Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex Demonized #1) - Annette Marie Page 0,14
I’d probably feel murderous too.
According to Uncle Jack, he had two weeks to get this demon to agree to a contract. Why the time limit? Why two weeks? I looked down at The Summoner’s Handbook. Demon names. Lineages. Secrets passed from summoner to summoner.
My gaze rose to the dark circle. “Do you have a name? Your own name, not a lineage name.”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
The unseen demon laughed, and its next words were a silky croon. “What will you give me for my name, payilas?”
Oh, a new nickname. Its huh-aye-none one seemed to mean “human,” but I couldn’t guess this one’s meaning.
I sat back on my heels. “In exchange for your name, I’ll bake something for you—specifically for you.”
“Why would I want this?”
Embarrassment pulled at my mouth, which only annoyed me. I would not feel embarrassed that a demon didn’t want my baking. “That’s my offer, so take it or leave it.”
I pushed to my feet, returned the handbook to its hiding spot, and stalked toward the door. As I placed my hand on the knob, a low call stopped me.
“Payilas.”
I looked over my shoulder.
“Bring your something to me,” the demon said, “and I will tell you my name.”
I regarded the black dome, then slipped through the door and closed it without answering. Curious and impulsive, my mom had called me. A volatile combination.
Clearly, I still hadn’t learned my lesson.
Chapter Seven
I stood in front of the kitchen island, its surface stacked with raw ingredients, and dabbed the tears from my eyes.
After missing my chance yesterday to confront Uncle Jack about my inheritance, I’d cornered him this afternoon. Cue another round of interruptions, dismissals, and glares that sent my gaze skittering to the floor. I was as angry with myself and my cowardice as I was with his deceit and greed.
Sniffling, I began sorting the ingredients. Did I have any reason to doubt that Uncle Jack intended to cheat me out of my inheritance? Taking him to court might be my only option, but the thought made my skin tingle with anxiety. Calling lawyers’ offices … finding someone who would work for cheap until I won my case … going to court …
I took deep breaths.
Suing him would probably win me my money, but it would forever lose me the grimoire. How could I sue Uncle Jack for a book I couldn’t describe? I’d only seen it a few times. I’d never opened it and had no idea what it contained.
Pulling myself together, I measured flour into a bowl. Tonight, I would resume combing the library shelves for any sign of my mother’s grimoire or other books from her collection. And while I was down there … why not learn the demon’s name? There was something perversely satisfying in not only defying Uncle Jack, but also in succeeding to communicate with the otherwise silent demon where he’d failed for weeks.
As I sifted flour from one bowl to another, Amalia breezed into the kitchen, her long blond waves fluttering around her. She spotted me and stopped.
I glanced at her, then returned to sifting. What was the point in saying hello?
Stomping to the fridge, she pulled it open, rooted around, then carried an armload of food to the breakfast bar across from me. She dumped it on the counter and went back for more. I watched bemusedly as she collected three kinds of cheese, crackers, pickles, smoked meat, an apple, peanut butter, and a croissant before sliding onto the stool.
Her gray-eyed glower dared me to comment.
Staying silent, I opened a carton of eggs and cracked the first one, separating the whites from the yolks. As I worked, Amalia opened the cheese and started slicing cubes, popping every third or fourth one into her mouth. We ignored each other, me working diligently while she grazed on her selection of snacks.
Switching on the mixer, I beat the eggs into a foam, then sprinkled in powdered sugar one tablespoon at a time. When the egg mixture had formed stiff peaks under the beaters, I switched it off. Shooting me irritated looks in between reading on her phone, Amalia tore bites out of her apple.
“Why do you hate me?” The question popped out of my mouth against my better judgement.
Her head came up, disbelief on her face as she chewed her mouthful of apple. Flushing, I pretended I hadn’t spoken and added a dollop of flour to the egg mixture.
She swallowed. “Isn’t it obvious?”
I winced at her dismissive tone, then stiffened my shoulders. “Not to me.”