take me to church

“No, there’s nothing wrong with the kebabs; I’m only saying there’s a time and a place for corndogs, and this seems to be one of those times, don’t you think? Whereas, you can have a kebab anytime.”

“That’s a lot of words to just say you want a corndog.” 

“Can I raincheck that answer? Say, Friday. Nine o’clock.”

Violet downed the rest of her drink in one, putting the empty glass firmly down on the table. She stood, pulling on her jacket. “I’m having dinner with my parents. It was nice talking to you.”

Fabian nodded, though he wasn’t really sure that he’d been helpful at all. “Yeah. Yeah, sure, any time.” He looked in her direction, still avoiding her eyes, though he smiled back. “Y’know, I, er— I don’t think I ever caught your name.” Finally, Fabian forced his nervous eyes to meet hers, offering his hand with humble confidence. “I’m Fabian.”

Violet looked at his outstretched hand, thinking as she always did about why strangers were always so keen to touch each other. She shook her head and said, “Nothing personal, but I have personal space issues. As in, I like to have it.” She peered down at her sketchpad; the picture was a mess. They all were, since- well, since everything. “Names I can do, though. I’m Violet.”

“Well, it depends on the night, but you’re in luck tonight.” He gestured to a couple in a corner booth. “That couple over there, without fail, will end up in a fight. It may get physical, but even if it doesn’t, someone is going to splash a drink in the other’s face. It’s a toss-up on if they’ll also go rent a room at the inn with different people.” He pointed to the pool table. “I had that installed myself, and it’s a riot to see people try and play and treat the cue stick like a wand. You ever give billiards a shot?” 

Violet looked over at the couple, wondering what it is he could see in them that pointed to his prediction. Whatever it was, she couldn’t see it, though that didn’t mean she thought he was wrong. Bartenders, she supposed, had insights into human nature other people simply couldn’t hope to have. She shrugged, saying, “I’ll put my money on her for winning that fight.” She looked over to the pool table. “Hell of a wand. Yeah, I’ve played.”

When Fabian had seen her last, he had been sure the next time he would see the young witch on the bench would be in the Daily Prophet, beside a gruesome headline. But to come across her so serendipitously on a stroll back to the Ministry after lunch—well, either he had done the right thing by letting her be that day, or made a terrible mistake. Either way, the universe had decided to let him know it.

“Just wondered how you’d got on with the business with your wand.” Fabian spoke without making eye contact, almost as though he was speaking to an imaginary friend rather than the person right beside him. “Found it yet? Or replaced it or—what have you?”

Violet looked over at her new companion, recognition dawning on her. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, groping for a smiling and finding, albeit a small one. “Yeah, all sorted.” She tapped the pocket in which her newly purchased wand was housed, a notion that still felt foreign and weird and totally absurd to her. She let her pencil continue its path along her notepad for a beat, feeling a little awkward. “Thanks. You know, for helping.”

“Now that is the question.”

“One that demands an answer, don’t you think?”

“Yikes!”

“Oh. —well, something to look forward to, at least.”

“Murder would be preferable to that, trust me.”

“You’re a bad influence, aren’t you?”

“Depends on what you consider to be good or bad,” Violet shrugged, eyebrow lifting.

“A mother who loathes tardy dinner guests.”

“Sounds like more of a reason to be tardy.”

Reed held up his bottle, guilty as charged. “Makes me a better bartender, I think, when I can sympathize with the clientele. Wouldn’t you rather me know my way around alcohol? And let me tell you this: you won’t get the same kind of entertainment at your flat as you will here.”

Violet’s eyebrows lifted again, head cocking questioningly to one side. “What entertainment is on offer around here?”

“Tragic. They should consider paying your liver royalties for turning you to drink.”

Violet thought to her parents and what their livers would be like by now. She dreaded to think. Not that it was her problem anymore; she hadn’t spoken to them in months. Once upon a time she had been their babysitter, helping to mop them up when they should have been mopping up her, and dropping out of school at sixteen because someone had to make sure they could pay rent each month. She smiled grimly. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that and if we get murdered as I suspect we could, it won’t.”

“You’re a demanding bird when you aren’t hellbent on trying to remain mysterious.”

Violet didn’t respond, just let her eyebrows lift pointedly for a few seconds. She waited for him to hand the money over to the assistant, jumping up when he had and heading away. She didn’t need a babysitter for the day, wasn’t going to be followed around like she was ineffectual. Once she’d opened enough of a gap between them she twisted around, calling, “Hey, thanks for the ice cream. I’ll get you one back, one day. Maybe.” She paused only a brief moment, then added, “It was nice talking to you,” before vanishing into the crowds. 

Reed pursed his lips, Violet’s comment too grim for him to acknowledge. It would damper the mood. Instead, he reached under the counter, grabbing a bottle from his stash and twisting it open. “I have found no better natural sleep aid. Just don’t fall asleep on my bar. I’d have to charge you for that.” 

Violet placed her drink back on to the counter, watching as he grabbed another bottle. “But this bar is so much nicer than my flat,” she teased, eyebrow lifting. She nodded a head in the direction of the bottle. “Seems I’m not the only one who needs some extra medicinal help.”

“Probably, yeah. Unless you’re Irish or into fake gold, I guess. But I dunno if anyone is really like that, especially with a touch of fatalistic humour.”

“I’ve met plenty like that. They’ve driven me to tequila too.”

“You could probably con me into plenty of things. But as long as I perceive myself as doing the right thing, it doesn’t really matter.”

“You better pay for the ice cream, then.”