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

Because I would never agree to spend forever with that. “It’s okay. I understand what the key’s showing me isn’t real.” At least it isn’t real right now. What if the key’s showing me Jou’s future?

“That ain’t my future,” he says, reading my mind. “No lust demon’s ever had wings. An’ I don’t have a monster in my dick.”

That’s open for debate. “Forget it. Did you say something about dinner?”

“No, I didn’t, although I got salmon en croute waitin’, which I’m willin’ to bet is the best thing you’ve ever tasted. An’ I ain’t gonna forget it. Lemme take that one memory from you. I swear, that’s all I’ll take.”

No, thank you. No demon-modification of my memory. I push his hands away and climb out of the car. “I’m hungry.”

Jou stands and looks down at me for a long moment. Finally, he sighs. “Yeah, you are, fair enough.” He shuts the car door behind me, beeps it, and walks me into the house.

Salmon en croute, which I’ve never heard of before, turns out to be a side of fresh salmon, wrapped in ginger, cranberries and raisins, and baked in puff pastry. Somehow he’s scored the puff-pastry to look like fish-scales. Baked a deep golden brown, it’s almost too pretty to eat. Then I taste it, and stop caring about how it looks.

“Omigod, Jou.”

He chuckles. “Told you. I was gonna try chateaubriand, but fuck, even I can get heart disease from that much cholesterol. Figured I do somethin’ a little more healthy. Try the carrots.”

I do. They’re glazed with ginger, cinnamon and honey, a sweet accompaniment to the sweet fish. I take a sip of the pale white wine he’s poured me to cut the fructose overload. It’s citrus-tart and perfect. I tap the glass with my fingers as I let the wine clear my palate, and look at him across my dining-room table, where he’s laid this feast.

“I know you’ve been watching cooking programs, but did you really learn all this while you’ve been here?”

He shrugs around a forkful of fish. “I’ve always liked human food. Got my first taste in Egypt. Grinding grain was one of my labors. I never got to eat the bread it went into, though. Always wanted to. I watched the slaves bakin’ it by the hour. Can’t tell you what that smell used to do to me.” He takes a swallow of his own wine. “I’ve watched a lotta food made over the years. Never got to make it myself until now.”

“What about in Hell? Do you cook in Hell?”

He shakes his head. “No human food in Hell, sweetness.”

“Oh. What do you—?” I stop myself, because it’s obvious what he eats in Hell. He feeds off the energy of the souls he’s stolen. “Never mind.”

“I could open Hell’s first café,” he says, and I can tell he’s trying to change the subject, and to keep the mood light.

“If you think warlocks are clamoring to get into Hell now, just think of what it would be like if they found out you were serving this?” I spear a piece of salmon and hold it out to him. He leans across the table and takes the bite off my fork. He does so like to eat my food.

He leans back, chews and chuckles. “Think I could get those boys from Michelin to come down an’ give me a star?”

“They’re food critics. Surely they’re damned anyway?”

A deeper chuckle. “Definitely.”

“Could you survive just on human food?” I ask, curious.

Jou shakes his head. “It’s tasty, but there’s no real nourishment to it for me. I’d starve.”

He doesn’t read any ulterior motive into my question, not the way he would have a few days ago, and it makes me realize how far we’ve come. I smile at him. “Thank you for this. It’s really nice to come home to every night. To eat with you, I mean. It’s—”

Normal. And I suddenly realize that while he’s been abusing me about my illusions, he’s also been giving me the dream.

A sudden tear floods my eye and drips into my food.

“That doesn’t need any more salt, sweetness.”

“No,” I mumble and hastily wipe my eyes with the nice cloth napkin he’s set beside my china plate. Good thing I’m not wearing any mascara. Dala would have a fit. “Jou, I—”

“No apologies, sweetness. Just enjoy your dinner.”

I do. All the moreso for realizing the gift he’s given me.

After we finish, he pulls me into the kitchen and shows off his latest acquisition, a chrome and burgundy espresso machine. It looks extremely high-end.

“I hope it comes with instructions.”

“Behold the barista,” he says, as he expertly packs ground coffee into the silver cap-thingie and snaps it onto the machine. He puts a demitasse cup, which is definitely not part of my Dala’s china set even though it’s exactly the same pattern, under the twin spouts and we both watch in fascination as brown liquid pours out. When the cup is full, he takes a sugar cube out of a matching china bowl, pops it into the coffee, and hands the cup to me. “I’ll join you in the livin’ room in a mo., sweetness.”

Knowing when I’m dismissed, I take my coffee into the parlor, and find myself the subject of salamander-scrutiny again. I pat the couch next to me, but only Wizard takes me up on the invitation, leaping much higher than I thought he could on his stumpy little legs and stretching out next to my thigh. I pet him while I take a sip of my espresso. Wow, yum. “That’s my new favorite thing,” I call to Jou.

“Try not to hex it, then,” he says, taking a seat on the couch beside me. He gives Wizard a pat, then shoo-es the salamander off the couch and rests his thigh against mine. “It’s got one of those things in it. Whaddo you call them? A chip or something.”

“A computer chip?”

“Yeah. For all the different settings.”

“Mmm.” My relationship with electronics is complicated. “Better