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

The three ghosts glance at each other. Rupa draws a circle on the embroidered front of her high-necked night-gown, her version of twisting her hands together. “How would you feel about offering the beng a substitute?”

“A substitute?”

“Someone else in your place,” the Billygoat clarifies.

“Someone else the demon can rape and kill?”

“When you put it that way—” Dala begins.

Auntie Rupa shrugs. “Well, if it’s a gorgio—”

“No,” I hiss at them. “It’s not okay! Gorgio or Rom makes no difference. I’m not offering up someone else as demon-bait.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Rupa says, a little huffily.

“Please tell me you didn’t offer someone else to a demon in your place.”

The three ghosts exchange glances again.

“Rupa!” I cry in exasperation. No wonder so many of my relatives ended up in Limbo.

“Enough talking,” the Goat interjects. “Let the girl get some sleep. I’ll watch the dream door, káulochírilo. You don’t have to ask.”

You know things are really bad when my Uncle Billygoat is the only one talking any sense.

Lin’s waiting for me at the reception desk when I drag myself in the next day, much closer to noon than nine. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. My half-healed wrist is taped, after the damage the demon did to it resisted all efforts at healing. My stomach’s still too rocky to throw anything but decaf at it. The gash on my head from crashing into Ro’s demon-wheel is going to leave a scar. As is the burn on my chest where the Squire’s priceless protective charm melted unnoticed at some point during my confrontation with the demon. And my jaw is aching like an absolute motherfucker from the temporary crown my dentist just put in.

“Hi,” I say blearily.

Lin pales and follows me into my office. “I take it things didn’t go well.”

“Which part?” I mutter while massaging my jaw. I wouldn’t let the dentist use anesthetic because it screws with my ability to reach the Other Place and now I’m going to spend the next several hours regretting it. I cough, focus on the only good thing that came out of the night, and the only thing Lin needs to know. “The ghost’s definitely at peace . . . and I got the ring.”

And Rowena’s dead. Which just leaves the little matter of the demon I let loose and don’t know how to put back. Details, details.

The intercom on my phone buzzes and I lean over to tap it. Stretching across my desk makes everything throb. I’ll be brewing an extra-strength painkiller along with the magic milk today.

“Tsara, there’s a gentleman here to see you. He says he made an appointment with you last night.”

My heart leaps. Peter. God, I could use a hug right now. Even if he is a null.

“That’s great. Send him in.”

Lin raises a dark eyebrow. “A gentleman? You don’t know any gentlemen.”

I know one. Inconveniently, he’s a faerie. “True,” I admit. “You’ll like this one anyway.” I run my fingers over my face, wish I wasn’t so bruised and puffy, and rise to meet Peter.

A huge, red-haired man strolls through the door of my office, tapping one of my business cards against his teeth. He takes in my office, me and Lin with a quick flick of his eyes. As his eyes pass over me, they flash neon-blue.

I stagger back, catch myself on the edge of my desk.

The demon smiles and holds out his hand to Lin. “Jou,” he says.

Lin blushes like a nerd teenager who has just been noticed by the captain of the football team. “Lin.” She shakes his hand, and he holds hers a moment longer than necessary.

At least he didn’t kiss it. I’d have thrown up. Again.

“Are you a friend of Tsara’s?” Lin asks, recovering some of her cool.

“Somethin’ like that.” The demon gives her a toned-down version of his wicked leer.

“Then I’ll leave you two to talk,” Lin says graciously. She glances at me and frowns at whatever version of shocked and horrified is playing across my face. But she’s already in motion, moving towards the door, and the demon makes a show of holding it open for her and closing it behind her.

He seats himself in one of my desk chairs and crosses his legs at the ankle, making the simple action both suggestive and obscene. I watch him, gripping the edge of my desk for support.

“What are you doing here?” I hiss.

“Thought I’d drop by and see how you’re doin’.” He grins, turns it into that indecent leer. “You look like shit warmed over, witchy-poo.”

“You need to leave,” I say. Before I start screaming. “I have an appointment—”

“At noon. Mr. and Mrs. Simons, right?” At my fractional nod he continues. “Yeah, they’ll reschedule. So will your one o’clock. We got some things to hash out, you an’ me.”

I back a step away. Jumping through my office window sounds like a better idea than hashing anything out with a demon.

“So.” He flicks my business card with his thumb. “Tsara Elizabeth Faa, huh?” He pronounces my name correctly, Zara, instead of the way most strangers try to say it.

I swallow against the sudden dryness of my throat. It can’t be good, a demon knowing my full name. His grin says he knows what I’m thinking, and is happy about it. A happy demon. I edge another step back, putting the desk between him and me.

He flicks the business card casually into the air. The white and green card winks gold, then explodes in a puff of flame.

“Tsara,” the demon says, rolling my name around in his mouth. “I like it. Better than Zee-Zee. I was havin’ trouble picturing it, calling you Zee-Zee while I’m fucking you.”

The screaming starts in the back of my head. I reach and unsheathe my churi. Hold it tight against my leg. It’s a better defense than the desk, at any rate.

The demon’s eyes flick to the knife, then back to my face. “That a threat?” he asks blandly.

I shake my head. I definitely do