“Clay is like a brother to me, and you’re…” I dusted off my shirt. “You’re you.”
“I’ll ask him.” Asa shifted his attention to the door. “We ought to have a week off, after working two cases back-to-back. That’s in the regs.”
“You would be there for Thanksgiving,” I realized, delight winging through me. “Clay could help me cook a full spread.” It had been years since I bothered. I usually joined the girls with their parents and brought dessert in trade. “He can make me corn fritters.” I kicked my feet and squealed. “I always screw up those.”
The door burst open, and the golem in question stuck his head in the door. “Everything okay in here?”
His gaze traveled over me, the empty plate, and the bedful of crumbs.
“Pretend I didn’t ask.” He eased the door almost shut. “I don’t want to know.”
“Wait.” I swung my legs over the bed. “Asa said you’re off for a week as soon as the paperwork clears.”
“Hopefully.” He nudged it back open. “You know how that goes.”
Sometimes, the regs were the absolute law in Black Hat. Other times, they were more of a guideline.
“Will you stay with Colby and me?” I knotted my fingers in my lap. “It’s Thanksgiving, and you’re…” my throat got tight, “…you’re family.”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his jaw. “I had plans to binge The Essence of Emeril and fantasize about his Cajun-injected spicy turkey with grilled polenta, balsamic roasted carrots, andouille cornbread dressing, and fig mille-feuille with balsamic drizzle.” He struck a thoughtful pose. “Do I want to eat actual food instead of licking my phone’s screen and crying inside?”
“Yes.” Colby bulldozed into the back of his head, knocking him forward a step with the force of her hug. “Please, Clay. Will you stay? I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise. You can sleep on the rock in my room.”
“A rock of my very own?” He patted her back, ruffling his blond buzzcut. “How can I refuse an offer like that?”
Chances were good he knew the rock was a gray beanbag, but I wasn’t going to ruin her fun.
“Ace?” Clay checked with his partner. “What do you think?”
The daemon burst from his skin in a lick of flame and scooped me off the bed into his arms.
“Stay with Rue.” He turned his head so that his hair slid over his shoulder. “Rue pet.”
“I can see from your expression,” Clay said smugly, “that you didn’t think your invitation through.”
The daemon wilted on the spot, a question in his eyes, and I sensed the disappointment in him.
Twirling a lock of the daemon’s hair around my finger, I couldn’t hurt his feelings. “Sure, I did.”
Teeth bared in a huge grin, the daemon flashed his thick fangs at Clay in a clear I told you so.
“If I’m going to move into production,” I told him, “I need a test subject for my haircare line.”
That got the daemon’s attention. “Rue brush hair?”
“Brush, wash, comb, braid. All of it. If you let me use you to test my new products.”
A growl pumped through his chest. “I like Thanksgiving.”
Smothering a laugh, I began to explain. “Thanksgiving is—”
“Brush, wash, comb, braid.” He dumped more hair in my lap. “All of it.”
“Close enough.” I patted his shoulder. “Can you put me down now?”
His grip tightened before it loosened, but he grumbled then placed me back on the bed.
“I’m starting to see what you mean.” Clay frowned at his partner. “The daemon is…different…with you.”