The Cursed Blood, стр. 37
The waiter and his young assistant carefully serving them in flowered china plates, eggs benedict, caviar, avocado toast and strawberries and cream for Grandma Mary. She disapprovingly eyed the rare T-bone steak, bacon, fried beans, and eggs set before Gramps. Shaking her head as she regarded her widower husband with a pursed lipped sideways look of ill-concealed disgust.
“You really should eat more health consciously at your age, Artur. Don’t you think?” she asked waspishly as he happily forked a thick, drippy pinkish hunk of steak into his mouth and shrugged. With a defeated sigh she rolled her eyes and daintily nibbled at her avocado toast.
Meanwhile, I quite contentedly tucked into my quarter pound cheeseburger and fries which looked quite odd on the delicate china plate they’d set it on next to a pickle spear, but it was definitely juicy and outstanding.
The talk and mood lightened as Grandma told me stories that Gramps obviously would have preferred I hadn’t heard, as more than once bright red crept up from his neck through his beard and onto his face. Though he had a good laugh nonetheless.
An hour into our meal Grandma Mary sighed and set down her glass. Gently placing her hand on Gramps’ as she sat a moment staring at him with an odd sad smile.
“That time, isn’t it?” Gramps sighed deeply, a catch in his voice as he gazed at her with a longing expression that I’d never seen on him before, as she traced a manicured finger along his scruffy jaw and gave him a passionate, lingering kiss.
“Until another year, my love,” she whispered huskily when they finally broke apart, her hand lingered on his own as she stood and fixed me with a serious but fond look.
“As for you, young man.” She smiled down at me. “You have a job to do for me.” I nodded as the sadness crept back in and a weight seemed to crush down. “Do you promise to do as I ask, no matter what?
Again, I nodded numbly.
“I want you to work hard. Learn everything you can and keep this old fool alive. As much as I love him, I’m not quite ready for him to take up residence in my house on the other side just yet… I’ve just gotten it the way I like it and just couldn’t bare it if he started sneaking in any bloody plaid pillows.” She sniffed and very stiffly began to walk back to her room. We both didn’t have to be told that this was a thing she had to do alone. She stopped and turned back a few steps from the table.
“Ben, I’ll tell my son and his wife you love them, miss them, and that they should be VERY proud of you… And remember, choose wisely, but don’t worry. It will be all to soon when next we meet. By then I just might have some more answers for you.” She graced Gramps with a wistfully adoring look and gave a little wave, blew a kiss, and walked away as dignified as she could manage.
Gramps stared after her breathing deep shuddering breaths. “Boy, I want you to remember this. There’s nothing that can gut you more than love. It gives you a weakness and changes you in ways you don’t necessarily want. Makes you angrier and sadder than anything else in this damndable world, and when you lose it and are left alone… It breaks you, boy. It cores you out like a melon and teaches you that you never once knew what real sadness, anger, and loneliness really was until just then. Then it gets worse and never leaves, and at that point, if you’re not careful it can make you bitter and cold. But you know what, boy?”
I stared at him tearfully, for the first time feeling like the old man really did understand me. “It’s worth it. I wouldn’t trade a day of it away for anything.” He smiled a tearful crooked smile, wiped his face with his flannel sleeve, and ate the last bite of his steak with no small amount of relish.
Chapter Seven
The murderous spirit of Room 33…
The walk back to the reception desk was a heavy one. Meaning we were drained and stuffed, and that nice warm sleepy full feeling doesn’t pair well in any way with a bottle of melancholy. Regardless of the vintage, no matter what they try to tell you.
Gretta smiled at us in a way that made me a touch squeamish and again pushed her glasses back up her nose. “Had a good visit, did you?” she asked as she riffled through her papers without looking at them as if she was just trying to look busy.
“We did, yes. Now, what’s really in Room 33?” Gramps asked with acidic pleasantness. Gretta sighed and put down the bundle of papers with a soft curse.
“I forgot she was a Clairvoyant… Well, joke’s on me, I guess.” She shrugged. “You still going to take care of it?”
Gramps stared and tapped his finger on the counter. The manager, obviously as well versed with his temper as I was, again sighed.
“Alright, alright, alright, fine. It’s a malevolent spirit. A dark one, too. Makes the poltergeist you banished a few years back look like a playful kitten with a ball of string. No matter what we do the Coven can’t evict the thing—just keeps coming back or killing whoever we send in. Nearly drowned me in the room’s bathtub last week. Nothing you can’t handle, of course.” She winked and smiled unapologetically.
Gramps glared. “You would have had me unwittingly bring my grandson into a room with a Level Ten Spirit?” (Yes, there are ten levels of spirits, and yes, ten is the absolute worst it can possibly get, and yes, they can even hurt Darklings. They’ve even been known to kill a few over the centuries. They are after all akin to