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

The demon crosses his arms over his chest and watches me. Scythe and horns have disappeared, but his eyes still blaze blue. His blood-spattered skin glows with that unholy light.

He still scares the shit out of me.

“No one as clueless as you should have that much power, witchy-poo,” he says. He sounds tired. Irritated. But not murderous.

I climb slowly to my feet and let my arm drop. The ceiling reforms over my head. “I really hate it when you call me that.”

“I’m not feeling all that friendly toward you right now.” The demon cocks his head to one side and watches me. “I could be callin’ you a lot worse.”

“You storm into my house and murder my guest and you’re not feeling too friendly towards me?”

“Guest? That what you call that piece of entrapping shit?”

I swallow hard. I knew the demon wouldn’t like finding Justinian and Wen here, but it didn’t occur to me that he’d be able to sense what Justinian was. “I—”

The phone rings, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

“I’ll get it,” the demon snarls.

“This is my house and my phone!” I protest and beat him to the handset. “Hello?”

“Ni meí shì bà? Hello? Hello?” says a familiar voice, fast and frantic. A voice I last heard in my dining room.

“Wen?! Wen, is that you? Thank God! Where are you?”

“Wŏ de mā hé tā de fēngkuáng de wàisheng dōu. Fuck! Fuck! I’m home, my place . . .” He begins to slow down, calm down, words becoming more recognizable. “I didn’t know you could Earth-walk.”

I can’t. Or at least, I couldn’t. Not until a demon threatened my best-friend’s little brother. “I’m so glad you’re safe. Are you all right?”

“Nothing a shower and a shitload of valium won’t fix. What about you?”

“I’m okay. He’s, uh, things are calmer.” I turn slightly so I don’t have to look at the wreck of my dining room. And so I can keep an eye on the demon, who has walked over to the fridge. He takes out a bottle of Cape Cod Pale Ale, flips off the lid with his thumb-claw and chugs it, his head thrown back, blood-spattered throat working.

“Listen, what do you want me to do? Can you bring me back through the Earth or do you want me to get the bus?”

“No, no.” I shake my head even though I know he can’t see it. “You’ve done enough.”

“You sure? I’ll come back if you want me to. I’m not leaving you to face that tāmāde húndàn on your own.”

I sigh and sag against the edge of the kitchen table. I don’t want to face the demon on my own, either. But it’s better than the alternative. I don’t know how many more deaths my conscience can stand.

“No, it’s okay, Wen. I’ll be okay.”

“You sure? What are you going to do? Are you going to try to make the doppelganger? It’s a good idea. Don’t give up on it.”

“I won’t.”

“What are you going to do . . . you know . . . about Jus?”

I avoid looking at my dining room with an effort and focus on the demon leaning against my sink. He made the mess; he can clean it up. “I’ll deal with it. He has his uses.”

If you think I’m cleaning that up, you can fucking think again.

Fine. I’ll go to jail for murder and you can find someone else to torment.

He reaches into the fridge for another beer. You owe me.

I’ve already agreed to have sex with you and my soul’s off-limits. What more do you want?

The demon puts down the half-empty beer and pushes away from the sink. He brushes past me on his way into the dining room, rubbing his bloody knuckles down my cheek, leaving a tacky smear. As I cringe away from him he thinks, I want you to lick me clean.

I whimper.

“You there?” Wen’s voice in my ear brings me back to his end of the conversation.

“It’s okay.” It’s not. It’s very far from okay, but I can’t think of anything else to say. “Take care of yourself, and thanks. Thanks for everything.”

“I hate leaving you like this.”

“No, it’s okay.” Behind me, wet, snapping noises begin. It sounds like someone deboning a chicken. I’m going to be sick. I cup my hand over the phone. “I’ll talk to you soon, Wen.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hang up and huddle against the wall for a moment, listening to the noises behind me. Trying desperately not to hear them.

I’m going upstairs. I can’t stay here and listen.

You do that. I’m going to be a while. And leave out that fucking ice cream. I’m gonna need something to clear my palate after this. Warlock tastes like three day-old ghoul.

Shuddering, I do as he asks. I have to step over the shattered fragments of the Squire’s bowl to get to the fridge.

When I reach my bedroom, a trio of ghosts are sitting on my neatly-made bed.

I begin shrugging out of my sweat-soaked clothes. They’ve all seen me naked before. Two of them changed my diapers. As they remind me with monotonous regularity. And I’m too numb to care if I shock them.

“Beti—” Dala begins.

“How are you feeling about the idea of a substitute now?” I ask heavily. I’m not sure what’s more repugnant: the demon eating Justinian’s remains in my dining room, or my family’s suggestion of throwing him some unsuspecting soul.

“You really think he’s going to be fooled by a double?” the Billigoat asks.

I yank off my socks and toss them into the clothes hamper. “Say it a little louder. He might not have heard you.”

A gust of cold air flutters my hair around my face. The bedroom door slams shut and the ghost of my uncle glowers at me.

“Beti, we don’t think the idea of a doppelganger is a good one. Giving the beng a piece of your soul, even a small piece . . . ”

“It’s the best idea I’ve got.” I take off my protective bracelets and rings and set them in a bowl on my dresser with a sigh. They haven’t been