Page 3 of Cooking Up a Demon (Ghostlight Falls #5)
Chapter Three
Three
R ain. Again.
I knew the PNW was rainy. Of course I knew. But fuck, I am tired of the rain. And the grey. And the constant humidity frizzing my hair.
I’m determined to have a good day. My conversation with Delia motivated me, and I am going to turn the dreary old store into a place I love. First up, is moving all of the shelves away from the walls so I can scrub and paint them.
Which means removing all of the books from the shelves. Hundreds and hundreds of books. Sigh.
Instead of thinking about the task ahead, I turn the lock behind me and carry my bags to the counter. My little haul is going to bring me happiness. I am sure of it.
I pull the hot plate out of the bag and unpack it before plugging it in. Next comes the large glass pot wrapped in paper. I sit it on the hot plate and fill it with distilled water as the recipe states.
The cutting board and knife came from home.
I sit them on the counter and get to work, occasionally checking the book to make sure I am getting it right.
Two apples, three oranges, and a lime all cut into slices.
Fresh bay leaves and mint. I carefully pull the petals off a single yellow rose before finding a large mason jar to put the rest of the bouquet in. A sprig of rosemary and let simmer.
I turn on the hot plate and wait for the happiness to infuse the store. I am still cleaning up the supplies when the pot begins to spew plumes of thick smoke.
“Motherfucker!” I scream at the billowing smoke. “Not again!”
“Human, there are consequences for summoning me.” The large stone grey demon is back, and looks just as annoyed as the first time.
“I was making a simmer pot!” I yell at him, throwing my hands in the air. “I was not summoning anything! I couldn’t if I tried.”
“My presence here suggests otherwise.” The demon crosses to the counter to look at the open book. He reads the page and throws back his head and laughs.
“It’s not funny!” I stomp my foot. Nothing about this is funny. In fact, it should be impossible. I’ve seen some strange and questionable things, but demons just don’t exist.
Except the proof they do stands in front of me with his hands on his hips and a glare that should stop my heart on the spot.
“What?” I snap, annoyed at not only his presence but the loss of my pot of happiness.
“Well, what task have you for me this time?” He looks around the shop with a sigh. “Please do not ask me to dust again. I was getting it out of my nose for days.”
I bite my cheek to keep from laughing at the idea of this giant demon sneezing out dust balls for days. It’s disgusting and ridiculous.
“I don’t want anything from you. I feel like making deals with a demon is very bad for my life expectancy. So, shoo.” I wave him off with my hands. “Be gone demon!”
“It doesn’t work like that, human.” He sighs and leans against the counter. “Look, you’ve summoned me, you’ve already paid the price for the summoning with your spell.”
“There was no spell!”
“You might as well get the work,” he goes on, completely ignoring me. “Your grandmother understood the price of the bargain. Did she not explain it to you?”
“Nonna didn’t explain shit to me,” I gripe.
I wish she had left me something to explain the last few months of my life.
I wish she had explained why I inherited everything instead of my father.
And I am definitely curious about the demon that keeps appearing every time I try to cook out of the family recipe book.
“She set the terms, a favor for a day.” He says it as though it made perfect sense. It doesn’t. Nothing makes sense.
“A day?” I ask, certain I don’t want the answer.
“Favors come with a price, human. I did her a favor and May gave me a day of her life. Now it’s your turn. You’ve already paid the day by summoning me. Might as well get something from it.”
I stare dumbfounded at the demon. What the fuck did he mean I paid a day by summoning him. I hadn’t summoned him! I was making a simmer pot!
“You’re telling me I lost a day off my life because I wanted some fucking soup!
” I flap my arms around like a headless chicken.
“Just go away! I have too much work to do here to deal with this. Go. Let me move my millions of books so I can paint the walls and just be happy. And stop showing up every time I try to cook something! I don’t want you here! ”
The demon gives me a look I can’t quite put my finger on. It’s almost like the affectionate look you give a dimwitted animal when they do something especially stupid.
“As you wish,” And with another plume of smoke, he’s gone.
Annoyed, I turn back to my simmer pot and turn off the hot plate. Maybe I could make it again and leave something out? That seems safe enough.
Decided, I grab my purse and keys and head back to the supermarket for more fruit.
When I return thirty minutes later with the apples, oranges, and limes needed to try my simmer pot again, the store is in total disarray. All of the books are piled in stacks in the center of the space, and all of the nearly floor to ceiling bookshelves have been moved away from the walls.
“Fucking demon!” I yell, frustrated. Yeah, okay, he saved me days of work by doing the task for me. But I do not want to keep making deals with demons. It does not bode well for the longevity of my lifespan.
There’s no response, so I assume the demon has returned to wherever demons go when they’re not pestering humans. Hell, probably. Though this demon seems pretty benign for the creatures of horror from the stories.
“Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it.” I chant as I lock the door behind me and head back to the counter to try my pot of happiness again.