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

my head. I’m gonna need a little while longer here to seal the deal. You still waitin’ up for me?

I guess so.

Naked?

No, the entrée is still fully clothed.

He breaks contact, but not before I feel him smile.

“He’s at a safe distance,” I say to Lilliwhite, rolling my coffee-cup between my palms. It only occurs to me after I say it that there’s no such thing. “Well, he’s not about to come back, at any rate.”

“You’ve never hosted . . . his kind before.”

“He’s an unwelcome guest.”

The pixie bows her head over the blue thing she holds in her hands. “I don’t think the Squire will want to share your favor.”

“My what?”

The pixie carefully places what she’s holding on the kitchen table. Once she releases it, it expands into a large, shallow bowl. Enameled ivy vines twine around the rim; green gems wink between the leaves. The bottom is lined with silver. It reflects my face as I stare into it. Up out of my reflection swims an image of the Squire’s helmeted head.

“Oh,” I say, stepping back in surprise. “What is this?”

“Whenever you have need of him, you only have to look in the bowl and he will come. He asks for your favor in return.”

I look at the pixie, who is wringing her tiny hands. “My favor. What does that mean?”

“When a lady plights herself to a knight, she gives him a token, a symbol, that he can carry with him. A favor.”

Very traditional. “Sounds like we’re getting engaged.”

I mean it as a joke, but the pixie’s wings buzz furiously, which I’ve learned is a sign of embarrassment.

“Lilliwhite—” I begin, to smooth over my gaffe.

“The Squire has never asked for any lady’s favor before,” she says stiffly.

“Lilliwhite, I’m honored. I just want to make sure I know where I stand.” I rub my hand wearily over my face. The whole fairy-lover thing still sounds like a bad idea. On top of the whole demon-lover thing, which also sounds like a bad idea, but I can’t seem to find a way out of that—

The slam of the front door interrupts my train of thought. Startled, I glance over my shoulder, towards the open door into the hallway.

Then I feel him. The hot rush of his presence. His growing fury. It burns through me like a fever. Sparks fly from my hair and fingertips to sizzle on the linoleum. I reach and close my fingers around my kama. My coffee cup hits the floor with a clatter. I stretch out my other hand.

At the flick of my fingers, the pocket door to the dining room flies open. Revealing the demon in all his dark glory storming towards Justinian. His horns scrape a cloud of plaster off the ceiling. He roars something wordless, eyes blazing with blue flame. The huge scythe appears in one of his hands.

“No!” I yell.

I’m too far away to do anything. The demon doesn’t even glance at me as he brings the scythe down. There’s a meaty tearing noise. The scythe finishes its arc. Blood spatters through the pocket door, spraying across the kitchen floor. Two halves of Justinian fall out of the chair.

“No! Dear God, no!”

The demon glances at me, a neon flash, before turning for Wen.

The necromancer’s up off the floor. The dead swirl around him like a cloak. He has his hands up in a martial-arts stance. But there’s no way he can fend off that scythe.

“Wen!” I’m too far away. The demon will cut Wen in half long before I can reach him. Lin’s little brother. Who came all the way to Boston to help me.

Desperate, I reach, pulling on every energy I can summon. Thunder rumbles in the distance. The house shivers on its foundations. A leathery flapping fills my ears. The lights wink out, but I can still see the terrible scene unfolding in the glow of the demon’s eyes. He begins to bring the scythe down.

Three nethancs burst over my shoulders, arrowing towards the demon. The first lowers its serpentine head and rams into the demon’s broad shoulder. The demon staggers and the scythe cuts wide, the point slamming into the floorboards at Wen’s feet. Wen waves his arms and the dead swirl around the demon, howling, teeth tearing, hands clawing. The demon’s leather jacket shreds under their onslaught. Dark lines score his golden skin. He roars, yanks the scythe out of the woodwork and slashes at his attackers. There’s a high, shrill howl as he cuts a nethanc out of the air. It crashes into my dining room table in a tumble of leathery wings. The scythe carves glittering arcs in the darkness, through the swirling stream of the dead. Wen screams and his tattoos explode in a bloody wash, spattering the walls.

Stop it! Stop it, Jou!

The demon ignores me and cuts down the last nethanc. Then he lifts his scythe and advances on Wen again.

“Wen!” I scream and feel energy burst out of me. The room shudders and heaves. The windows blow outward. With a howl of warping wood, a gaping mouth opens in the floor, surges upward, and swallows Wen whole.

The scythe splinters the floorboards just as the hole closes with a snap.

“Wen! Wen! Oh, my God!” I fall to my knees in horror. My dining-room floor just ate Linnie’s little brother. What have I done?

The demon turns and stalks toward me out of the ruin of my dining room, scythe raised.

I reach. Above me, the ceiling disappears. The air thickens, fills with the scent of ozone. A storm wind whips my hair around my face. Thunder rumbles directly overhead. The first finger of lightning stabs downward, striking between me and the demon, blinding me. The linoleum smokes and the stink of burning rubber replaces the smell of ozone.

The demon eyes the black mark on the floor. That a threat?

Yes.

I stay on my knees, one arm stretched to the sky, ready to call lightning again. I don’t know what skyfire will do to hellfire, but I’m willing to put it to the