Read Online Demon 04 - Deja Demon by Julie Kenner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Julie Kenner
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awake.
Now, my tiny tenor was perched precariously on his haunches at his place at the table, his high chair tucked forlornly in the corner next to a box full of empty egg cartons that I’d been collecting for months from all our neighbors.
I cast a look of despair toward the boxes. The neighborhood party was in exactly one week, and I hadn’t exactly been stuffing Easter eggs with lightning speed. On the upside, Laura was coming over today to help with that very thing. On the downside, I now had more on my daily plate than preparations for a festival populated with—at a minimum—one hundred and twenty children and their various adult counterparts.
While I was feeling sorry for myself, Timmy was standing on his chair, one knee about to slide onto the table. He had his eye on the pepper shaker, and if he got there, the whole family would regret it.
“Bottom in your chair, young man,” I said, moving to rescue the salt and pepper before heading back to the pantry. I opened the door—noting right away that there was no dead demon sprawled on the floor—then tried to divine something both delicious and nutritious to plunk in front of the kid for breakfast. Not managing that, I went the merely delicious route.
“Trix or Frosted Flakes,” I said, holding up the only two cereal boxes I’d found in our mostly bare cupboard. I added yet another trip to the grocery store to my daily to-do list, right under “investigate Sword of Caelum,” “find missing demon,” and “dispose of body parts.”
Honestly, I needed to break down and buy an organizer.
At the table, Timmy slid out of his chair and trotted to the refrigerator. He grabbed the handle on the freezer side and tugged, little arms straining. When the door finally popped open, he stepped back, eyes as wide as if he’d just discovered nirvana.
Too late, I realized what he was looking at.
I lunged to shut the door even as my toddler lunged to grab something. And despite all my Hunter training, he was faster. What can I say? A toddler on a mission for chocolate is not a creature to be toyed with.
He emerged from the freezer victorious, a packet of M&Ms in his hand and a huge grin on his face. I’m a sucker for frozen chocolate, and apparently the little devil had spied my secret stash.
“Chocolate!” he said victoriously, clutching the bag as he marched back to the table. “Mine!”
I intercepted, scooping the kid up in one arm. “Whoa there, little guy. That’s not a Mommy-approved breakfast product.”
“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!” he wailed. “My candy! Mommy, I. Want. My. Candy!”
“I know you do, mister. But Mommy wants you to grow up healthy, okay?” Not that sugared cereal was that much better than M&Ms, but we all have our lines in the sand.
“No.” His little forehead furrowed, and he frowned, putting on his best pout. The one that, in his almost three years of life, he’d learned worked best on Mommy. “No, no, no.”
Not today, buddy.
“Sorry, kid. Between the two of us, I need it more.”
He clutched the package tighter and turned his back to me.
“Timmy . . . What’s the rule about arguing?”
He appeared to consider that one, and then he peered over his shoulder, his grin wide and toothy and positively adorable.
What can I say? The kid’s gonna grow up to be a people pleaser.
“Please,” he begged, drawing the word out and infusing it with a million kilowatts of whine. “Please, please, please?” His little hand went to his chest, rubbing the way he’d seen on Signing Times . That’s what I get for plunking him down in front of educational programming: begging in two languages. If I let this go on much longer, I’d probably get a rousing por favor thrown into the mix, courtesy of Dora the Explorer .
“Ain’t happening, kiddo,” I said. “Cereal or toast. Your call.”
He harrumphed—a habit he’d picked up recently, and for which I blamed Eddie—then wiggled in his chair,
Now, my tiny tenor was perched precariously on his haunches at his place at the table, his high chair tucked forlornly in the corner next to a box full of empty egg cartons that I’d been collecting for months from all our neighbors.
I cast a look of despair toward the boxes. The neighborhood party was in exactly one week, and I hadn’t exactly been stuffing Easter eggs with lightning speed. On the upside, Laura was coming over today to help with that very thing. On the downside, I now had more on my daily plate than preparations for a festival populated with—at a minimum—one hundred and twenty children and their various adult counterparts.
While I was feeling sorry for myself, Timmy was standing on his chair, one knee about to slide onto the table. He had his eye on the pepper shaker, and if he got there, the whole family would regret it.
“Bottom in your chair, young man,” I said, moving to rescue the salt and pepper before heading back to the pantry. I opened the door—noting right away that there was no dead demon sprawled on the floor—then tried to divine something both delicious and nutritious to plunk in front of the kid for breakfast. Not managing that, I went the merely delicious route.
“Trix or Frosted Flakes,” I said, holding up the only two cereal boxes I’d found in our mostly bare cupboard. I added yet another trip to the grocery store to my daily to-do list, right under “investigate Sword of Caelum,” “find missing demon,” and “dispose of body parts.”
Honestly, I needed to break down and buy an organizer.
At the table, Timmy slid out of his chair and trotted to the refrigerator. He grabbed the handle on the freezer side and tugged, little arms straining. When the door finally popped open, he stepped back, eyes as wide as if he’d just discovered nirvana.
Too late, I realized what he was looking at.
I lunged to shut the door even as my toddler lunged to grab something. And despite all my Hunter training, he was faster. What can I say? A toddler on a mission for chocolate is not a creature to be toyed with.
He emerged from the freezer victorious, a packet of M&Ms in his hand and a huge grin on his face. I’m a sucker for frozen chocolate, and apparently the little devil had spied my secret stash.
“Chocolate!” he said victoriously, clutching the bag as he marched back to the table. “Mine!”
I intercepted, scooping the kid up in one arm. “Whoa there, little guy. That’s not a Mommy-approved breakfast product.”
“Nooooooooooooooooooooo!” he wailed. “My candy! Mommy, I. Want. My. Candy!”
“I know you do, mister. But Mommy wants you to grow up healthy, okay?” Not that sugared cereal was that much better than M&Ms, but we all have our lines in the sand.
“No.” His little forehead furrowed, and he frowned, putting on his best pout. The one that, in his almost three years of life, he’d learned worked best on Mommy. “No, no, no.”
Not today, buddy.
“Sorry, kid. Between the two of us, I need it more.”
He clutched the package tighter and turned his back to me.
“Timmy . . . What’s the rule about arguing?”
He appeared to consider that one, and then he peered over his shoulder, his grin wide and toothy and positively adorable.
What can I say? The kid’s gonna grow up to be a people pleaser.
“Please,” he begged, drawing the word out and infusing it with a million kilowatts of whine. “Please, please, please?” His little hand went to his chest, rubbing the way he’d seen on Signing Times . That’s what I get for plunking him down in front of educational programming: begging in two languages. If I let this go on much longer, I’d probably get a rousing por favor thrown into the mix, courtesy of Dora the Explorer .
“Ain’t happening, kiddo,” I said. “Cereal or toast. Your call.”
He harrumphed—a habit he’d picked up recently, and for which I blamed Eddie—then wiggled in his chair,
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