoodie and licking at his sides. Behind him was the call of safety, but it was an area he had paced many times before, drifting through one week, then the next.

Hollen glanced over his shoulder before pulling his hood tighter. The wind was picking up, and there were only a few parked cars on the broken road. It was a spot where potholes had been left to thrive, small tufts of grass and brave weedsbeginning to poke through the cracks. Some of the shops were boarded up, a fadedClearancesign posted in one front window.

Maybe I should go back?He clenched his hands in his pockets, fighting the chill.

The only problem was that he’d been up and down the bustling main street more times than he could count. He’d either worked at the place before, they weren’t hiring, or George put up a fuss when he caught a sight or smell he didn’t care for.

A few leaves scuttled across his path, somehow floating over the sodden surface without becoming stuck. They made it to one of the shops, swirling in the entryway before finally succumbing to the dampness of a puddle. He paused, glancing at the sign overhead that was illuminated against the darkness of the storm.

The window of the shop was trimmed with white lace, a glowing light revealing the display of a towering tray of the smallest sandwiches he’d ever seen. Next to that on a silver platter were two fancy teacups rimmed with gold and etched with purple flowers. It was something he would expect to see in an estate sale or at his best friend Adair’s grandmother’s house, not on a lonely street that was otherwise deserted.

The sign itself was tinted pink with large swirling letters that had a giggle pushing through his lips.A Sip of Sin.Perhaps it wasn’tquitethe place for an innocent grandmother with herOld Country RoseRoyal Doultontea set.

A teahouse?He looked up and down the street, trying to pick out a shadow or a sign of anyone else moving his way. One car pulled onto the street, only to take a wide U-turn before heading back to civilization.

He could almost smell the lacy curtains, with the promise of warmth and the scent of the fresh bread that made up the tiny snacks settled on the tray. The teacups were filled to just below the brim with a clear, amber liquid, a few dregs visible beneath the surface. He could almost feel the steam rising from them, theliquid capable of heating every bit of his body all the way down to his soaking-wet toes.

There was no help wanted sign posted on the door, but experience had shown him that sometimes that just meant a revolving door of staff going through and an overlording boss who watched you over the brim of his computer screen. If anything, the dishes looked fancy enough that they probably drew a nicer crowd that would reach a little deeper when tipping instead of scoping out the best deal on the menu.

No harm in trying.Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the door, the heaviness surprising him. He stepped inside, relishing the wave of warmth as he let the door close behind him with a solid thud.

The inside was the complete opposite of what he’d expected, pinks and promises merging into sultry desire. Rose had been replaced with rouge, a vast room of high tables scattered about the single bustling room. Each of those tables was busy, the room occupied nearly to the brim.

There were towering silver platters, and teapots with multitudes of gold-rimmed cups perched on matching saucers. With soft violins seeping into the room and a few muffled laughs, the place seemed to be plucked from the midst of a five-star hotel.

Hollen glanced down at his soaked hoodie, shifting to cover the wet footprint he’d left on the entrance mat. His pants were darker than they should have been, and his shoes made a squishing noise with every movement.

A waiter dressed all in white slipped between the tables, serving a fresh tray of the tiny sandwiches. No one looked his way.

The patrons themselves were a mixed bunch, from women in dresses or jeans to men in suits or slacks. One man was dressed from head to toe in a green material that appeared to be velvet,an actual top hat on the table next to the kettle, and a cane leaning against his chair.

“May I help you?”

Hollen froze, tilting his head to peer at the man greeting him. He could have sworn he hadn’t been there a moment before, but his presence filled the entire small entryway. He was towering man, his black hair pulled into a long ponytail and blue eyes so cold that they sent a shiver along Hollen’s spine. From the many rings on his fingers and the way his suit fit him perfectly, he reeked of money and class.

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