“Why haven’t you gotten rid of that thing yet?” he asks as she rushes him. She tries going for his ankles while he scowls at her. “Do not bite holes into another one of my suits, dammit!”
He’s frantically trying to step away from her and eventually throws out one of his illusions she can fuck up. She’s not overly pleased when the illusion doesn’t prance away like Ellison has been.
“Get rid of her,” Ellison growls as he points at the ferret.
“She just likes you too much,” I explain.
“Bullshit. She likes to bite me, make weird hissing noises at me, and haunt me. She should be in a cage in someone else’s home.”
I slide into a seat at the table while the dream wraps around my mind.
“What’s wrong?” Ellison asks.
I look up and beam at him. “The demons are restless today.”
“Don’t do that demon bullshit with me to try to make me uncomfortable enough to stop asking you questions. That shit doesn’t work with me.”
“You’re awfully feisty now that you’re off bed rest. Shouldn’t you still be resting and be nice to me?”
“I will do neither. Now answer the question.”
“Is that spatula to threaten me or make me something?”
“I’m not making you shit,” he grumbles as he cracks way more eggs than he’s going to eat into a skillet.
“You really should wear an apron. What if you get something on your fancy suit?”
“Don’t avoid my question,” Ellison says while he funnels all of his annoyance into scrambling the eggs. I’m not sure eggs have ever been scrambled with such force.
It’s kind of sexy.
I grin at him and he scowls at me—really, it’s a natural response at this point.
In the past two weeks, I’ve found nothing leading me to the two people who’d been in the woods. The only thing I have accomplished is beating up more of Ellison’s mother’s investigators.
They really are quite persistent. But I don’t mind. It gives Pocket Lint and me something to do. Other than that, I’ve wandered around Ellison’s glass mansion. Okay, not quite a mansion but I’m sure this place cost as much as one. Everything is pristine, and anytime I leave a cup or something slightly askew, the cleaning lady hurries onto the scene and puts it back where it belongs.
I reach out to a container of cooking utensils and slide it just three inches to the left.
“What are you doing?” Ellison asks.
“The cleaning lady and I have a game going on. I move things just a little and she sees if she can figure out what I moved.”
“And you think she’s enjoying this game?” Ellison asks as he moves it back.
“Your house is frigid, my man. It’s no wonder you think you need to be frigid. Live a little.”
“I live plenty, thank you,” he says, dividing up the eggs. “This is all you’re getting because of your sass.”
“I’d have eaten cereal at home, so I’m not complaining.” I pick up the plate and head into the living room.
“You may not eat on the couch,” he warns. This has to be the tenth time he’s told me this, but I believe that at some point, he will just cave.
“But we could watch TV while we eat and like this, we have to stare at each other’s faces,” I say as I return to the table and slide into the chair opposite him. “We’re like a married couple. Do you want to play footsie?”
His face reddens out of anger. “We are not… no.”
I cackle, pleased with myself while I eat.
