CHAPTER 2: Salami
-SEVERUS' POV -
The gathering is in a flat in a very dodgy part of London. I arrived on time per the time noted on the card and promptly wanted to leave. But I wanted to see him again. I needed to see him again. There is a guard at the door. I show him the card, he takes it, stamps by hand and points up towards a set of stairs. I look at the inky blotch on the back of my right hand. It looks like a microscopic game of noughts and crosses.
I enter. It's different, not at all how it was last time. Everyone is friendly. No droves of temple revelers. There is party food, things on sticks, plenty of drinks both for the young and old. There are people of all ages. Children running around, playing, eating, dancing. Upbeat music blaring from stereo speakers almost a meter tall.
I decided to check the kitchen, thinking of him cooking for the crowd last time. My hunch pays off. He's sitting at the kitchen table. The stove is off, no pot, pans or trays on the counter-tops. No sign of any of the food in the sitting room.
An elderly woman is sitting across from him. He is holding her hand, cradling it gently, like an injured baby bird. He's looking at her with such kindness, such compassion, that it takes my breath away. My memory did not do him justice. He is even more beautiful. Even more alluring. I watch them talk in low whispering tones. I don't interrupt. After a couple of minutes, they stand and hug. I'm noticed. He waits until the woman is out the kitchen door and closes it.
Then, like an answer to my unspoken prayer, he's hugging me. Holding me. I melt into his arms. He kisses my cheek and pulls back and gives me a blinding smile.
"I'm so glad you came, Severus," his voice is still gentle, warm, caressing me.
"As am I. This is quite different than what I was expecting."
"Oh, this party is wrapping up. You're here for what happens later."
"Later?" I thought I was on time based on the card."' He just nods and pulls me to sit at the table.
People come and go. We talk in between. He answers my questions about all the gods from the Altar Room in his house. Mostly I listen and observe. He doesn't say exactly, but I learn that his mother has followers. They worship her, and some in turn, worship him. He has a soft spot for children and animals. I knew the latter from the sadness in his eyes at the last event and could have guessed the former.
We sit at the kitchen table nursing hot chocolate like children. It's his favorite drink and he wants to share that with me. I'll take anything he wants to give me. The people are non-stop. He doesn't give them hot chocolate. I feel special.
They come in to say goodbye or ask for advice. His mother is a Priestess and they believe he is blessed with spiritual powers as well. He gives them common sense advice when pushed but most of the time he just listens and comforts. He leans in, with understanding eyes, relaxed shoulders, and gives each one undivided attention. I understand the worship. I'm not even noticed. I'm not who they want. They talk about prayers, having faith, burning candles, cleansing baths, home remedies. I am impressed and surprised that everything he offers are all old fashioned potion concoctions just without magic. They use their own magic. It's amazing.
During the endless parade of people, I meet his mother's assistants. She has several but two are at the top of the hierarchy. It's curious that they never say her name. Not the aids, not the followers, not Isaiah . Just always 'your mother' or 'Mother' like she is a holy manifestation that cannot be contained by a name. Those two are obsessed with her. Like she is in fact a holy thing. One of them, Cara, loves Isaiah, like everyone else that has stopped by to say farewell. She keeps mentioning her single daughter. How well she's doing in school, how helpful she is around the house, how she'd make a great wife and mother. He just nods along and asks her about her other two children. Misdirection. It works. Clever and beautiful.
The other one, Isis, hates him. She has a jealous glint in her eyes when she looks at him and even at Cara. She complains that he doesn't help out enough. She's annoying. I want to kill her just to shut her up. Isaiah must have noticed something because he covers my hand with his under the table. He rubs his thumb back and forth over my knuckles, not looking at me. It helps me not lash out but I rather she were dead. Even the nice one is annoying. How does he deal with these people? This is why I don't leave the dungeons much. Finally around ten, things quiet down. The complaining duo also disappeared.
-ISAIAH'S POV-
We are alone for once.
"What kind of questions do they ask during those consultations that Isis was complaining about?" he asks.
"They are all beset by hardships, tasks, plants, animals, forests, persons, storms, allurements, repulsions, houses, books, machines, fire, water, earth and an intricate humanity." I say this without pause and completely serious.
We look at each other for a few seconds before we crack and laugh. He has a great laugh.
"What was that?" Severus asks, trying to calm down but failing.
"A joke," I tell him sarcastically.
"A joke?" He has an eyebrow raised, looking exacerbated but the corners of his mouth twitch up. He is very sexy.
"Yes, You know, knock knock, who's there and all that." I will flirt him into submission. I want him.
"I know what a joke is." He's snarky. I like them with a bite.
"Good to know. It is a real joke. I read it in a book once."
"What book?" he challenges.
"It's called 'Help! My Guru Died' by Swami Rami Salami." I tell him this and see he doesn't believe me.
"You've made that up." Definitely doesn't believe me.
"Nope, hand on heart. It's real. It has a bunch of questions and answers on dealing with your religious cult." I should have bought it.
