Page 37 of Demon Demands

I sighed. “Mage magic for the microwave, demonic magic for the lights and shit.”

“Why would—” Briggs began as several sets of feet padded into the kitchen.

Jack hummed, and I felt my smile grow. “Because she’s an evil bitch who doesn’t want me to eat all her popcorn.”

I scoffed at Jack, but I was happy to see him awake and moving. Even if he was a little stiff and shaky. I’d known that he wouldn’t be out much longer, but he needed to rest and refill his energy before he started running around again. The intense healing of his internal injuries had really done a number on him.

“Love you, bitch,” he sang. “I know you’re going to share that popcorn with me.”

“You can have it,” I sighed, playing up the frustration that I wasn’t really feeling. “I’ll make another bag.”

Jack kissed me on the cheek as he flounced by, grabbing my coffee mug.

“That’s my favorite mug. Use your own.” I complained jokingly, but not really. It was my favorite.

“Your favorite mug? Like the one at home?” Stone inquired. “How many of those do you have?”

I shook my head. “No. I have a different one here.”

Briggs leaned in to read the mug in Jack’s hands. “Dracula is my homeboy? Really, Barbie?”

Novak chuckled. “Is that Nate wearing sunglasses with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth?”

“Yes,” Jack wheezed as he laughed. “Do you like it? I had them made for her and Nate, but he didn’t think it was funny.”

Novak shrugged. “It’s kind of insulting.”

Jack gasped dramatically. “Your taste in vampire fiction must be real shitty. Dracula is a classic.”

Grim grunted. “That’s why Jack and Sloane think it’s funny. They both sent Nate copies of Dracula by Bram Stoker for a whole year. He was so pissed, he couldn’t even articulate his feelings when he showed up to family dinner one night with boxes of books.”

I rolled my eyes, repeating to Jack, “Use your own mug,” I pointed to the cabinet over the coffeemaker. “It’s in there, where it always is.”

As Jack reached for his mug, York reluctantly asked, “What does yours say?”

Jack passed his empty mug to York, and Briggs snorted as he read it aloud. “You need a - to measure this horse dick.”

Palmer leaned over Novak’s shoulder, squinting his tired eyes. “What’s that under the first line?”

Briggs snorted again. “A yardstick.”

“You need a yardstick to measure this horse dick,” Jack quoted, gesturing between his legs with a sly grin.

“They personalize coffee mugs for their birthdays every year.” Grim stared at the ceiling in exasperation.

“Don’t lie to them, Grim.” Dolyn sniggered. “They do that kind of shit all the time. I’m sure Lo has a cabinet full of mugs at this point.” He turned to my guys. “Jack sent me one a few months ago that says you’re being a bitch.”

Jack nodded his head in agreement. “You were being a bitch.”

“Yes,” Dolyn blandly acknowledged. “Thank you for that reminder.”

11

Sloane

Tuesday Late Night

As the guys all munched on snacks and drank roecon juice, I decided not to tell them where it came from. Or what it came from.