Neon Blue by E Frost (best big ereader .TXT) 📕

I lean against the sink and sip the water thoughtfully. “No. I’m pretty happy.” Or I was before the demon came barrelling into my life. “I feel like I help people.”

“The fertility thing.”

I nod. “It’s better than what I was doing before.” Freelancing. Working for Manny Goldberg and others like him. “I was never sure what my clients would ask for. A lot of the time I wasn’t sure I was helping.”

The demon watches me. Listening. By now Saul would be analyzing my ‘problem,’ taking it apart like a network error. The demon just listens.

“Sometimes . . .” I twist my hands around the glass, trying to put my concerns into terms that he’ll understand. “Do you ever wonder if people actually know what’s good for them? I mean, I’d get women coming to me for love charms to get back men who hit them. Or this one time, a father came to me wanting me to track down his youngest son, and when I found him hiding at a friend’s house, it turned out that the kid ran away because his older brother was molesting him. How could I give them what they wanted? I was just adding to their misery.”

The demon continues to listen. There’s nothing judgmental in his gaze. He simply listens.

“Helping my clients make babies is less complicated.” And it makes up, in some small way, for what I can’t have.

He nods. “You don’t gotta deal with the consequences.”

I frown at him, not sure he understands. “My life works . . .” Or it did. “But it isn’t very glitzy. It’s just my life. I guess . . . I thought you’d want something more glamorous.”

“D’you? Mmm.” He shrugs.

“You’re not impressed by glamor.”

“I’m impressed by you in that.” He nods at my top, the black leather halter that’s so comfortable I’ve forgotten I’m wearing it, and, as advertised, doesn’t show a spot of what must have splashed on it while I was brewing. It’s still beautiful, and it makes me feel beautiful. Something I don’t feel very often. “You know what’d be even more impressive? If you wear that out dancin’ tonight. There’s a little glamor for you. You like to dance?”

I love to dance. Usually in the context of spellcasting. When Ro and I were still speaking to each other we used to go clubbing in Harvard Square and dance until we passed out. It was the best time I’d ever had.

Until I caught her summoning the first of what must have been a long line of demons.

“We need to take care of Peter first,” I say. Jou nods, and when he doesn’t argue, I continue, “And I’m not getting drunk.”

He chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”

I don’t want to watch as Jou unwraps Peter. Just seeing him bring the horrible, multicolored ball in from the car makes my stomach jittery and my heart hurt. But I need to get the memory potion down Peter before he comes back to himself. Before he remembers who he is and what’s been done to him. So I force myself to watch as Jou shakes out the ball into a long shadow. I watch Peter’s form fill in slowly, gaining dimension and contour, until he stands in front of me. Here but not here.

“Is his soul really in my sugar jar?”

“Yeah. Think I’d make that shit up?”

My hands shake and I grip the bowl containing the memory charm tightly. “Could you put it back now, please?”

“Sure.” The demon takes the ceramic sugar jar off the counter and unseals the top. As soon as he does, a golden glow spills out of the jar. It lights my kitchen, turning the air thick and sweet as honey.

I take a deep breath, feel that radiance fill me. Feel those elements that make up Peter’s core. Decency and kindness and a deep intellectual curiosity. Something in my chest leaps in response. Pressure grows in my throat as my soul calls to Peter’s.

Nothing answers. His soul glows, but doesn’t respond to the call of my magic. There’s nothing in him to respond.

My throat grows tight. I blink back tears. “Please put it back,” I say.

The demon’s eyes meet mine for a moment, glimmering with soullight. The light flies down, down, down into the velvet blackness of his pupils, as though he’s swallowing the light of Peter’s soul. I shudder, in fear, but also in sympathy for the terrible longing I see in his eyes.

“Please, Jou.”

He dips two fingers into the sugar jar, scoops out a tiny spark that shimmers like a firefly and blows it into Peter’s face. It winks in the air and then seems to sink into Peter’s shell. Peter blinks and I see consciousness, personality, self, soul, begin to fill his eyes.

I quickly tip the contents of the bowl into his mouth. Stroke his throat until he swallows. Watch his eyes glaze and the light die out of them again.

I squeeze my own eyes closed. I can’t stand to watch this, to do this to him. To take away part of his life.

“I’ll dump him somewhere. Someone’ll find him.”

I blink and focus on the demon. He’s watching me. Eyes dark, cool, impassive. He could dump Peter somewhere without a second thought. Without remorse.

“Don’t you ever feel guilty about anything?”

“Nope,” he responds. “You gonna do this or you want me to cart him off?”

“I’ll do it.” I square my shoulders. It’s easy to be courageous when all the options suck. “I need to know how far back to go. When did Ro first call you?”

The demon shrugs. “Coupla months ago. Told you, time moves different down below. I don’t have a good sense of human time.”

“Great. What month was it?”

“Fuck if I know. She didn’t hand me a calendar after she yanked me topside.”

“Okay, what season was it?”

“Whaddo you think, she took me out for walks?”

“Sorry.” I blow out a breath in frustration, try to think of something that will give me an idea as to when Ro first met Peter. First began to interfere in