Grave Dance (Alex Craft, #2)(94)

“Outta there. Outta there,” Osier yel ed, charging out from under the sink. He swatted my calf with his spoon hard enough to sting through the thick leather of my boots. “My kitchen.”

I jumped back. “I was looking for coffee.”

“Little girls shouldn’t drink coffee. It’l stunt your growth.”

I wasn’t sure which I should object to more: that he thought I was a girl or that he thought I’d be growing any thought I was a girl or that he thought I’d be growing any tal er. “Point me in the right direction and I’l be out of your kitchen in a minute.”

“Sit,” he said, using the spoon to gesture toward the white table by the window. “Suppose you want gril ed cheese. Always did like gril ed cheese best.”

What I wanted was coffee, but now that he mentioned it, real food would be good too. “What do you mean, always?”

I asked as he shooed me to the table.

“Boy would say hamburgers or spaghetti. But, no, you’d cry gril ed cheese, gril ed cheese. Cried more than the baby. Always had to leave to get more cheese.”

I gaped at the little man. I did have an older brother and a younger sister. “Have I met you before, Osier?”

“Helped raise you, didn’t I?” He waved his spoon, and a tub of butter and a chunk of cheese floated out of the fridge, a pan jumped down from a cabinet over the stove, and the bread took itself out of the bread box.

Osier marched along the counter like a general overseeing his troops as he directed the gril ed cheese sandwich to assemble itself. A moment before, I would have been mystified and intrigued by the magic required for a sandwich to cook itself, but now, with his words stil ringing in the air, it was his statement that left me speechless.

I had absolutely no memory of the brownie. Hel , I would have sworn I’d never seen a brownie before I met Ms. B

less than a week ago. If Osier had “helped raise” me, as he put it, I must have been young. Real y young. I’d spent most of my time at academy after I turned eight, and my brother, Brad, had disappeared a year after that.

The sandwich, lightly browned on the outside with a runnel of cheese escaping between the thick pieces of bread, floated out of the pan and hovered as it crossed the room. A plate fol owed, a tal glass of milk right behind it.

“So you knew my family when I was a kid?” I asked. Osier jumped onto the table and sat cross-legged in front of me jumped onto the table and sat cross-legged in front of me as first the plate, then the sandwich, and final y the glass settled between us. “Stil know the family, don’t I? Though I’ve never seen much of the baby and I’ve been told the boy is gone. Sad, that. He was a good boy. Liked more than just gril ed cheese.” As he spoke, he looked from the mentioned meal to me, his gaze asking why I wasn’t eating.

“It’s not faerie food, is it?” I thought it was a perfectly legitimate question; after al , it had just prepared itself.

Osier jumped to his feet and slammed the butt of his spoon against the tabletop. “Ungrateful. Selfish. Spoiled—”

“Look, look, I’m eating,” I said, and true to my word, I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. “It’s good.” And it was. I mean, it was gril ed cheese, so it didn’t exactly take refined tastes to enjoy it, but it was crispy on the outside and gooey in the center, which pretty much classified it as perfect.

As I ate, a car stopped out front and honked its horn. I crammed the rest of the sandwich in my mouth and jumped to my feet. “That’s my taxi.”

“Taxi? It’s the middle of the night. Girl should be sleeping.”

I didn’t disagree, but unfortunately, going back to bed wasn’t an option. I whistled for PC, and Osier bristled as the smal dog pranced into the room.

“Outta my kitchen,” he yel ed, charging forward with the spoon.

I scooped up PC before the brownie could reach him.

“He’l be out in a second,” I said, and then looked around for my purse. I’d left it in the bedroom. The taxi horn honked a second time as I dropped PC on the bed before opening my purse and encouraging him to crawl inside. I didn’t like the idea of taking PC with me to meet the kidnapper and make the exchange—even if I would have police backup—

but leaving him alone with Osier wasn’t an option.

The brownie was muttering about good girls, curfews, and bedtimes when I walked out the door. I left him to it, and and bedtimes when I walked out the door. I left him to it, and I actual y hoped to see the grumpy little guy again—more so because if I didn’t see him again, it would probably mean I was in jail. And headed for Faerie.

Or dead.

The cabdriver wasn’t happy when I told him where we were going, but at least he didn’t grumble too loudly as I slid into the backseat. I was headed to the bridge almost an hour early, but I was hoping for time to prepare before Hol y’s kidnapper arrived. I hadn’t decided if I would wait inside a magic circle or if I’d just have one ready, but I definitely wanted to have enough time to draw one.

We’d just reached the south side of the city where the tal skyscrapers vanished in favor of sprawling and dimly lit warehouses when Roy popped into the car.

“Uh, Alex, bad news,” he said.

I had time to turn, my mouth fal ing open in preparation for a question. Then a car pul ed out of a side street directly ahead of us, the glare of its headlights flooding the interior of the cab. The new car skidded to a halt in the middle of the intersection, and the cabbie stood on the brakes.