"Come on, little witch. You're only prolonging the inevitable. We're going to have you one way... or the other..."
***
There are some rules you don't break
when it comes to the supernatural.
1. Don't be an idiot.
2. Don't make deals with Demons...
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The Witch
Oh, I was definitely going to hell. If it wasn't Malachi dragging me down himself, then it would be Gen. For being late. Again.
"I know, I know," I said breathlessly as I rushed in the door of Merryweathers. "I'm late."
"What could possibly be keeping you from getting here on time, Coralynn," she asked, her hands placed heavily on her hips.
Four demons hell bent on fucking me into oblivion...
"I keep sleeping past my alarm," I said.
Technically not a lie. I always set at least three or four alarms to make sure I'm awake. But Malachi and his circus of horny clowns made it damn near impossible to get any rest.
"Mhmm," she said, looking over at me suspiciously.
We prepped the shop for the day and opened the doors. A steady stream of customers came in and out throughout the morning. The sound of people chatting over coffee while the speakers played my favorite cozy coffee shop playlist.
As much as a work will always be work, Merryweathers would always be my second home. The people were ones that I had grown up around. No matter how odd they were, I had always found comfort being around them.
I finished writing the name of the customer I had taken an order from. I set the paper cup down on the counter for Gen to pick up and work on. When I looked back up, I was met with the face of James's father— Reverend Elijah Turner. He stood in front of the counter with a cordial smile, but not overly friendly.
"Hello, Coralynn," he said simply.
"Mr. Turner," I said nervously. "It's been a while."
"I wanted to change things up this morning before I headed to the church," he said, frowning up at the board filled with all our coffee items. "How are things with you?"
I laugh awkwardly. "They're fine. Just working a lot."
"Good. Good. I'm glad," he said, clearing his throat. This lukewarm interaction was making me almost uncomfortable. "How's the espresso?"
I nodded. "Strong," I joked, trying to lighten the conversation. "But very balanced."
He nodded. "I'll take four shots. And one of those," he pointed towards our blueberry muffins sitting in our viewing case.
"Good choice," I replied, tapping away at the cash register.
"How was the other night with James," he asked suddenly.
My face immediately became red. "Oh— uh... it was good. I'm sorry about stealing him from your dinner party. I tried to tell him that I was fine with hanging out another night—"
