“Not on me. I might have some in the freezer.” If he wasn't a demon and I wasn't a witch, this would probably be the weirdest conversation I've ever had.
I skirt around him and make my way through the dining room and to the kitchen. It's not until I'm rummaging around the freezer I realize he followed me. Once I find the bag, I straighten and begin prepping them for the oven. I avoid his eyes, though I can feel them tracking me around the kitchen.
“Did you know until recently it was illegal to carry more than fifty kilograms of potatoes in your car in Australia?” I peek at him from the corner of my eye and catch him shuddering. “Something wrong with the metric system?”
“Very funny, little witch. I'm not a fan of Australia.”
“Why not?”
His face turns stony and I duck my head, focusing on spreading the fries out. The silence stretches on forever. I shouldn't have asked and I definitely should resist the urge to ramble, which is exactly what I did with the random fact about Australia. I've never even been there. He doesn't want to chitchat or be friends. He doesn't want to share witty anecdotes or gossip over tea. He's a demon. I'm a witch. This is merely business…over fries and spaghetti sauce.
The oven beeps and I slide the tray inside, my mind still arguing with itself over whether or not to fill the silence between us with inconsequential words.
“Spiders,” he spits out.
I jolt at his outburst. I barely get my arm out of the way before the oven door slams shut. Tingles run up my hands and I heave out a heavy breath.
“Spiders?”
“They're not my favorite.”
“Pretty sure every continent has spiders. Wait, does Hell not have spiders?”
I lean against the counter and finally look at him—really look at him. Past the horns and his silver hair. Beyond the red skin with the black tattoos. Are they tattoos? My body sways toward him, my fingers itching to trace them.
I shake my head and snap out of it. Why was I staring at him? Oh, yeah. It's because of the look in his dark eyes. The ones that occasionally flash reddish orange for no apparent reason. I can't quite place what emotion swims in their depths, but it's important. I can feel it in my bones.
His lips twitch. “First of all, spiders have too many legs. Second, we do not have spiders in Hell. The animals down there are…different.”
I cross my arms. “Oh, I've seen the drawings.”
“Witch drawings.” He wrinkles his nose.
“I mean, there's some in the book.” I point at the heavy soul-sucking tome back on the shelf next to my mom's recipe book.
The timer goes off and I set about dealing with the fries. Once I have them in a container, I set it in front of him. I don't know how he'll transport them or if they'll still be hot once they get there. His jaw twitches as he stares at the fries.
“Do you want dip?” I whisper.
“I don't know what dip is. I don't need it.” He shoves to his feet and the stool wobbles. “Do you need anything else?”
I shake my head. I didn't summon him in the first place so I don't know what else I could possibly need. My new desk is being delivered soon, but I'm determined to put it together myself. I swore I would stop calling on Omen for things. Relying on him, a demon, will only end in disaster. He'll just end up leaving, too, and I'll be left to pick up the pieces of my shattered life alone.
He vanishes in a swirl of smoke, leaving only a whiff of sulfur and cinnamon behind.
Iprobably shouldn't have just poofed from Clara's house. She's clearly going through something based on her attitude. It was hard enough to let go of her when I fished her from behind the rinser—washing—machine. It took everything in me not to snatch her away when she almost burned herself. By the time she was leaning against the counter having a casual conversation, I knew I was in trouble. I had to get out of there before I did something drastic. Like throw her on the counter and bury my?—
I suck in a sharp breath and blast into Dimitri's front room. I'm one of the few people he doesn't bar from entering his space. Usually I don't just waltz in like I own the place, but I'm in no mood to be nice. He's the reason I stuck around Clara's place. Him and his fucking fries.
He's nowhere to be found in the rest of the house. I shove open the door to his bedroom and find him sleeping. Fucker.I toss the container at his face, and he wakes with a string of curses.
“Special delivery,” I growl, then spin to go back to my own place.
“Where the fuck have you been? And how are these things still warm?” he calls after me, and I turn in the doorway.
“I just came from topside. You said bring you fries next time. Now fucking thank me.”
He stretches, his dark grey skin cracking open, revealing deep purple rivulets underneath. I wonder what Clara would think if she met Dimitri. After she stopped staring at him, he'd probably charm her within seventeen seconds. I scowl at the thought, vowing to keep them separate. Not that I'm going back to her place. I'll need to find a way to break the thread tying us together, which won't be easy.
