Page 89 of Outfoxed

“I don’t remember that.” Then again, I hadn’t lasted long before passing out. “You’d think I’d remember something that loud and flashy.”

“Considering you were at high risk of bleeding out on me when I got to you, you were likely unconscious before the bang went off or you confused it for gunfire. Either is possible. I flash flamed the rooftops for several blocks. It’s a little noisy, but not that noisy.”

Sandro’s mother sighed. “How many buildings did you burn down?”

“None. The goal was to drive off the shooter, not have to rescue her while the city burned around us. Really, Mom. I only light things on fire when I need to. Give me some credit. Also, I’m rather miffed at you over this whole thing.”

“I am giving you credit. I’m assuming when you’re angry and have a target, the target will be catching on fire and being reduced to a greasy ash pile.” His mother shrugged. “That’s how you operate. What’s this about a swarm?”

“Twister swarm. We got caught in the middle of one, and she offered to share one of her cellars with me. We negotiated a truce. The Alley is not exactly a safe place.”

My fox regretted we hadn’t negotiated for a seduction instead, and I wondered if some of his father’s soup might help restore me to sanity. I lurched to my feet and wandered to the kitchen. Sandro followed me, observing while I ladled out a bowl before dumping some of the green salsa on top.

“You’re going to breathe fire or die if you eat it like that.”

“Yes,” I replied, carrying my prize to the island and sliding onto the stool. “He took the red sauce away.”

Sandro’s father joined me at the island, leaning on it and watching while I stirred my soup. “It’s even spicier, and I didn’t want you to kill yourself underestimating the red sauce. You can try the red sauce next week, or I’ll make a milder batch in the meantime. The boy here makes it even spicier than I do.”

“Make me salsa, Sandro. Please.” I took a sip, huffing as the peppers cleared out my sinuses and lit my tongue on fire. “The soup’s good without the salsa, but…” At a loss of how to explain I missed flavor, I shrugged.

“Food in Tulsa, unless you’re in Asylum, tends to be bland. Even food in Asylum is fairly bland. Spices have to be imported, and the price for them has gone up. The good spices go to Asylum first, and then it filters to the restaurants and stores in Tulsa after. And even the stuff in Asylum is fairly mild. I’ve gotten used to it, but I’m tempted to join you. I’ll make some salsa for you tonight so you can have it tomorrow.”

I pointed at my soup. “There’s enough for you, too. I’m going to save room for the roast.”

“Chimichurri, Dad?”

“I anticipated your special needs. Go have a bowl and join your fox. You’re almost as skinny as she is.”

“Not nearly. I’m just wearing a suit, and I always look thin in a suit.” Sandro made himself a bowl of soup, rummaged through the refrigerator, and pulled out a jar wrapped in dark paper, which he set on the counter beside me. “Try half a spoon first. If you can still see straight after, then add to taste.”

I waited until he sat beside me to peek into the jar, which contained the red sauce his father had taken away earlier. “Red sauce!” I searched for a clean spoon, frowned, and debated if I could pour without turning my soup into half salsa.

Sandro’s father sighed and retrieved a clean spoon for me. “You may have picked a little too well, Stephani.”

“Her desire for spicy food is an unanticipated bonus. I really do hope she doesn’t die trying it. I’ll miss her, and it’s hard finding good little foxes.”

I disobeyed Sandro’s suggestion for half a spoon, dumped a heaping spoonful into my bowl, gave a defiant stir, and took a sip.

The fires of hell burned in my soup, and with a happy huff, I went to work shoveling it into my mouth. On second thought, the fires of hell needed a little more punch, so I grabbed the jar and poured more on before resuming the hard work of eating.

Sandro watched me, chuckled, and added both red and green sauce to his soup before taking a sip. “Well, Jade has nothing left to prove.”

“I’ve had spicier.”

With a scowl promising future kitchen experiments, Sandro’s father took the jar and gave a sniff. “Uphold the family honor, Sandro. I want her begging for a glass of milk by the time you’re done with her. Stephani? I am going to get ingredients for the boy. Don’t let either escape.”

“Escape? She’s going to be passed out from her soup within twenty minutes. Sandro, make sure your fox makes it to a bed before she goes to sleep. She drops off after she eats, and I’ve been promised it’s normal and will be her normal for another week or two.”

“I can do that.”

“Now that you’re here, I have a job for you,” his mother announced.

“What kind of job? If it’s to provide grandchildren, I’m flinging this jar of salsa at your head,” Sandro warned.

I grabbed the precious jar and put it on the other side of my bowl. “You will do no such thing.”

With a low chuckle, Sandro shook his head. “What job, Mom?”