Neon Blue by E Frost (best book reader .TXT) 📗

forth on his Air Jordans. “I k-k-know. I didn’t mean give him your whole soul. Just a tiny piece of it.”

“A piece?” I don’t like the sound of this. “How big a piece?”

“A shadow of it. Have you ever heard of a d-d-doppelganger?”

I cast my eyes at the ceiling, trying to remember. Doppelgangers were definitely covered during at least two classes at college. “Vaguely,” I say. “Aren’t they a double? A magical double?”

Justinian nods. “So we make you a doppelganger and invest it with a bit of your soul and we g-g-give it to the demon instead of you.”

I glance at Wen-Long, who is holding the wriggling, fire-drooling lizard over the sink. Wen grins. “Good idea, huh?”

Better than the alternative. “What happens to me when the demon takes that bit of my soul back to hell?”

Justinian shrugs sheepishly.

“You don’t know?” I try to keep my voice from shooting up to an annoying girly pitch. Fail.

“I don’t know anyone who’s tried this.”

“Any other ideas?”

He shakes his head. “None that work.”

Great. The smell of the coffee penetrates my consternation. I take three cups out of the cupboard and pour. I reach for the sugar jar automatically, and freeze with my hand just above it. Did the demon really put Peter’s soul in there? I’m not up to finding out. I pull a bag of sugar out of a cabinet and put it on the table.

Wen-Long shifts Izzy onto his shoulder in order to take his cup. The salamander curls around the necromancer’s neck and rubs his little wedge-shaped head underneath Wen’s chin. The faces tattooed around Wen’s neck goggle. I have to chuckle. I’m not sure what it’s weirder to have in my kitchen, the necromancer or the salamander.

I turn to practicalities. “Has either of you ever made a doppelganger before?”

Justinian and Wen trade glances.

“I’ll take that as a no,” I say sourly and console myself with a sip of coffee. Ah, hazelnut decaf. Is there anything better after a long night of being terrorized by a demon? I let the coffee warm me for a minute before I say, “I guess we’re hitting the books.”

Chapter 19

An hour later, we haven’t found anything more useful than a very general discussion of medieval doppelgangers in Lecouteaux’s Shapeshifters and Doubles in the Middle Ages. Nothing that could tell me how to make one. Every textbook I could dig out of my attic and every book on the occult that’s made it into my library is spread across my dining room table. Justinian has his head bent over A Journey Beyond Our Senses, and is deep into his third cup of coffee. Wen’s lying on the floor, propped up on a couch cushion, with Bigfoot Inside: A Metaphysical Approach to Supernatural Beings, held open over his head by a pair of spectral hands and a dozing salamander sprawled across his stomach. I push Keeler’s Guide to Mysterious Beings into the “nothing useful” pile, rub my gritty eyes, and pull The Rose Twin: A True Account of Another Self out of the unread stack.

The tinkling of silver bells makes me pause as I’m flipping through the index.

“Your cup’s in the drainer,” I call to the pixie.

Lilliwhite appears in the doorway, hovering a few feet off the ground, a tinsel and gilt blur. No coffee-cup, but she is clutching something in her hands.

“Tsara?” She beckons with a tilt of her tiny head.

I close the book and rise. Justinian looks alarmed, although whether by my otherworldly visitor or by my approach, I’m not sure. He’s kept a careful distance from me since coming into the house. I smile to reassure him. “Do you want another cup?”

He shakes his head. The tension around his eyes remains. His ears are probably still buzzing. I should be remorseful, but I’m not.

“I’ll take another,” Wen says from the floor.

A spectral hand lifts his cup to waist-height – the advantages of being a necromancer, I guess – and I collect it as I pass. I follow the pixie into the kitchen, sliding the pocket door closed behind me and waving Lilliwhite to the far end of the kitchen. The pocket door’s thin.

“That one wears the dark crown,” Lilliwhite says, as we reach the relative privacy of my sink. “He whispers to the dead.”

“Wen’s a necromancer,” I say, pouring two cups of coffee. “He’s okay. What about the other one?”

“The fire spirit doesn’t like him.”

I nod. I noticed that, too. The salamander’s made its preference for Wen very clear. “Earth doesn’t know him,” I say, remembering his Air Jordans. “The Mother rejects him.”

“What is he doing here?”

“Trying to help me with a problem.”

“The fiend?”

I smile ruefully and lean back against the sink. Not much gets by Lilliwhite. I suppose that’s why her king chose her as a spy. “Can you sense him? The warlock says he can.”

“He’s too clouded to feel anything.” The pixie glances around. “I feel something, though.”

The hair on the back of my neck rises. Is the demon en route? I don’t know how he’ll react to finding Wen and Justinian here. I reach in my mind.

Where are you?

Men’s room. You missin’ me?

I control a mental snort. No.

You sure?

Definitely.

What were you sayin’? Hope springs eternal. You know what I’ve been thinkin’ about?

The girl in the miniskirt? I snap back before I can stop myself.

Naw, she sucks like she’s drinkin’ medicine. She’s all but holding her nose. I’ve been thinkin’ about ice cream. Last time I had ice cream . . . fuck, I can’t remember when. You got any?

A freezer full. It’s one of my secret vices. Maybe. What kind do you want?

That one you were talkin’ about earlier. Mint . . . mint something.

Mint chocolate chip. My favorite. I have that.

The demon sighs into my mind. Yeah . . . Ow! Watch the teeth, girl. It’s not a kebab.

What are you . . . ? I wince. No, I don’t want to know. Are you coming back soon?

Mmm. Gimme a little while. We’re still negotiating.

Negotiating? Is that what you call it?

I call it a blow-job at the moment—

Stop!

He chuckles darkly, a sound that resounds through