Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 653(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a smartass. You know what I meant.”
He simply stares at me with a deadpan look that says he’s eating at IHOP. It’s up to me if I want to starve outside in the cold. I walk inside the restaurant, and the hostess greets me, barely looking at me as she says, “Booth or table?”
“Does anyone say table?” I joke.
She grunts and, with menus in hand, starts walking with the expectation that she will be followed. At this point, Micah has joined me and offers his two cents. “For what it’s worth, I agree. Tables are fucked up and uncomfortable, but not nearly as much as my living room floor.”
“I didn’t want you to do that.”
“No, of course you didn’t,” he says dryly, stretching in an exaggerated movement, as if his back hurts, which we both know it does not. “Here’s to hoping she’s leading us to a big ol’ comfy booth, but there’s only one way to find out.” He motions me forward, and we’re in pursuit of the hostess, if she can be called that at this point, considering she doesn’t even know we’re missing. At least she does wait on us at the rear of the restaurant when we finally catch up, and, thankfully, right next to a corner circular booth.
She sets the menus down on the table and is already gone. “I guess this is us,” I say, sliding into the booth with Micah right behind me.
I stop at the ninety-degree mark one direction, and he does the same the other, but it’s still fairly intimate, though the privacy serves me well, considering I have a lot of questions right now, none of which are meant for other ears. He shrugs out of his jacket, and I do the same, impatient to settle in and start directly with the conversation.
I lean in closer to him, readying for hard-hitting questions. “Seriously,” I say, my voice low and conspiratorial. “Can’t we be tracked down? I thought underground was the safest.”
“We won’t kill any demons hiding underground. And you need to learn how to fight.”
Is he for real? No. He can’t be. “And you think IHOP is the place for me to break out the gold stars, of which I have none, by the way?”
“I think IHOP is a good place for you to fuel up.” He grabs a menu. “I personally like the steak omelet with protein pancakes.”
I grit my teeth at his dismissal. “Micah, Jeremy—”
“Demons can’t track a Crystal Seer who has her guard up. While we wait on our order, it would be smart for you to ensure you’re protected.”
“I don’t know how to put my guard up,” I bite out tightly.
“Good thing I used mine to shield you, but I can’t do that if you are too distant.” He hands me a menu. “You need to pull your own guard up.”
A waitress appears in front of us, a short little thing, chewing gum and pulling a pencil from her gray hair. “What can I getcha?”
“Big steak omelet,” Micah says. “Bacon. Side of protein pancakes. And coffee.” He glances at me. “What can she getcha?”
The waitress laughs. “You’re funny, but he’s right. What can I getcha?”
“He’s not that funny,” I say. “And I’ll take the same as him.”
“I’m pretty funny,” Micah says, “and as you can tell, this one here is a little thing with a big appetite. You should see the chocolate she can put down.”
I ignore him and attend to important matters with my attention on the waitress. “Lots of cream for the coffee, please.”
“You got it, honey.” She shoves her pencil back in her hair and walks away.
My brows dip as I watch her departure and then turn back to Micah. “Why didn’t she notice our eyes? I know why the hostess didn’t—she barely looked at us—but the waitress…The two of us together must be attention-grabbing.”
“Magic is always the answer,” he says, setting his menu back on the rack by the condiments and snagging mine from in front of me to do the same. “I tone down my eyes for humans by about fifty percent. I did the same for you.”
I blanch. “You can do that?”
“You can, too,” he says, draping an arm over the back of the seat. “You just have to learn.”
“You’re becoming a broken record. We both know I have to learn, but at this point, I’m not even convinced that I’m any of the things you claim I am.” I don’t allow him the chance to counter. “I don’t understand how we need to be underground, and yet, we don’t need to be underground.”
He’s unreactive to my punches, only a small twist to his lips. “There are basic reasons to shelter underground. For starters, a mother in labor cannot guard herself. A newborn, or a young child, cannot guard themselves. Sometimes an injury prevents you from guarding yourself. And we do not want prying demon eyes as we train.”