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

upside-down grin, tongue lolling. It wriggles its legs in time to the demon’s strokes. I cross my arms over my chest, determined not to be swayed, no matter how cute and puppy-like it looks. Watching flame drip from one corner of that grinning mouth to singe my carpet helps.

“Just keepin’ an eye on you.” The demon scratches the salamander’s neck, ruffling the loose, scaly skin. The salamander closes its snake eyes in delight. “In case you get any bright ideas.”

Please, if anything’s listening, give me some bright ideas.

“Call off your pet.”

“Aw, c’mon. You’ll come to love him. Give him a little scratch.”

“No.”

The demon scratches behind the lizard’s jaw. “Right here. He loves it here. Kinda like playing with his nuts.”

I roll my eyes. Things I will never, ever play with include salamander testicles. “He’s setting fire to my carpet.”

The demon tamps out the smoldering shag with the toe of his boot.

“You’ll have to get some fire-proof carpets.”

“No, I won’t!” I shout, finally losing it. “I gave you what you wanted! But I am not inviting fire salamanders and whatever other bits of Hell you tote around with you into my life. Get rid of that thing and let’s just get this over with!”

The salamander arches into an upside-down threat display, legs splayed in the air, throat distended in a hiss. It would be ridiculous if I didn’t know how far it can spit fire.

The demon strokes it soothingly. “Sh, Iz. The nasty witch didn’t mean it. She’s just pre-menstrual.”

“I am not!”

The demon arches a disbelieving eyebrow but whispers to the salamander, “Go on home.” The salamander disappears in another puff of flame.

“That better be your home you’re talking about,” I snap.

The demon grins. It’s definitely not. “C’mon, witchy-poo. Let’s eat.”

He offers me his arm, which I pointedly don’t take. I turn on my booted heel to retrieve my fall coat from the hall closet.

Predictably, it’s become a leather jacket.

Chapter 18

He takes me to Salvador’s, a Spanish restaurant six blocks from my house. Despite how close it is, I’ve never eaten there before. Too rich for my blood. And my wallet.

The unprepossessing, windowless exterior of the restaurant hides an explosion of color within. The bar inside the doorway is tiled in yellow and blue, hung with carnival masks and strings of red peppers. A harried-looking hostess seats us at a table inset with the same bright tiles. Between us, a candle flickers in a red jelly-jar. Overhead, the ceiling is draped with shawls and hanging beads. An interior-decorator version of my Dala’s caravan. I look away, focus on the demon, who orders without even looking at a menu. After a few minutes, the waiter sets a small constellation of dishes between us.

The demon selects a piece of marinated squid from one of the bowls, sits back in his chair, stretches his legs under the table and pops the squid into his mouth. I watch him crunch the white meat between his molars. My eyes feel glued to him. Watching him eat is both disgusting and weirdly sexy.

The demon finishes chewing. Swallows. Eyes me and says with a wide grin, “Want to nip to the bathroom for a quickie?”

I drag my eyes away and focus on a chicken croquette. “No.”

A woman, dressed in a crop top and miniskirt despite the night’s autumnal chill, brushes by the demon’s chair for the third time in five minutes.

“She might,” I say, nodding at the woman’s swaying backside, as she makes her way to the ladies’ room on the far side of the restaurant. “That or she has a bladder infection.”

The demon chuckles and takes a swallow of sangria. My eyes gravitate to the way his throat works as he drinks.

“Have you done something to me?” I ask. I only looked at him to distract myself from the memory-provoking ceiling, and now I can’t seem to look anywhere else. “Cast a glamor on me or something?”

The demon wipes his mouth and I follow the movement of his long fingers over his lower lip with fascination. “Nope,” he says. “Why?”

I can’t manage to look away, but I can narrow my eyes at him. “Take a wild guess.”

The wicked leer. “You finally warming to the idea? That’s just your body’s natural reaction, sweet meat.” The demon licks his finger and touches it to his chest with a soft tss.

I rub my hand over my eyes. “Ugh.”

A darker chuckle. “So, whaddo you like in bed? Other than your thing for ears.”

“We’renot talking about this here,” I mutter.

The demon drapes an arm casually across the back of his chair and glances at the tables around us. This is Somerville, not the Back Bay, and the tables are comfortably spaced. The nearby diners are engrossed in their tapas and sangria. Talking animatedly. No one seems to be watching us. Except the woman in the miniskirt, who is heading back from the bathroom already. She must pee standing up.

“No one’s listening. C’mon, tell me. Whaddo you like? You want me to suck your ears while we’re humpin’?”

I shiver, and not with disgust. Taking a helping of chorizo and potato salad, I begin to dice determinedly. “Let’s talk about you instead.”

The demon shrugs and sits forward in his chair so Miniskirt doesn’t brush him as she sidles past. “I’m a demon an’ you promised to let me fuck you however I want. ‘Nuff said.”

I grit my teeth around the chorizo. “Getting off that topic for a moment, you never did answer my question. What flavor demon are you?”

“Did, too.” The demon spreads his hands in a gesture of mock innocence. It’s not convincing.

“Right, Butter Pecan,” I say. “Do demons come in Mint Chocolate Chip and Strawberry, too?”

The demon grins, his tongue curling the way the salamander’s did when he was petting it. I carve the sausage into smaller bites before trying again. “Why did Ro summon you anyway?”

The demon spears some of the chorizo I’ve just diced and pops it into his mouth. He chews meditatively before he answers. “Don’t think she meant