Read Online Magic to the Bone by Devon Monk - Free Book Online Page A

sets of napkin-rolled cutlery.
     
     
    ‘‘Some water,’’ Zayvion said. ‘‘For both of us, please.’’
     
     
    She left and I stared down at my soup like I’d never seen food before.
     
     
    ‘‘It’s soup,’’ Zayvion said. ‘‘Beef and vegetable. Oh. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?’’
     
     
    ‘‘I love soup.’’ Then I remembered he probably already knew that. He’d been working for my father and following me around for I didn’t know how long. He probably knew a lot of things about me. Probably even knew what kind of underwear I wore.
     
     
    Which begged the question. Was he a boxer or brief kind of guy?
     
     
    Come on, Allie, I thought. Stop being such a sap-head. This wasn’t a date. Zayvion wasn’t a friendly neighbor. He was someone to dig information out of. Information about the hit on Boy. Information about why my dad was suddenly so interested in pulling me back into the company and under his control.
     
     
    I sat up a little straighter and unrolled the napkin and spoon. Zayvion might be a liar, a snitch, a stalker—whatever. I wasn’t going to turn down a free meal or a chance to find out what he knew.
     
     
    ‘‘How long have you been following me?’’ I said it as if the meeting had just been called to order and his sales performance were under review.
     
     
    He already had his spoon in his hand and had taken a big bite of soup. He left the spoon in his soup, reached for the sourdough, broke off a fist-sized section, then dipped it in the broth. So he liked his bread without butter. Not really the kind of information I had hoped to get out of him.
     
     
    ‘‘About two weeks.’’
     
     
    Better.
     
     
    I thought back on what had happened in the last two weeks and scooped broth in my mouth. Oh, good loves. It was perfect, salted and thickened with tomato and hints of basil and peppers. I wanted to lick the spoon, lick my fingers, then dive in face-first and lap up the entire bowl. Zayvion did not appear to be watching me. He was already through his first piece of sourdough and moving fast for a second.
     
     
    I reached over for the bread, got there just before he did, and pulled the soft and warm center piece out of the loaf.
     
     
    ‘‘Ha!’’ I held up the chunk of bread with the tips of my fingers. ‘‘Still warm.’’ I snatched up a foiled pat of butter and spread it over the bread with my finger.
     
     
    He didn’t look concerned at my victory. ‘‘Only half a loaf left? I suppose we could split it. Oh, wait.’’ He took the remaining bread, dropped it in his soup, and smiled. ‘‘Maybe I’ll just eat your share.’’
     
     
    ‘‘What, no more Mr. Nice Guy?’’
     
     
    ‘‘Nobody gets between me and fresh sourdough.’’
     
     
    ‘‘Bread fetish?’’
     
     
    ‘‘How about less talking, more eating?’’ He didn’t wait for my reply before digging into his soup.
     
     
    I took a bite of the buttered bread and then I didn’t care what Zayvion did so long as he didn’t get between me and the soup and bread. I put my spoon into action and devoured the soup. Hounding always makes me hungry—using any kind of magic usually makes me hungry—and I’d been cutting it pretty tight on grocery money lately. Actually, now that I thought about it, this was the first meal I’d had in the last month that wasn’t a cold sandwich, cold cereal, or cold microwaved pizza.
     
     
    But even hungry, I kept an eye on the door, and the people who came in and out of the deli in a steady stream. I didn’t think my dad would go so far as to send the police to haul me in, but I wouldn’t put it past him.
     
     
    The waitress came with our water, refilled our coffee, and dropped another basket of bread on the table.
     
     
    ‘‘Thank you,’’ Zayvion said. I nodded my thanks. I would have said something, but my mouth was full of hot vegetables. I tore into the bread loaf, thought about keeping it all for myself, and knew