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

sprinkles the lemon zest over strawberries he’s got marinating in balsamic vinegar, makes me realize how much effort he’s put into this. I collect a wooden tray from under the sink, set the cups on it, take out two of my Dala’s china plates and the overly-polished silverware, and carry it all into the living room. I fluff the couch cushions, arrange two place-settings on the coffee table, and tap my iPod dock, which hiccups, probably from all the arcane energy the demon’s kicking off, then obligingly fills the room with Natalie Imbruglia’s sweet croon.

“Got any ‘Stones?” Jou asks, balancing a plate of waffles and two bowls as he walks through from the dining room. “Big favorite in Hell.”

“Sympathy for the Devil?” I ask.

“Gimme Shelter.” The demon grins, showing too many teeth.

I roll my eyes but tap up Forty Licks.

Jou sets his plate and bowls down on the coffee-table, seats himself with a creak of his leather pants, and pats the couch. I curl up next to him. “Hey.”

“Good shoppin’ trip?”

I nod, waiting for him to mention the bindings, now that he’s made the conversational opening. But he doesn’t. He picks up my plate, serves me a waffle, a spoonful of strawberries, and a dollop of whipped cream.

“Wow.” I take the plate from him. Cut into the waffle with the side of my fork. It’s got just the right amount of crunch. On my tongue, it melts into a bready-berry-sweetness that nearly makes me swoon. “Wow, Jou.”

He smiles. Takes a bite of his own.

“I thought you’d be sleeping when I got back,” I say.

“Th’ sex woke me up.”

“It usually works the other way,” I say, thinking of Saul, who used to fall asleep milli-seconds after he came.

Jou stretches, until his knee presses against mine, and one arm circles my shoulders. “Still not human, sweetness.”

That thought bothers me less than it used to. Maybe because I’m getting used to it. Or maybe because his waffles have lobotomized me.

“’Sides, I haven’t slept like that in centuries. Can’t remember the last time I slept through a whole day.”

“No?” I ask around a mouthful of waffle, strawberries and cream. “Too busy?”

“Too wary. You saw what the Old Man’s like. He’s just one of a dozen who’d take my head if they caught me unconscious.”

“Oh.” I stop eating and look at him, sensing the seriousness of what he’s saying. “Is that . . . what would happen? I mean, they’d take your head?”

Jou nods.

“Would that . . . um, you know?”

“Kill me?” Jou shrugs. “Probably. Old Man’s been beheaded a couple of times and he’s still around, but he’s a lot older than I am.”

“Uh, how?”

“He grows a new one. Not pretty. Not somethin’ I wanna try.”

I can understand that. “You said you’d let someone else take your father out. If he can survive losing his head, how can he be killed?”

Jou stretches out his legs, crosses them at the ankle, and flexes his bare feet while he considers my question. “Nothin’s certain when it comes to the Old Man. Maybe throwin’ him into the Bez Toma. Maybe destroyin’ the Iron City. All I know is, I wouldn’t wanna be the one who takes the shot an’ fails.”

Neither would I. That’s why I haven’t done anything with the knowledge of Jou’s weakness.

“I know about your father,” I say, before taking another bite of waffle. “Why do the others want to kill you?”

Jou grunts, and for a minute I think he’s not going to answer, but then he swallows and says, “Politics.”

“Politics with your father?”

Jou shakes his head, dreadlocks rustling. “Stepmonster.”

Oh, boy. “You mean that literally, don’t you?”

“Uh-huh. Soae. Queen Bitch. She hates anyone he’s sired. My clutch most of all, ‘cause we were the last-born. Anyone in her court would be happy to take me out to curry her favor.”

“I guess your father doesn’t do anything to stop that.”

“Nope. Whatever doesn’t kill you, an’ all that.”

I finish and swirl my fork around my plate to gather the last of the whipped cream. I’m tempted to lick my plate. Instead, I set it down on the table with a sigh. “That was amazing, Jou.”

“Thanks, sweetness.” He grins around a mouthful of waffle. “You ready for bed?”

“Jeez, haven’t you slept enough?”

“Nope.”

“I need to unpack—”

He shakes his head. “Wait until morning.”

“Jou!”

He puts his half-finished waffles down on the table, scoops me up like I weigh nothing, and carries me up to bed.

I wake feeling much more rested than I have any right being, given how late I was out gathering, and how much attention Jou demanded after we went to bed. I blink sleepily at the morning light pearling through the curtains. It’s still early, or it’s raining.

I twist so I can look at the clock. Six-forty. Why am I awake so early?

I begin to push off the bedcovers when a heavy, warm arm slides around my waist. Jou pulls me back against him and rumbles low in my ear, “Where you goin’?”

“To the bathroom first. After that it’s negotiable.”

“After that, come back to bed.”

“Maybe,” I say, sliding to the edge of the bed. “You’d have to persuade me.”

He catches my hand, pulls it back under the covers and places it on his erection. Hot silk under my hand. “How’s that?”

I consider smacking it, but I think he’d just take it as a sign I want to play rough, which I don’t this morning. In fact, in addition to feeling very awake, I’m feeling very . . . warmly towards the demon in my bed. He made me waffles at midnight. None of my boyfriends have ever cooked for me. Or given me three orgasms in a row.

I give him a squeeze, and a kiss, before I climb out of bed.

In the bathroom, there’s a ghost sitting on my toilet. Smoking furiously. And ready to remind me of what an idiot I am. “He’ll have your soul. He’s already got his claws sunk in it.”

“Goat, I’m so not in the mood.” The last thing I want at the moment is for him to burst my golden