bought at a grocery store. I wanted to get rid of that bastard cat of hers and get Clarissa a real pet, like a puppy, but I realized that there was no way that a puppy would take to me any better than the ginger furball had. All animals had an instinctive desire to avoid me as much as possible. That's why we in Hell had created our own race of animal companions, ones that wouldn't shy away from us: The Hellhounds.
I placed the six bags of groceries on the counter, rubbing at my hands. The plastic of the bags cut into my finger joints while I flew. There was no way I was going to carry those bags all the way to Clarissa's apartment on the other side of the city.
After a second's thought, I rifled through the cupboards, looking for a couple of those green canvas bag things I brought from Australia a few years ago to put my ingredients in. I found two, and started to swap the bags over.
I'd given in and bought all of the ingredients on the recipe. After all, if I didn't screw this up, Clarissa might let me cook for her more often, and having half of the ingredients there would be easier than dragging my stuff from one house to the other.
I'd had to go further into New York than I wanted, but I got all the things on the list, from the fresh herbs to the oil and the mozzarella. I packed them all gently into the bags. I was amused to find that one bag ended up with all the ingredients for the lasagna, while the other housed only the ingredients for the cheese sauce, as well as some of the other stuff I'd bought Clarissa. The only thing I hoped she had at her house was the milk, because I hadn't bought it while I was out. It would go sour before I got to her place. I dimly thought that I should ask Clarissa for her phone number, so I could ring and ask her these things. It is something a friend would ask, isn't it?
I looked at the clock. It was almost time for me to go off on my rounds of New York. For the first time in a thousand years, I didn't want to go flying around the city. I wanted to see Clarissa again.
I frowned, picking the bags up off the counter. They were better balanced now, and I found it easier to carry them to the front door and set them down just inside without
doing myself an injury.
With a glance around the house, I pulled my shirt off and put it in one of the bags. I stepped out of the door and remembered something. I removed the change from my pocket and left it on the entertainment unit in the living room, taking another hundred-dollar note from the container. I stuffed it in my wallet and put that in my pocket, and put my boots on. I did them up tightly, then looked at the pants I was wearing.
No good, I thought to myself, heading into the bedroom. There was a full-length mirror on one of the walls, and I used it to look myself over. I need a shower. Bugger.
I wasn't usually vain, but I wanted to look my best for Clarissa. I took my boots off again, leaving them at the foot of my bed, and headed in for a shower. I was late for my rounds, but I didn't care—it just meant that I'd have to cut them short before I met up with Clarissa.
The thought of my new friend made me smile as I stripped off my clothes and headed for my bathroom for a long, warm shower.
Eight
Aspen Grigori
Clarissa spent the day at home, watching the clouds fly past the window and reading a book, all the time scratching me behind the ears. I was worried about her. There was something different about her, something that hadn't been there before.
I sniffed at her belly, where the smallest tingle of magic was sitting just to the left of her belly button. I nosed her shirt up, licking at the scar—the scar that hadn't been there the last time she left this apartment.
"Aspen," Clarissa said, pushing at my nose, "that tickles. Your tongue's like sandpaper."
I
I placed the six bags of groceries on the counter, rubbing at my hands. The plastic of the bags cut into my finger joints while I flew. There was no way I was going to carry those bags all the way to Clarissa's apartment on the other side of the city.
After a second's thought, I rifled through the cupboards, looking for a couple of those green canvas bag things I brought from Australia a few years ago to put my ingredients in. I found two, and started to swap the bags over.
I'd given in and bought all of the ingredients on the recipe. After all, if I didn't screw this up, Clarissa might let me cook for her more often, and having half of the ingredients there would be easier than dragging my stuff from one house to the other.
I'd had to go further into New York than I wanted, but I got all the things on the list, from the fresh herbs to the oil and the mozzarella. I packed them all gently into the bags. I was amused to find that one bag ended up with all the ingredients for the lasagna, while the other housed only the ingredients for the cheese sauce, as well as some of the other stuff I'd bought Clarissa. The only thing I hoped she had at her house was the milk, because I hadn't bought it while I was out. It would go sour before I got to her place. I dimly thought that I should ask Clarissa for her phone number, so I could ring and ask her these things. It is something a friend would ask, isn't it?
I looked at the clock. It was almost time for me to go off on my rounds of New York. For the first time in a thousand years, I didn't want to go flying around the city. I wanted to see Clarissa again.
I frowned, picking the bags up off the counter. They were better balanced now, and I found it easier to carry them to the front door and set them down just inside without
doing myself an injury.
With a glance around the house, I pulled my shirt off and put it in one of the bags. I stepped out of the door and remembered something. I removed the change from my pocket and left it on the entertainment unit in the living room, taking another hundred-dollar note from the container. I stuffed it in my wallet and put that in my pocket, and put my boots on. I did them up tightly, then looked at the pants I was wearing.
No good, I thought to myself, heading into the bedroom. There was a full-length mirror on one of the walls, and I used it to look myself over. I need a shower. Bugger.
I wasn't usually vain, but I wanted to look my best for Clarissa. I took my boots off again, leaving them at the foot of my bed, and headed in for a shower. I was late for my rounds, but I didn't care—it just meant that I'd have to cut them short before I met up with Clarissa.
The thought of my new friend made me smile as I stripped off my clothes and headed for my bathroom for a long, warm shower.
Eight
Aspen Grigori
Clarissa spent the day at home, watching the clouds fly past the window and reading a book, all the time scratching me behind the ears. I was worried about her. There was something different about her, something that hadn't been there before.
I sniffed at her belly, where the smallest tingle of magic was sitting just to the left of her belly button. I nosed her shirt up, licking at the scar—the scar that hadn't been there the last time she left this apartment.
"Aspen," Clarissa said, pushing at my nose, "that tickles. Your tongue's like sandpaper."
I
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