Cold Reign (Jane Yellowrock #11)(34)
Within minutes I was dressed in jeans, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt, warm slippers on my feet. But I made a decision not to go armed. Metal blades and metal firearms seemed like a stupid idea in the middle of a lightning strike, though the weather cell had moved off. Mother Nature probably had a belly laugh at me in the shower, dancing around like a monkey in a barrel. I towel-dried my hair and put it into a tail. The weather was too wet to braid it and I wasn’t interested in using the hair dryer in this storm. The house had old electrical wiring and I worried about being electrocuted. I worried about lots of things that had never bothered me before.
Back in the bedroom I pulled the covers over me on the bed, checked e-mail, and watched the wreath for a while. Just in case. It seemed fine now that the lightning was gone. Once I was satisfied about safety, I followed the smells into the kitchen. Bacon. Eggs. Grits with butter. Hot tea and coffee. Eli, who had showered with his usual Speedy Gonzalez efficiency, was busy with the fry pan and the protein, and Alex was making pancakes. That was still a surprise. Alex being a real and contributing part of the household team was stunning. The Kid was growing up.
I took a seat at the table and sipped the chai that was already poured into a huge red soup-sized mug that said NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH TEA in a whirly font. Inside, at the bottom of the mug were the words, in a tiny block font, you’ve just been poisoned. We had started buying funny mugs not long ago and now had a nice—or rude, depending on the mug—selection. I had bought this one myself because it was funny. And if Leo ever took tea here, this was so going to be his mug.
I contemplated the scene and realized that something felt different. Beyond the stove’s exhaust fan and the banging of the occasional pot or pan, it was weirdly silent in the house. No tinny TV in the background, no quiet video game going on the speakers, no music on the Kid’s headphones. I hadn’t been aware of the low-level noise of two other people living with me, one a teenager who lived twenty-four-seven with earbuds and music playing. The noise level had built up slowly, and now it was gone. Alex had no electronics on. At all. I sat back and sipped and watched them.
They were dipping food onto plates, working together as if they were two sides of one whole, when I said, “You wanna talk about it?”
Eli turned off the fan, which only increased the silence. They loaded up the table with food, sat, and looked at me. Alex said, “I had to puke. And shi—”
I heard a thump under the table, Eli kicking his brother. I stuffed a slice of bacon into my mouth and chewed, lips closed. Trying to hide my laughter.
“And void my bowels. That’s how Mr. America here phrased it.” He thumbed at Eli. “I had to smoke some tobacco that made me cough my lungs out, drink this gross drink that tasted like pond water, puke, and void my bowels, and then sit in the freezing rain, naked,” Alex’s voice rose, “and listen to this saggy old dude—and lemme tell you he was saggy in folds you could hide this in.” He held up a serving spoon and I still managed to keep my laughter off my face. “And listen to him sing, which he could not do, at all, in a language I did not understand. And then I had to get into the muddy water and dunk myself. Seven freaking times.”
“Uh-huh,” I said, finishing off the bacon and digging into the eggs, which had been cooked with onion and little bits of pepper and cheese. It was heavenly.
“I swear that I could feel an alligator swimming around my legs.”
“He squeaked,” Eli said. “Like a four-year-old girl.”
“Did not.”
“Did.”
I lifted my mug and said through a mouthful of food, “So you enjoyed it?”
“Totally,” Eli said. “Ready to do it again. Anytime.”
“You people are crazy. My family is insane. Bonkers.”
“But family,” I said. Just to clarify.
“Family,” he agreed. “But you all should be chained in an insane asylum. I’m getting pizza for supper tonight. Period. No ifs, ands, or buts about it.”
“We can do pizza,” Eli agreed.
Alex glared at him as if expecting Eli to change his mind or say, “Psych,” but he didn’t. I got up and poured them more coffee and me more tea. Family breakfast—the way it was supposed to be. If it weren’t so cutesy, I’d get matching mugs that said that.
I said, “What do you think about restoring the house?” Eli looked interested. He was handy with hammer and nails and power tools and other home remodeling equipment. He had replaced the windows along the side of the house with extra-tall, narrow French doors and working shutters. I looked out into the living room. “I was thinking you could find and replace the fireplaces with gas ones.”
“No. Wood,” Alex said. “That way, when the zombie apocalypse comes we can have wood fire for heating and cooking.”
“When the apocalypse comes,” Eli corrected, “we’ll grab gobags and head for the hills. Some little holler Janie tells us about.”
“Until then, we need a bigger house,” Alex said.
“No,” Eli and I said simultaneously. Eli added, “We just need a better use of space. I’ve ordered a Pendleton King Revolving Gun Safe. That’ll give Ed more room in the gun room.”
I remembered something I’d seen when Eli and I were sparring not so long ago, and I had ended up, breath knocked out, hurt, on my back, staring up at the ceiling. “There’s a small attic door in the corner of the upstairs hallway.” Both boys looked at me. “I’ve never been up there or even looked up there.”