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Beside me, Asa focused on his coffee, his expression bland if you didn’t know his tells.
“Don’t look so smug.” I elbowed him in the ribs. “Your spit has ruined food for me.”
Finger tapping the lid on his drink, he eyed my straw. “It’s not the saliva so much as it’s—”
“No one cares about the specifics,” Clay cut in. “You two take your bag and swap spit muffins over there. Way over there. Colby and I, the normal people, will eat our breakfast on the steps.”
A golem and a moth girl were as far from normal as a witch and a dae, but I was too hungry to argue.
“Then Asa and I will eat our breakfast on the seawall.”
“Hey, Hairnado.” He flicked an elastic at Asa. “Pull that mop out of your face.”
“Hairnado.” Colby snorted. “Good one, Clay.”
Though my eyes couldn’t detect the gleaming pedestal under Clay’s feet, I suspected Colby had set him high up on one.
Several yards away, Clay plonked down with his back to us. With much enthusiasm, he launched into the tale of how General P. G. T. Beauregard watched the bombardment of Fort Sumter from the piazza of what Clay called the Edmondston-Alston House, which signaled the start of the Civil War.
His choice of location, across the street from the historic home, and his topic, Fort Sumter, told me there had been time between card swipes on his shopping spree for him to catch up on our latest victim. In his way, he was preparing Colby for what lay ahead. Namely, a small island in the distance.
A brush of my fingers down the leg of my pants comforted me that my wand and kit were within reach.
The familiar bond with Colby was my greatest weapon, but I preferred not to lean on her too hard. More than any other case that came before, this one would establish our work routine, and I wanted firm lines drawn to create a healthy work and play balance that allowed her to contribute while still being a kid.
Once they settled in, Asa sat on the concrete with his back against a post, giving him a view of the street. I joined him, hanging my legs over the wall, letting them dangle above the water, and dug into the bag.
“Let’s see what we’ve got.” I extracted two small clamshell boxes. “Which do you want?”
A slash of marker indicated biscuits. One sausage, egg, and pimento cheese and one sausage with gravy. Two sides of grits rested in the bottom, along with plastic utensils and various condiment packets.
“I don’t enjoy pimento cheese.”
“Are you sure?” I lifted the biscuit, brought it to my mouth, and bit down. “Mmm. Pimento-y.”
Equal parts suspicion and hunger warring on his face, he watched me chew. “That’s not fair.”
“All’s fair in love and biscuits.” I laughed at his torn expression. “It’s actually not that bad.”
The mixture of cheese, mayonnaise, pimentos, and spices wasn’t my favorite, but it was edible.
“I have an idea.” He wet his lips. “On how to improve its flavor.”
After I swallowed, I waited to see which of his hungers would win. “Oh?”
Asa leaned in, sank his teeth into one pimentoless corner, and gulped with a pained noise.
“Who would have guessed that pimento cheese was dae kryptonite?” I surrendered the second box, still piping hot, to him. “Here.” I divvied up the grits next then explored the condiments. “Sugar or cheese?”
“You don’t have to eat that abomination.” He grabbed for the biscuit in my hand. “I don’t mind, really.”
Ignoring the obvious lie, I nudged him with my knee. “Sugar or cheese?”
“I don’t understand.” He eyed the contents of the bag. “What about sugar or cheese?”
“In your grits.” I resisted moaning around the next mouthful of pimento, aware the only reason its taste had turned addictive was the dae sitting beside me and our shared fascination. “Which do you prefer?”
“Pepper and ketchup.”
