Page 53 of Reapers Don’t Ride

“This building doesn’t allow infernal creatures? That makes sense.”

“It’s prejudiced!” She exclaimed, clearly outraged at the injustice.

I smiled at her, showing my fangs. “There are good reasons for it.”

“No, there isn’t a reason, just prejudice. The last serial killer I read about was human. Nothing infernal or heavenly about him. And the one before that was a mix of infernal and heavenly. But that doesn’t mean that the infernal blood infected the heavenly. It’s not like that!”

I nodded at her. “Someone you love must have infernal blood.”

She winced and then glanced around the elevator like there might be spies. Maybe there were. Once the doors opened, she hurried down the hall to the tiny apartment that still had a very nice stove in the very small kitchen.

She showed me the process, helping me to make it when it was clear that she was dying to take over. Still, I did it all myself, measuring the flour, cracking a thousand eggs, beating those eggs into frothy peaks, flouring the pan, and cutting the parchment paper to fit.

“Use a light hand,” she said encouragingly over my shoulder.

I focused on being delicate, like I was skinning someone. You had to use your knives just so. This was like that.

And then the pan was in the oven, and I was ready to do something less stressful.

“And now we can make cards!” Her enthusiasm was starting to scare me. We moved into the living room, where she had a shelf full of scissors and paper and other sparkly, sticky things.

“What is the point of decorating paper and folding it in half to give to someone?” I asked, picking up a purple sheet.

“It’s all about the sentiment. You have to write inside it all your feelings about the person. Such as if I were making a card for my mother, it might be a thank-you card, and I’d write how much I was grateful for her, or if it was someone I liked…” She frowned. “That’s more difficult. You have to be careful not to scare them away with too much affection. You probably won’t have that problem though.”

“I should be very affectionate. I’m desperately in love with him.”

She burst out laughing. “Sorry, it’s just so funny for you to say that so flatly. Usually declarations that are desperate have a lot more emotion to them. He knows that you’re in love with him?”

“Yes.” As far as our cover went, he knew it perfectly well.

“And he’s desperately in love with you?”

“Yes, except that sometimes he forgets and instead thinks about this other girl he used to want to marry before he realized it would kill her. He has goblin blood.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, eyes large. “You shouldn’t just say that,” she whispered, like the walls had ears.

I shrugged and picked up a pair of scissors. “So maybe I could make a heart?”

“It’s not Valentine’s Day, is it? What is the occasion for the cake and card?”

“Oh. It’s his birthday.”

“That’s easy then. You don’t have to worry about the sentiment, just write Happy Birthday.”

I nodded. “I suppose writing that I was desperately in love with him after he already knows it would be pointless.”

“No, it’s good to have reminders, and people who are in love are insecure about it. They can’t help but be insecure when their feelings are so invested. Assure him that you’ll always love him and hope to share many more birthdays together. That should be the sentiment. And the heart will be perfect on the front. Maybe one big one in the middle and then multiple small ones around the edges in different colors. Look, this paper sparkles!”

She was such a fairy. I almost smiled at her, but didn’t want to show her my fangs. I just took the sparkly paper and cut out smaller hearts.

By the time I was finished with the card, my fingers were covered in glue, and the cake was done cooling. She’d taken it out in the middle of the card mess and put it upside down so it could fall out using gravity.

I wasn’t sure about my sentiment, scrawled on the inside in what I hoped was my best penmanship. It was impossible to tell when the words were so blurry. Still, I worked to focus on them until I was sure they were the right words.

“You can use my cake box,” Kesti said, fluttering her wings. “Bring it back to the store, or you can drop it off with the doorman. Also, maybe we can do this again sometime.” She gave me a bright smile, and I saw loneliness in her that was connected to the person who had infernal blood when she lived in a world that didn’t approve of that kind of mingling.

I gave her a delicate hug that made her gasp from shock before she hugged me back. Then I left, promising to return her cake box, and yes, I was sure she should keep the unused ingredients and cake pan.