Page 71 of A Shade Too Far
“I said I wouldn’t. You didn’t need to give me this thing.”
“I trust you like happy little beet trusts babushka.”
I scratched my head. “Does that mean it does or it doesn’t? Is that some Russian proverb that doesn’t translate well?”
A door appeared in the wall next to the plant and he pointed at it. “Go.”
I grabbed the knob but before I could leave, Pyotr barked for me to wait.
“Make up your mind. Now what?”
He pulled a garbage bag full of socks out from under his desk and shoved it at me.
“What am I supposed to do with these?” Sighing, I took it, the black plastic crinkling.
“Make kite, build fort, bake cake. Use imagination,” the golem said impatiently. Yeah, sock cakes were all the rage. “We have too many. And come back with new movies. Or else.”
Eyes narrowed, I jabbed a finger at Pyotr. “I’ve suffered threats at the hands of head vampires, manipulative game show hosts, and Lonestars. You, on the other hand, will say please.”
Impressive how a stone gargoyle could seem to melt into a puddle of sadness. “Please.”
“We’ll see.” I marched out, stumbling almost immediately through another door and out under the cherry tree on my property, single socks spilling out.
I stepped back into the shadows to test the ban, but an electric shock sparked through me, emanating from the tattoo and barring my entry into the KH. Swearing, I shook out my hand and lugged the bag up my front walk.
Eli opened the door. “Something wrong with your washing machine?”
“Long story.” I stuffed the fallen socks back in the bag and deposited it on the porch.
“O-kay. Sadie’s here.”
Awesome. I’d totally forgotten about my kid. Way to suck as a mother.
He motioned for me to come into his townhouse. “She’s in the yard having a snack.”
“Have you spoken to her more about magic?” The layout of Eli’s place was identical to mine, but our furnishings couldn’t have been more different. My ex had no design aesthetic and his first attempt at furnishing this place had been two leather recliners, a giant television, and a framed hockey jersey bearing Henrik Sedin’s number “33.” It was autographed by both the player himself, arguably the greatest Canuck of all time, and Henrik’s twin brother, Daniel, who ranked as second-best.
After I’d told Eli that he had to do better if our daughter was going to live with him part-time, he’d gone to the other extreme and hired a designer who had made the place look like it was staged for an open house with sleek, high-end furniture. Years later, the furniture was scuffed and there was a lot more clutter, but it had settled into a homey place that suited him and Sadie. Though the hockey jersey still occupied a place of honor and the original television had been replaced by a much larger screen.
We headed into the yard where Sadie was slumped in a chair shoveling cereal into her mouth. Her choice of snack hadn’t changed since she was three. She glanced at me but didn’t say hello.
Eli tapped the metal bowl of fruit salad in the middle of the table. “Don’t fill up on carbs.”
“Fruit is carbs,” Sadie said. “The more you know, Dad.”
“Dazzling me with smartass facts?” He pointed to me before pushing the bowl to our kid. “I blame you.”
I shrugged.
“There’s cantaloupe in it.” Sadie made a face. “It’s gross.”
“Cantaloupe is delicious.” He ate a piece.
I took the fork away from him and fished out a piece of pineapple. “Cantaloupe is the drugstore chrysanthemum of the fruit world,” I said. “What kind of monster are you?”
Sadie snorted, then shoved another spoonful of cereal into her mouth and chewed like she was out for revenge.
“Did you have a good talk with Aunt Jude?” I sat down beside her, Eli taking the seat on Sadie’s other side.
