Page 24 of Elixir of Strife
I shook my head. “Worst thing I’ve ever tasted. If I smoked, this’d be the kind of sandwich I’d put out a cigarette on.”
“Why you would order a club sandwich after midnight is beyond me. You don’t know how long that tuna salad has been struggling in the fridge. Could be two days. Could be two weeks.”
“It’s a diner thing, isn’t it? A staple. Anyway, at least I’m not stuffing my face with waffles and cream. That’s going to keep you up, Leon.”
“Whatever, I’ll just tire myself out by hanging out all night.” He shoved another forkful into his mouth, the crispy waffle edges crunching with every bite.
I shook my head again. “And who has to deal with your antics? Me. You’re terrible for my sleep hygiene. And my diet.”
He chewed and swallowed, half-grinning when he sent his tongue to lick at a spot of cream in the corner of his mouth. “You don’t complain when I wake you up with blowjobs, though.”
“Would you — Leon! Pipe down.” I leaned across the table and whispered. “Someone could hear.” I blinked, the horror uncoiling in my belly. “Oh my God. The — the dragons. Do they hear what you hear? Do they — oh, no.”
Leon laughed. “Don’t worry. They’re dormant over ninety percent of the time. Honestly, I only ever hear from them when I’m using their power, or close to it.”
I leaned back, relieved. All the filthy things we’d said and done. Wow.
“And besides, if they try to snoop?” Leon waved his fork at me, making a point. “It’s their fault if they go half-dead from cringing.”
I snorted, poking at one of my fries. “Are we really that cringe-worthy?”
“Mostly you,” Leon replied, putting away even more of his waffles. “Very sappy. Kinda gross.”
“Hey. You’re the one who goes all squirmy and shit when I tell you those sappy things. You like it. You love it. Hey. Hey, Alcantara. Stop chewing and tell me you love it.”
He quietly declined, masticating on his mouthful like a defiant goat. I glowered at him, then decided I had a use for my terrible meal after all. I fired the first french fry, pelted him right in the forehead.
Leon swallowed. “Very immature of you. I thought you were bigger than that.” He picked up the fry and dunked it in my drink.
“What — hey! That’s the only salvageable thing I ordered and you ruined it.”
“Next time,” he said, cutting into another segment. “Next time, you’ll know better and order the waffles.”
I chewed on my lip, deciding my revenge would come later. I was going to make Leon pay. You know, literally. Make him pay for his stupid, admittedly delicious-looking waffles and the world’s worst club sandwich.
Maybe it wasn’t so bad, having this bit of downtime. That is, if downtime meant running away from supernatural banks of steam, conjured, no doubt, by some asshole sorcerer.
Rest. Tonight, we could eat terrible diner food, make silly jokes and sweet small talk, and rest.
Tomorrow? We could find the culprit and dropkick them in the throat.
11
LEON
The clink of glass, the clatter of silverware, and the buzzing chatter of hungry diners. I didn’t get to go out someplace nice very often, was able to treat myself even less. But here was dashing, debonair Mr. Maximilian Drake, taking me out to the fanciest feeding trough I’d been to in forever.
It was the kind of place where I’d likely end up shooed away for staring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, possibly drooling on them a little, too. Soft lighting, all classy and golden, reflecting against massive mirrors and bathing the sleek white furniture in an ethereal glow.
Max, however, seemed less than impressed, glancing around with hunched shoulders and a sullen expression. As much as I could see of his face, anyway, under those huge aviator sunglasses. Weirdo.
“Aww, Max. This is so sweet of you, taking me to a fancy restaurant.” I unfolded my napkin, gingerly laying it across my lap. “Is this a date? You can tell me if it’s a date. I feel so pampered and the food isn’t even here yet.”
He leaned closer to the table, lowering his sunglasses. “No, it absolutely is not a date. I would never take you on a date to a place like this. A place where the food is terrible, I mean.”
I furrowed my forehead, confused and admittedly a little bit crestfallen. “Then why are we here?
He sank into his chair, head lowering and neck receding, except Max wasn’t a turtle and that was as far as he was going to go. “Scoping things out. My cousin owns this place and — ”
