Page 25 of Cherish

Eventually, though, Alistair tells him, “Go ahead.” He makes a strangely formal flourish with his hand. “Tell the kids what they want to know.”

At first, it seems like Jikan is going to argue, but in the end, he just stands up and announces, “I’m hungry.” Then he takes off toward the kitchen like we weren’t just in the middle of a very important conversation.

“How can he be hungry?” Heather asks in a low voice. “It’s been less than ten minutes since he ate the better half of a concession stand.”

I don’t have a clue, but I’m not about to make the mistake of asking him about his food intake. Instead, I get up and follow him down toward the kitchen, Hudson and my friends trailing a little behind.

My grandfather stays in the parlor with his pitcher of mimosas, probably to wait on my grandmother’s return.

It turns out she’s been busy decorating more than just the parlor since I was last here. She’s also changed the tapestries that lined the ancient stone walls, exchanging the battle and nature scenes for beautiful black-and-white photographs of Alistair, Artelya, me, and many of the other gargoyles as well.

Scenes depicted range from battle practice to our weekly soccer game, from huge “family” dinners to Alistair’s lone figure walking the cliffs just beyond the iron fence. The effect is somehow both welcoming and haunting.

I love it.

Within minutes, most everyone takes a seat in high-backed barstools around a massive granite island. Jikan slips on a chef’s apron that reads, The Last Time I Cooked, Hardly Anyone Died. Comforting.

Then he opens the larder and starts yanking things out of it in a way that says, very clearly, that he has no actual plan for his midnight snack. Everything from Oreo cookies—Alistair’s newest obsession—and pickles to dried pasta and canned pineapple ends up on the counter next to the mimosa he carried with him from the parlor.

“So, he’s not actually going to mix all that together, is he?” Heather whispers, sounding horrified.

I have no idea, and since I’m still hoping to convince him to help us, I’m sure as hell not going to say anything to offend him about his culinary choices. I even manage not to wince when cinnamon and dried mustard join the growing pile on the counter.

“Fill a pot with water, will you?” Jikan tosses over his shoulder as he continues to rummage in the larder.

“Of course.” I move to do it, but Eden is already there, pulling a giant copper pot down from the rack above the center island and carrying it toward the sink with a this-is-exciting expression on her face, and I chuckle.

Jikan finally emerges from the closet with a triumphant crow, a pack of chocolate chips in one hand and a jar of peanut butter in the other. He holds them up like spoils of war before dropping them on the counter next to the rest of his plunder.

“I need orange juice and eggs,” he announces to the room in general, like saying it will make it so.

Then again, I’m the first one to hightail it to the fridge and pull out giant containers of both before Jikan can even make it around the corner of the center island. The faster we get him what he wants, the faster we might actually get him to tell us about the key to the Shadow Realm—get him togiveus the key.

I’d be lying if I said my skin wasn’t itching to just stop this god-dance we’re doing and plead with Jikan to help. After the whole prisoner-in-my-basement scene with Artelya, I haven’t wanted to admit I might have to choose between Mekhi’s need for a cure right-this-fucking-second and an army of hunters possibly organizing to attack with the same alacrity. But it’s fifty-fifty Jikan can even help—a solid zero if we upset him—and a hundred percent we’re not going anywhere unless he does. Math was never my strong suit, but even I know those odds mean I need to plaster a smile on my face and keep on waltzing.

I set the containers on the counter near the other random ingredients with a “here you go” and hop back onto my barstool.

“What exactly are we making?” Flint asks, eyeing the food combination with the same glee rounding Eden’s eyes in wonder.

Hudson didn’t take one of the barstools, preferring to lean against the opposite counter, arms crossed, and we exchange a humorous look.Dragons.

Jikan reaches for the jar of pickles and pops it open. “Dessert pasta.”

“With pickles?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

But Jikan just rolls his eyes. “Obviously not, Grace. They’re for eating while we cook.”

As if to prove his point, he grabs a fork and fishes out two of the small pickles to pop in his mouth before walking to the sink to wash his hands.

When he’s done, he turns around and claps his hands together. “Okay, where did we leave off?”

I’m not sure if he’s referring to the dessert pasta, the pickles, or the story he’s supposed to be telling us, but I decide to hope for the best. “You were about to tell us why you created Noromar to punish the Shadow Queen.”

15

Aghast from

the Past

---