Tales of the Witch Read Online Free PDF

Black Dan raised his palms to the skies, let them fall to slap his thighs, then he strode inside to join his chef.
    Barton Peacock sighed, then returned to his post in his hotel at the front of the building. Chris, Pete, and Frank picked up their faltered beat and the mellow jazz worked its magic on the few alarmed or curious souls.
    A few moments later, out bustled Lisa, Harrington’s hostess, with a blackboard proclaiming ‘Duck Festival’, and listing a vast selection of items featuring, in addition to Chef Vinnie’s trademark warm duck salad—duck ravioli, duck tacos, duck tidbits with hot sauce, duck soup, duck medallions, and on and on, plus free duck paté with every dinner order.
    Black Dan strolled disconsolately from the kitchen just as the witch finished perusing the blackboard. On spotting the witch, he walked over and sat down at her table. Jezebel leaped lightly into his lap.
    “Everything satisfactory for you two tonight?” he asked, absently stroking Jezebel’s glossy black fur.
    “Delicious as always. I regret I had mussels tonight. If I’d known, I would’ve ordered duck.”
    Black Dan’s hands made a massive fist as he clasped them before him on the table. He shook his head. “I dared to ignore the curse, and look at the results,” he said mournfully.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “After we spoke yesterday, I brought my dear wife to Harrington’s—her first visit. Such a beautiful evening it was.”
    He took in a great gulp of extra air, then let it out in a long sigh. “Well, it’s not a total loss, so I suppose it was a mere warning. But I’ll not make that mistake again.”
    “What exactly are you referring to, a ‘mere warning’?”
    “The wires in the main deep freeze—they must’ve been chewed in the night by some arctic rodent or other, for they parted company with the motor. In this heat, the defrosting took no time at all. We discovered the problem right on the brink of spoilage. Fortunately I have a second, smaller freezer, but some foods you can’t refreeze. It has too devastating an effect on the taste of the product.”
    “Like duck?”
    His big head wagged up and down. “Like duck. We’d just received an enormous order yesterday. Well, you know Chef Vinnie has a remarkable hand with duck.”
    “Yes, indeed.” She patted his clasped hands. “Don’t worry. I’m positive your rebellious desire for your wife’s company brought you only credit, not evil, Dan.”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know. I told you how we’re right on a financial knife edge. One nudge either way…”
    “Have some of this remarkable zinfandel. Tomorrow will bring new crowds, new profits.”
    Curiosity—a character trait overly maligned in proverbs, in the witch’s opinion, for she set much store by it—impelled her to once again coax Jezebel into her basket to visit Harrington’s for lunch. Extra high temperatures drove them inside today. During the next twenty minutes, she witnessed the heat slowly overwhelming, and then driving away the bustling lunchtime crowd that had gathered. The air conditioner had somehow malfunctioned.
    Soon a small man carrying a tool box was hustled in through the back door and escorted between Black Dan’s brawny shoulders and the thinner, more wiry ones of Barton Peacock, into the nether regions of the building.
    Black Dan reappeared alone, mopping his fair brow with a dinner napkin. He gave the clumps of idle, murmuring waiters and waitresses permission to leave the premises until four o’clock. Then, spotting the witch, he sauntered exhaustedly over to her. She could see he hadn’t shaved yet today.
    “They pulled you from your bed, my poor man?”
    He shrugged away the importance of his bed, dropped into a chair next to her and signaled the bartender for service, ordering icy champagne for her, a dish of melting ice cream for Jezebel, and a frosty beer for himself. “Only thing to drink when the needle passes 99°, don’t you agree, my