“This was so much fun, Barion. Thank you. I have one question, though.”
“Fire away.”
“Why didn’t you take me to a dimension that’s populated?”
“Two words. Sunflower seeds.”
“Surely there are places that are safe?” Jon cocked an eyebrow.
“Well, ‘safe’ is a flexible term, as you probably know. What you deem safe and what your Grann views as safe are very different things, aren’t they?”
Jon nodded with a shudder. Barion kept talking. “It’s my solemn duty that no harm comes to you on our little trips. Protecting you from potentially hostile landscape is much easier than defending you against rats the size of bungalows.” Barion shook his head. “They have spiked tails. Very nasty.”
Jon sat up straighter. “Rats with spiked tails? Can you show them to me?”
“Please, of course I can show them to you. Here, where it’s safe. I’m not going to take you to where they live.”
“That’s fine for me. I have no intention of meeting one eye to eye.” Jon shuddered. “I don’t even like the rats we get here. But isn’t there a dimension you could take me to where it’s nice? You mentioned something about ‘dungeon dimensions’ before.”
Barion shrugged. “No. Because first of all, there’s a reason humans exist only on Earth. Second, the few dimensions that are harmless are so boring that you’d fall asleep where you’re standing, which is their form of defense. Third, yes, I did mention the dungeon dimensions, but after thinking about it, I don’t think going there is a good idea. Lastly, the demon wars didn’t and can’t happen in dull scenery. Where’s the fun if the environment isn’t trying to kill you while you’re fighting against other players?”
“I see your point,” Jon agreed. He didn’t seem to be too upset, for which Barion was grateful. He found he couldn’t stand seeing Jon disappointed. “I hope this was enough input to create all our levels.”
What he could stand very well was teasing Jon. “You’re not happy with our little trip?” Barion pushed his lower lip forward, trying to make it tremble at the same time. Jon just rolled his eyes.
“While I do find your attempt at channeling Sammy quite hilarious, you still have a long way to go. And I loved our trip—but more because of the company and less because of the scenery, which was great and inspiring.”
Barion’s heart made a suspicious thumping motion. Before he could even start to dissect what had just happened with this important organ hidden deep in his chest, Don’t Pay the Ferryman started blaring. Jon sighed and took out his phone.
“Yes, Grann?”
Chapter Eleven
“Enbesil yo! I should come to Beaconville and drag you back home on your ear!” Grann was furious and had no problem showing it. It was probably the reason she always seemed to be so well-adjusted. Negative feelings didn’t get a chance to fester. “It’s bad enough you’re gallivanting around the globe with your , but visiting a powerful mache espirityel without knowing if she’s friend or foe? Not to mention hopping off into another dimension just to worry your poor old gran into an early grave!”
As usual, Jon didn’t comment on the ‘poor, old gran’ or the fact there was no grave for Grann because she had been there, done that and left it all behind. He did ask about the mache espirityel, though.
“You know Waaseyaa?”
Grann huffed. “Of course I do. How many times do I have to tell you? The world of majik, it’s small when it comes to the real power. You’re lucky she isn’t an enemy.”
“She’s Barion’s friend,” Jon defended the maker of the most delicious pancakes he had ever tasted. He wouldn’t mention it to Grann because he was sure good food wasn’t a plausible reason to get himself in danger. He needn’t have bothered.
“You tasted her krep, didn’t you?” Grann gave him no chance to answer. “I swear that woman needs to stop enchanting everybody with her damn food!”
“The pancakes are magical?” Jon stared at Barion with wide eyes. His demon friend had obviously heard most of the conversation, thanks to his supernatural hearing, and was now shrugging. Not enough to be harmful, he was whispering.
“Of course they are, enbesil. All food is magic. I told you that!”
“I thought you meant it in a metaphorical way,” Jon said meekly. And he’d thought he’d gotten good at deciphering Grann’s words.
“If it’s cooked by people, then yes, but if it’s a magical person doing the cooking? Majik is transcendent, and it always diffuses. Why do you think family gatherings always center around food?”
Grann started mumbling some colorful curses in Creole. Some of the words Jon had never heard and tried to memorize so he could look them up later. Simply for scientific purposes, of course. He waited for her to end her rant, which took another five minutes, during which he scribbled the words he wanted to research on a piece of paper Barion had handed him upon request. Finally, Grann was back to talking directly to him.
“No more stupid trips, do you hear me, Jon? No visits to people of majik or to a dimansyon lanfe. I can’t protect you when you’re in one of those.”
The true worry in her voice kept Jon from saying something snappy about him being able to take care of himself.
