Taming Demons for Beginners (The Guild Codex Demonized #1) - Annette Marie Page 0,4
going?”
“Good,” I muttered. Nothing was good. Everything was crap.
“We made spaghetti,” he said after a moment. “There’s a bit left, if you want it.”
“Sure,” I told the floor.
A painful silence, then he carried his plate out of the kitchen. I looked up in time to see his back disappear, his tight t-shirt showing his muscular arms and broad shoulders.
I stood alone in the kitchen, furious and embarrassed by my inability to act like a socially capable human being, then approached the gas range. A pot and a saucepan held a few dregs of food. Sighing, I scooped the child-sized portion onto a plate. Maybe they thought that was all the food I needed. Short people didn’t require nourishment or something.
Leaning against the counter, I ate my inadequate meal as my thoughts jumped from my failed attempt to confront Uncle Jack, to my missing inheritance, to this stupid house and the demon in the basement. I didn’t want to be here.
I wanted to be home, tucked in my favorite reading chair with an old book, listening to my parents’ voices as they prepared dinner in the kitchen. We would’ve sat together at the table to eat, and Mom would’ve told me about the three-hundred-year-old book she was restoring for a client. Dad would’ve complained about his boss at the bank. I would’ve told them about the paper I was researching for my Roman history class.
Scooping the last noodle into my mouth, I set my plate in the sink and dried my tears on my shirt. Grief weighed on my chest, and I was desperate for something familiar—but what in this cold, sprawling mansion could possibly bring me comfort?
My gaze drifted to the pantry.
Five minutes later, I’d stacked the island with flour, butter, baking powder, baking soda, salt, shortening, white sugar, brown sugar, two eggs, vanilla extract, semi-sweet chocolate chips, and a surprising find—a bulk bag of pecans.
I searched the cupboards for mixing bowls, measuring cups, and utensils, and in no time at all, I was mixing dry ingredients in a bowl. As I worked, my worries faded. The unfamiliar kitchen didn’t matter. With each precise measurement and carefully followed step, I slid backward in time. I was baking in my parents’ kitchen, testing a new iteration of my chocolate-pecan cookie recipe.
The kitchen filled with the mouthwatering aroma of melted chocolate, and I tidied up while the cookies baked. When I pulled them from the oven, their centers fluffed with heat and edges golden brown, I could almost hear my mom exclaiming in delight. Leaving the cookies to cool, I finished cleaning, then stacked them on a plate.
It was a long walk to the bedrooms on the second level. I stopped in front of Amalia’s door, practiced breathing, then knocked. A moment passed.
The door cracked open and a gray eye glared at me. “What do you want?”
I held up the plate. “I made cookies. Would you like—”
“I’m on a diet.”
The door slammed shut.
I blinked rapidly, then exhaled. A dozen paces down the hall, I stopped in front of Travis’s door. Electronic music throbbed through the wood. I knocked. No answer. I knocked louder. The music pounded on. I couldn’t bring myself to shout for his attention. He was probably busy anyway.
Cradling the full plate, I continued down the never-ending hall and stopped in front of a third closed door. I didn’t need to knock on this one. Inside was a bed that wasn’t mine, with a gray-striped comforter I didn’t like. My suitcase sat on the floor in the walk-in closet, filled with socks and underwear, and six shirts hung on hangers above it. Ten of my favorite books lined the dresser, the only ones I’d brought with me. The rest of my belongings were in storage with my parents’ things.
I stared at the cookies, knowing what my evening would involve: sitting alone on the unfamiliar bed, reading old books, and trying not to cry. This time, I could weep into my giant plate of cookies. I’d be sad and sick to my stomach. Extra fun.
I needed a better distraction. When was the last time I’d gone this long without a new book to read? I used to spend half my free time browsing library shelves at my college campus—
Library shelves.
My gaze dropped to the floor as though I could see through it. There was a library right in this house—a big, private library full of fascinating leather-bound books.