I pushed myself up and hurried to the kitchen. “Sure there is,” I said, looking over her shoulder. “There’s eggs and stuff—”
“For people whocook,” she said.
The food had been stocked for her. A diet of plain old red stuff wouldn’t cut it anymore, not with her powers fading. “Move and let me work,” I said.
She shot me a look but budged out of the way.
I washed my hands and collected the remaining contents of the fridge. Thankfully, I hadn’t scarfedallthe cheese—there was another package unopened, so I chopped some up.
“So,” Jessica said, leaning against the counter. “How did it go?”
“I had a nice chat with your old boss.”
“Prospero’s dead.”
I hunted around for a bowl, then found a fork in a drawer. “Not as much as you might think.” I washed up and began cracking the eggs, stealing a glance at Jessica. “You don’t look surprised.”
“He was…” She trailed off as if trying to find the right word. “I don’t know.” She looked sincere, for once, and it softened her face. By the time I tossed the eggshells in the trash, the hard edge was back. “Not human enough to die.”
“You were his protege.” I set a pan on a burner and cranked up the heat.
“I wasn’t human, either.” She rubbed her stomach and gave the bowl of eggs a look.
“I’m going, I’m going,” I said. “You can’t rush perfection.” I reached for the butter and cut off a generous chunk. The butter hit the pan with a satisfying hiss and a trail of bubbles in its wake. I coated the pan and poured in the egg and cream mixture, then left it alone to solidify on the bottom.
There was a tricky maneuver you had to do when the omelet was ready to flip, but you had to time it right and do it with the perfect flick of the wrist. “Jessica,” I said, “why did you dislike me so much? I mean right from the beginning, when you and James tried to kidnap me.”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
I gripped the pan and jerked it hard, but controlled, freeing the omelet underside from the grip of the hot pan. “Enlighten me.”
“You were going to stop us from being free.”
A quick upward motion, and the omelet flipped in a tight arc and landed top side down to finish cooking. “Free to prey on people outside of Manhattan?”
“Like normal people don’t prey on each other.” Jessica did a Gen-X eyeroll so perfect I couldn’t help but smile to myself. “Is it ready yet?”
“Almost.” I sprinkled cheese on the cooked side of the omelet. Only two more moves to go: a perfect fold, and then slide the completed omelet onto a plate.
“You know he asked the witches to drop the barrier.”
I almost had the fold when the pan wobbled in my hand. Half of the omelet fell short, and I had to hurry to get it all the way over before it stuck in the melted cheese. “Hewhat?”
“You didn’t know?”
“Sometimes it feels like nobody tells me anything.” I pushed the cheese omelet onto the plate, rolled a fork and knife into a napkin, and held both out to Jessica. I wondered if she’d had a pair of Doc Martens back in high school; what her favorite song had been; if we would have been friends from the start, if everything had been different. “Sorry I ate your snacks.”
She looked at me for a moment, then took them. “Sorry I tried to kidnap you.”
“You want to sit at the table?” I said, restaurant habits kicking in.
“Tables are for suckers,” she said, stalking down the hall. “Come on.” She opened her door and swept in. She dropped her phone into a stand, where it instantly began to play music.
“‘Bullet with Butterfly Wings,’” I said. “A classic.”
“Don’t call it a classic—you’re making me feel old.” She flopped unceremoniously on the bed and stuffed a large bite of omelet in her mouth. “Don’t just stand there. Sit down.”
It was between the chair at the vanity table and the edge of the bed, so I picked the chair. Did she know we had been in here? That I had held this bottle of Poison in my hand?