"Right, and where did you get this book?" He leans in a bit. I want to kiss him. Stop staring at his lips.
"I don't own it. I flipped through it at a second hand shop in Camden Town a couple of years ago. Made me think of," and I swirl my hand around. Not meaning the kitchen we were sitting in of course, but the whole gathering.
"Alright, I believe you. Is there going to be a sacrifice tonight?" He looks concerned for me. How sweet..
"Not like last time. Nothing is being slaughtered. People bring food, drink, cigars, that type of thing to this one."
"Are you still upset about the goat?" His voice is definitely concerned; it makes me happy.
"I should know better than to get attached to anything." I say this but still keep touching his hand.
"That's not a way to live." He turns his hand over and entwines our fingers.
"Oh I know, but that's life. One minute you're a happy city dwelling goat and then the next, you're stew."
"Morbid."
"I like morbid." He's wearing all black again. Maybe he's a vampire. With a pulse? I'm barmy.
"I like you," Severus seems startled at the sudden admission. And now I don't care if he is not a vampire.
I smile at him and squeeze his hand. "I like you too."
"You never said why we're hiding in the kitchen. You're not cooking like last time."
"I didn't always like these events much. I used to hide in a mound of coats in a bedroom or in the kitchen. It's become a habit."
"Then why attend?"
"Duty."
"I know all about that."
"She's needy, isn't she? Duty. That endlessly needy bitch."
"Language." He sounds like a teacher.
"You're not my dad. Well, unless you want to be." I wink at him. He blushes. It's ravishing.
"How old are you, anyway?" He looks quite worried. I don't like it.
"Old enough." I laugh it off, because I am.
Whatever he was going to say next gets interrupted by a high pitched squeal. "ZEKE!" Shit, I forgot not everyone had said goodbye.
-SEVERUS' POV-
It's a child, festooned in sparkles, pink, and a ridiculous bow.
Isaiah lets go of my hand as she runs over. He picks her up and sits her on his lap. "How's my favorite little monster? Did you have fun at the party?" He kisses her cheeks and she kisses him back all the while giggling. A couple come in right behind her; the woman carrying a baby. Has no one heard of a bedtime. They all hug and kiss. All very homey.
He turns to me and makes introductions. Ben, who I recognize from the last event. He was the one on the other side of Isaiah during the blood offering. Pushy. I don't like him. His girlfriend, Linda. The toddler is Anna and the baby is Micheal. In a blink of an eye, the parents are gone and it's just the four of us.
"Did you just get stuck minding children?" I do not like children. He laughs as he adjusts the infant in his left arm and the toddler tucked in the other. He looks content.
"They'll be back soon enough. Don't worry. These are my godchildren. I'm supposed to spend time with them."
"God-children? But you're so young." The parents themselves looked no older than 21. How old is he?
"They are. When Linda got pregnant with munchkin," he kissed the little girl on the head and she gave him a smile, "her folks were not chuffed to bits about it. Chucked her out. They lived with Ben's family until Anna was a couple weeks old. Things had gone pear-shaped by then with that arrangement. They lived with us for almost a year after that. Anyway, I've changed lots of nappies, and dealt with plenty of sleepless nights. I've got genuine stamps on my godparent card."
"You're all quite young." I cannot get over how young they are. How old is he?
"Teen parents. They are young. Twenty. Two kids. Unimaginable. But what can you do? It's their life."
"Isaiah, how old are you?" I need to know. And instead of answering me, he responds to Anna's query.
"Zeke, tell me about Moselantja again." I need to get him alone, without interruptions at the worst time.
"Your mom and dad are going to get upset if I scare you." He cuddles her. He looks so natural with babies in his arms.
"I'm a big girl. I no scared."
"Not scared." I correct her automatically and Isaiah beams at me. That smile. I want more of them.
"Sev is right, you say 'I'm not scared'." Sev? When did he start calling me that. Not that I mind.
"I'm not scared, please Zeke." Large, brown, pleading, doe eyes. Children are evil.
"Alright." She bounces up and down on his leg happily. "But don't move around so much, you'll wake your brother." She calms down, thankfully.
Isaiah weaves a terrifying tale.
A young bride named Fenyane is walking down a lonely road at sunrise to meet her bridegroom, Sopo. The path she takes is by a river and as she walks toward Sopo's village she feels chills down her back. It's Moselantja. A river monster. It has a human body but has scaly skin. It has an extremely long tail that ends in a mouth with very sharp teeth. The monster silently approaches Fenyane. It breathes down her neck and whispers lies in her ears.
"Promise me a favor and you shall be prosperous, with many children, and many cattle. Promise me, promise me." Isaiah makes his voice low and menacing.
When Fenyane turns around, there is no one there. She turns back toward the path and there is the monster. She looks into its mean little yellow eyes. 'You're mine now' it tells her. The story is definitely not for children. Especially not before bed. Where did he learn this?
The monster impersonates Fenyane, marries Sopo and she lives as their servant until the truth comes out. The entire village rallies together to trick the creature. They bury it alive. What?! Not for children at all.
