I followed up the sweep by mopping the floor, as if I could erase everything that had happened the night before. Next came the dishes, and from there I slid into baking mode, pulling a recipe book off the shelf and laying it on the table.
My belly rumbled as I stood in front of the fridge. “All right. Eating first.”
I opened the door and stared at my options. There was a pack of raw chicken drumsticks I’d pulled out of the freezer to be cooked for dinner the night before, a couple jars of pickles, milk . . . my hands were reaching for the chicken before I was even cognizant of the need for meat. I grabbed the three-pound package and put it on the counter. I grabbed the jug of milk next and set it next to the chicken. Protein in two forms. I stripped the plastic off the chicken and took the cap off the milk.
“I could deep-fry them, throw them in a batter,” I said as I pulled the first drumstick out and held it up to my mouth. The smell of raw meat normally turned my stomach. This time? Not so much. My saliva glands went wild, and I bit down on the chicken, snapping the bone in half. I didn’t chew.
I swallowed it whole. And the next, and the next, until the package was empty. I grabbed the milk jug, almost a full two gallons, and put it to my mouth. The cold, fresh milk slid down my throat. I slammed the empty jug down and stared.
“Holy crap,” I whispered, then looked around. I wasn’t sure if I felt bad about saying “crap,” or the unreal meal I’d just had.
The snake in me felt like it curled up, content with the food I’d literally swallowed whole. I cleared the empty jug and chicken packaging off the counter and into the garbage, then wiped the surface down.
I hadn’t even tasted the chicken. Maybe I would get salmonella.
I grimaced. Even I knew that wasn’t likely.
“God, I am a monster,” I said to the kitchen, as though the space would respond. I paced the small room, my mind racing almost as fast as my heart. There was only one way to make myself feel better. Time to bake.
I knew Tad liked chocolate chip cookies, so I made those first, the recipe memorized. I added extra chocolate and threw in some puréed pumpkin for good measure. He wouldn’t even taste the pumpkin, but it gave the cookies a fluffy, light consistency, and it was a sneaky way of getting him to eat his vegetables. Just one of my baking secrets.
I smiled to myself, panic and fear easing as I moved through the kitchen, my mind floating in that state of bliss only baking brought me. After the cookies, I made meringues in strawberry and lemon, scraped together a peanut butter–caramel cheesecake, and then whipped up a batch of baklava. No problem. The time passed, hours falling away in the rhythm of whipping cream, measuring ingredients, recalling recipes, and checking the oven.
Somewhere in the midst of it all, the sound of the front door clicking open shot through the peace. I froze in the middle of pouring the honey syrup over the pan of baklava, fear slicing through the happy place I’d been in. I grabbed a rolling pin and a large pot from the stove. I gripped them tight, ready to fight. “Who’s there?”
“Just me, sis, and you are baking, and I love you to pieces!” Tad shouted, running into the kitchen, sliding to a stop. His green eyes lit on the chocolate chip cookies, and he snatched one with each hand. “You are the best.”
“Tad, where have you been?” I tried to soften my tone, but with everything that had happened, I’d been worried about him. What if Santos had gone after him too? Or worse, Theseus?
He stopped midchew to talk around the mouthful of cookie. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve got my own place; I’ve had it since I was turned, you know. I’m not rooming here with my sister.”
“Dahlia’s here,” I pointed out.
He nodded. “Yeah, we’ve been dating like two weeks. I’d rather not move in with her that fast.”
“Point taken.” I wiped my hands on a tea towel. “Your night was okay?’
He grinned at me. “Probably not as good as your night. Remo take you out on the town?”
I started to laugh, and once I started I couldn’t stop. Tears streamed from my eyes, I struggled to get enough air, and I knew my brother was staring hard at me.
“Sis?”
“Oh, Tad. You have no idea what a cluster of gopher poo I dealt with last night.”
“That’s a new one,” he muttered. “Why was it bad? You and the boss have a fight?”
The boss. Like Remo was my boss and Tad’s too.
“He is not my boss. And he’s not yours either.” I pointed a wooden spoon at him.
Tad grabbed another couple of cookies with one hand and a few meringues with the other. “Sure, but he’s the mob boss around here, which kinda makes him everyone’s boss when you think about it.”
“Tad”—I rolled my eyes to stare at the ceiling—“he may be the mob boss, but he doesn’t know everything.”
“What happened last night?”
“I’ll wait for Dahlia. Then I only have to tell it once.” I turned back to the baklava and finished pouring the honey over it. I cut into the delicacy and popped a slice into my mouth before placing the pan on the table. At least I could taste my food again. The flaky pastry seemed to melt in my mouth, and I chewed slowly, enjoying the flavors.
Tad looked at the number of goodies on the table, spread out like a buffet. “Sugar craving?”
I sat down and chased the baklava with a cookie. “Maybe. Better than my other options.” I dug into the cheesecake next, and Tad sat beside me, helping himself to a slice.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking about Dad,” he said between bites. “You know, it would make sense that he only has a little bit of Super Duper blood. Maybe he doesn’t even realize that he’s tainted. That would explain his denial.”
I scooped my spoon through the cheesecake and eyed the bite up. “Maybe. But I don’t think so. He’d just laugh it off. Or do the blood test like we offered. I think he knows exactly what he is.”
Tad reached over and put his hand on mine in an uncharacteristic move. “We’ll figure it out.”
I smiled and put my hand over his. “Yeah, I just worry . . . that when we find out, we won’t want to know. You know?”
He bit his cookie in half and shrugged. “But neither of us will ease up until we know.”
The word game went on a few more minutes, each of us using “know” as much as we could. A silly game from our childhood that had driven our parents batty.
The sun dipped lower and lower. Ten minutes and Dahlia would be up. Ten minutes . . . I leaned my head on Tad’s shoulder. “Did you ever flat out ask Dad?”
That was our little family secret. Both Tad and I had gotten the deadly Aegrus virus, forcing us to choose between dying or being turned into Super Dupers. We’d both chosen to live, despite the way supernaturals were treated in our world, and despite our ultraconservative Firstamentalist upbringing.