Chapter 190
Chapter 190
James
“Here again?” The man, I now know as Castor, was standing at the opening of the VIP booth at The Wheel of Fortune club. Every time I saw him, he was wearing just a pair of tight black jeans with a belt buckle that showed a wide variety of the tarot card symbols meshed together. His barely covered chest was filled with tattoos that I could only assume had witchy origins. Two nights ago i’d asked if his ink meant anything and he just laughed was he walked away. His brother, Pollux, was just as chatty; responding with a whole vocabulary of grunts and eye expressions. We’d done this song and dance every night since I saw the goddess’s woman. I couldn’t seem to get her off my mind or remove the feel of her skin under my fingertips; so here I was, chasing after the only connection I had to her.
“Yep! I’m digging the vibes here.” I retorted with my signature smile on my lips. It has little effect on the sour expression on Castors face. This guy really didn’t like me much. Which was a problem, because I needed information from him. Castor holds up the tray of drinks I ordered. I nodded for him to set them on the table. He shifted to walk away but I said the first thing I could think of to keep him here, “Wednesday nights always like this?”
“Are you talking about the vibes, the people, or the music?” Castor gives me a knowing side-eye.
“All of the above?” I snarked, “It doesn’t seem like your kind of crowd.”
Castor’s face goes sour again, “It’s country night. We try to cater to all sorts of people. The turns of fate and fortune effects everyone. No matter who or what they are.”
My stab at small talk fell flat. His annoyed expression told me I wasn’t fooling anyone, so i shifted gears.
“I’m actually still looking for one of your staff members.” I said letting the pretense drop, “She ran out the other night before I could introduce myself.”
Castor interrupted with a grunt filled to the brim with annoyed disbelief, but I carried on.
“She had the wheel of fortune headband thingy.” I circled a finger vaguely around my head to illustrate, hoping it would open up his memory. I reached for one of the glasses on the table and took a slow sip of bourbon. The liquid hit my throat like fire, acidic and sharp, leaving the familiar and comforting burn in its wake. Most alcohol had started to taste like a punishment instead of a comfort lately, however that never seemed to stop me from drinking it. Maybe it should.
“I have no idea who your talking about.” Without breaking eye contact, he lifted one of the glasses from the table and threw it back in a single practiced motion. He carefully set the glass upside down on the round tray with a gentle clink. The move was deliberate and precise. A small flourish, but enough to make him as a seasoned bartender. I’d cycled through a long list of drinks just to try to keep him coming back, to keep the conversation alive. He knew exactly who i meant. We circled around the truth now and it would only be a matter of time before I wore him down. I wasn't in a huge hurry yet. My father had frozen me out of the alpha duties and my businesses that funded my lifestyle, more or less ran themselves with very little input from me. That left me with an abundance of one thing: time.
I waited, twirling the liquid in my own glass. Tonights DJ followed the theme letting a slow, twangy country song bleed through the speakers. It was the kind of music that was tailor-made for nursing a drink alone and wallowing in self pity. The perfect cocktail of pathetic feelings—abandonment, jealousy and loneliness—turned as sour as Castors expression curdling into something bitter. It was just sad how different my life was since the curse started. It was almost laughable how far I’d fallen. I was practically begging a witch—someone i wouldn't have given the time of day to before—for a slight chance to speak to a woman i'd only seen in my dreams. Life before my curse felt like someone else’s memories; familiar but unreachable. I really had sunk so low. And the worst part; I wasn’t even sure i wanted to crawl back up. Life was easier when you’d already lost everything. With a disbelieving scoff I meet Castor’s glare, “Who is she to you?”
“No one. I have no idea who you are talking about. We don’t have a wheel of fortune uniform.” He lounged unconcerned on the couch across from me. He really wore that cool-as-a-cucumber act like a tailored suit but it didn't fool me. Beneath the calm exterior, Castor’s jaw was clenched tight, the muscle ticking just below his cheek, an obvious tell. There was heat in his eyes; hard anger but something else too. A fierce protectiveness that strained against the mask he wore, ready to snap if I kept pressing. It was a protectiveness I’d seen on other but rarely felt myself.
I studied his body language again. I’d been raised for this type of situation as an alpha heir. I’d trained to read body language and hidden meanings to words like someone would read a book. Castor was on of the easy ones. His mask wasn’t anything close to the monsters I’d grown up around. His was flimsy at best because he wasn’t hiding the beast within. Castor was only a man trying not to show his hand. He wanted to protect this woman and i could respect that.
I sit forward, placing my elbows on my knees and bridging my fingers under my chin, “Look, Castor, I’m not trying to steal your girl or whatever she is to you. I just need to speak with her for a minute.”
Castor huffed out a sarcastic laugh, “You couldn’t steal my girl even if you tried, however that isn’t the point. You’ve been here every night for the last week. I’m telling you that your barking up the wrong tree, mutt.”
I can’t help but smirk, "Mutt is a pretty harsh term coming from a heathen.”
Castor’s eyes narrowed and I caught the edge of his challenging stare. It wasn’t a mystery what kind of place this was. The whole damn bar reeked of ritual and magic. If you knew what to look for you’d find that most of the staff here were practitioners of the Wiccan and Witchcraft ways. The symbolism in the decor alone practically screamed it—loudly as possible off a mountain top. If the decor wasn’t enough of a clue, the staff handed out tarot readings like party favors to gullible patrons. It was almost comical how wide eyed and eager they seemed to be just to hear whatever mystical bullshit they were spoon fed.
I’d even seen the occasional spell being cast, potion, or protection satchel being slipped to customers in shady corners in a way that reminded me of a drug deal. It looked less like spiritual guidance and more like a scene form a rave. Castor crossed one trunk of a leg over the other, flexing muscles that had muscles. With a voice soaking in sarcasm and barely veiled condescension he spoke, “Now that we are on nickname terms, Mutt, let’s have a real conversation.”