Isaiah sings Fenyane's sad song in a beautiful haunting voice, "I long for home to see my mother, I want to fly over the trees." The story isn't over but his intended audience has fallen asleep.
"That is not age appropriate" I reprimand. I don't even like children and I wouldn't tell them that story.
He laughs. "No worse than the Grimm tales."
"I suppose." He's not wrong of course. "Are all your bedtime stories like that?"
"No, but they all have a moral. Aesopic."
"What's the moral of this one? You didn't get to the end."
"The moral is that there are people in this world, real monsters, that use flattery and fear to manipulate others. They are ravenous and will devour everything unless stopped." He's not looking at me when he says this. He's staring at a crotched lemon that is framed next to the kitchen sink. It's hideously cheerful.
"That's depressing."
"Real life lessons. I'm not lying to her." He finally looks at me. He looks a little less sad.
"She's two." He shrugs. "What happens in the story?"
"Fenyane and Sopo get married and then have a son. The monster comes back. Its evil spirit grows from its burial spot into a pumpkin. While Sopo is away, it rolls to their house and beats Fenyane and their son. Sopo comes upon a brutal scene. He is able to save his family. He cuts the pumpkin up and burns it. He searches out all of it's vines and seeds, even under their floorboards of the house and burns those too. Everyone recovers. No more Moselantja. All quite exciting and heroic."
"That's terrifying; pumpkins beating people."
"Halloween is almost here. I don't want her thinking it's a nice holiday. Pumpkins are evil."
"Possessed evil pumpkins? That's your moral for a two year old." He is a wonderful, if a ridiculously inappropriate, story teller.
"Well, that and don't travel alone. That's the Uc version."
"What's my message then as I am not a child?" He looks at me, takes in my sharp features, the dark circles under my eyes, my shaggy hair. He looks into my eyes. Sees my scars.
"It's happened to many of us. You feel lonely, going through a tough time in life. Then it's upon you. The seductive, whispering promises, pulling you in. It follows you. It talks, and talks and talks. Soothing your loneliness. Making promises. Asking for favors in exchange. Then demanding them. Forceful. Violent. You give and it takes. Just takes and takes. And takes. Until you find the strength to speak out, to break free. Burn the voice and its unfulfilled promises. Bury the ashes and fly away free."
"Wow," I should say something more articulate.
"Aesopic."
"Indeed."
We let the silence between us grow comforting. All the while I hear the others in the house as if underwater. It's just us, sitting in this small kitchen, sharing stories. I take him all in. Every minute detail, his crazy wavy hair, his wide happy green eyes, his coquettish smile. I reach out with my right hand slowly, ever so slowly, waiting for him to reject me. But he doesn't. He stays perfectly still. I caress his cheek, trace his brow, his nose, his lips, his jaw. His eyes close and his face relaxes. Tension rolls away and he leans into my hand.
"Severus," he whispers my name. It's erotic. I want to hear him say my name over and over.
"Isaiah." It's not my voice. It's the children's mother breaking us out of our rapture. He pulls back and I take a large gulp of my drink. It's gone cold.
The young family leaves. Before I can attempt an awkward response, Isaiah's mother makes an appearance. I haven't met her yet. They look nothing alike. She's darker than he is, with chin length, straight dark red hair. Box dye. Square face. Brown eyes. She is conventionally attractive if on the short side. Large breast, wide hips, small waist. Offensively tight clothes on. Black stilettos. This is the Priestess. An object of affection. She ignores me which suits me just fine. I hate people. She looks irritated. I know that look intimately. She walks up to him, clicking shoes, swaying hips. Her face was cheerful before she crossed the threshold. Interesting. She opens her clenched hand and offers Isaiah a wad of cash.
"Mother," he greets her with a smile that does not reach his eyes. He doesn't like her. She doesn't like him. He stares at her for several seconds then raises his left eyebrow. She huffs in annoyance and proceeds to take out a roll of money from her bra.
"Here." She practically throws it at him. "Cover your sister's shift tomorrow," she snaps. He nods, still smiling. She glares.
He stands, and moves towards her. Slowly, carefully, as if approaching a dangerous wild animal. She holds her ground but her eyes shift. Is she afraid I wonder. He puts one hand on her left shoulder and the other over her head. He speaks in a hushed voice but the kitchen is small so I hear him. "May you be shown kindness and be granted peace."
Her glare disappears, and she smiles at him. The change is so quick I question if it was a spell. She replies. "May you be shown favor and grace." He kisses her head. Like a parent to a child. She goes to leave but at the door, she turns back. She gives him a small black rectangular box. It's a bleeper. He rolls his eyes at her but takes it.
Once she's gone, Isaiah looks at me and smiles, this one is real. "I'll be back in a tick." He leaves the bleeper, and all the money on the table. I don't touch it and hope he comes back before I have to defend it. But he's gone for less than a minute. Pockets the money and the bleeper. He pulls me out of my chair and drags me out of the flat, down to the cellar. Another entrance, another guard who checks our stamps. We enter through a solid metal door.