Neon Blue E Frost (speld decodable readers .TXT) 📖

do anything. Timmi proudly pronounces them “do-nothing” machines. Her commentary on each useless little device has me laughing so hard, neither of us hears the first knock on the door.

We turn away from a marvelous brass do-nothing machine with three tiny cranks, all of which turn cogs and pistons to no effect, to see a teen cringing in the doorway of Timmi’s office.

“Professor Karr, your three o’clock is here,” the boy says, then hurriedly backs out of the doorway.

“Thank you, Edward.” Timmi turns to me and rolls her eyes. “You’d think I eat them for dinner. Most of them actually survive, even if they don’t learn anything useful. Although if that boy tells one more of his friends that my nick-name is ‘Attila,’ I’m going to make him a permanent part of our collection.”

I chuckle, but take the hint and collect my bag. “Timmi, I can’t thank you enough—”

“Nonsense,” she says. “You can thank me, by steadfastly refusing to be frightened off and come have coffee with me again tomorrow.”

“I can’t.” I shake my head regretfully, thinking of my calendar. “I really can’t. But I promise you haven’t scared me off and I will come back. How’s Wednesday for you?”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then.”

I shake her hand and when I escape her office, I find the intern waiting for me in the hallway. “I’ll show you out,” he says. “This place is a maze.”

“Thank you. To be honest, I’m not sure I could find my way.”

“They designed it that way.” He’s silent for a long time, leading me up stairs, through corridors and galleries. If Timmi really does have a three o’clock, there’s no sign of them. Finally, as he opens a door into the huge entrance atrium, Edward bursts out, “She’s a witch, you know. A real one.”

“I know.” I lean towards him and whisper conspiratorially. “Me, too.”

The boy goes so pale I think for a moment he’s going to faint. He looks over both shoulders, then scrambles back through the door like I’ve set a hell-hound on his heels. “I wish my father had never gotten me this freaking job!”

I chuckle at the trials and tribulations of wealthy high-school interns and let myself out the front door into the overcast afternoon.

When I get back to the office, Evonne hands me a message slip that reads, “Wednesday, my office. Coffee and Edward’s viscera will be served promptly at 2 pm. Timmi.”

I laugh so loudly that I have to apologize to Lynn’s four o’clock, who is sitting in the reception chair, before I beat a retreat to my own office.

Chapter 33

The house is dark when I get home. I sit in my porch swing, turn up the collar of the leather jacket that the demon’s made my coat into against the evening breeze, and stare into the unlit windows. Jou’s home. I can feel him, faintly. The way I’ve been able to feel him all day. A slumbering ember in my mind. A faint compulsion that I’m sure emanates from the binding around my wrists.

I swing, rocking back and forth, heel to toe, toe to heel. The floorboards squeak a little. It’s a homey sound, to go with the rustle of fallen leaves on the pavement and the faint smell of woodsmoke. I want to go in and make myself a cup of coffee to complete the scene, but I can’t motivate myself to move.

Instead I sit, and swing, and take deep breaths of the scented fall air. Smell the magic. A faint animal musk, which could be a distant, disturbed skunk, or a wet shapeshifter running the Arlington bike path. A syrupy berry sweetness that I’ve smelled many times before and now can place: Lilliwhite. A slightly ascorbic herbal smell that I realize is fae lantern-jack which I’ve tried to cultivate for years and has blithely seeded itself under my front step; the round orange seed-pods lie concealed by the shadow of the porch until I hunt around for the source of the smell.

And under it all, the hot, sweet note of ginger from the demon sleeping in my bed.

A burst of sound from down the street heralds the arrival of my tenant, the windows of his aging Ford rolled down to share his musical preference with the world, despite the cool night. He’s listening to Pink Floyd, for which I can’t really fault him. After he has an obligatory grumble about the door lock, and I remind him that he’s going to have to go halfsies on a tank of heating oil soon, he disappears inside and I sit and hum the first line of “Wish You Were Here” to myself.

Do I think I can tell heaven from hell?

I’m not sure anymore. Hell wasn’t anything like I expected. There was beauty and wonder along with the terror. Jou’s feelings for his home are stronger than anything I’ve ever felt about any of the places I’ve lived. And together we made something more amazing than I could have imagined. Something I’m proud of.

But is it somewhere I could live? Could I trade hot ashes for trees? And what would my life be like there? Do I really want fiends for neighbors? Do I want to be one of the people Jou stretches over the stones when he decides to remodel? And what about his harem? Passionate Nevida, raging Fulsome, chilly Zeifyr. What about them? I can’t really see me fitting in and playing nice with Jou’s family. Particularly if I’d have to share him with them. What would we do, set up a rota? I’ve never been in anything but strictly monogamous relationships. I’m not sure I could cope with having to share.

I glance down the street, at the dark porches and bright windows of my neighbors’ houses. This is where I’ve imagined living. A suburban street. Not too far from the city. Close enough to go to the museums on the weekends but far enough out to have trees and good schools. A place to raise a family.