City of Demons by Richelle Mead

Author:Richelle Mead [Mead, Richelle]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2016-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Ten

I’d had pretty bad hand-eye coordination when I’d been a mortal, but centuries and centuries of practice will pretty much perfect almost any skill set.

“Whoa,” said Seth, wide-eyed.

A Ping-Pong ball sailed from my hand and landed neatly into a glass filled with blue water. About twenty other glasses sat pressed together around the blue one, some with clear water and some with red. I eyed my target and launched another Ping-Pong ball. It too landed in the blue glass. It was the third time I’d hit my mark.

The guy running the game booth shook his head. “I don’t see that very often.”

Seth turned and grinned at me—or rather, he turned and grinned at Beth. We’d taken a cab to this small, beachside carnival and had spent most of our evening playing games and spinning around on rides that caused me only a little more nausea than jury deliberation had. After all that demonic bribery and intrigue, impersonating another woman in order to test my boyfriend seemed downright mundane.

“That was amazing,” said Seth. “You play sports or something?”

“Now and then,” I replied enigmatically.

“Here you go.” The game attendant shook his head again and handed me a large, stuffed dragon. I handed it to Seth, who already held a unicorn and a bear.

“You sure you’re okay with all that?” I asked him as we walked away.

“Hey, I’m not winning anything,” he replied, shifting his hold on the animals. “You’re doing all the work. I figure I should just help out the best I can.”

I laughed. It was such a typical Seth thing to say. If his arms weren’t full, I might have been in danger of reaching out and holding his hand.

“I can’t keep those,” I told him. “You want to take them home?”

“No,” he said promptly. “Too much trouble.” I wondered if he was contemplating the difficulty in fitting them in his luggage or the difficulty in explaining to his girlfriend how he’d acquired another woman’s midway winnings.

Fluffy clouds of pale pink caught my eye, and I honed in on a cotton candy vendor. I bought a clump of it, and Seth and I sat on a nearby bench so that he could deposit his burden and eat the spun sugar with me.

“Good God,” he said, putting a piece into his mouth. “I can feel myself getting diabetes already.”

I didn’t respond right away, instead luxuriating in the way the billowy sugar melted away to nothing on my tongue. “You look like you’re in shape,” I told him a few moments later. “I don’t think you’re doing any permanent damage.”

“Not at the moment, no. But I can’t make this a regular thing. I swim and jog, but considering how much time I just, well, sit around . . . yeah. Gotta watch this stuff.” He tore off another piece. “But not right now.”

I chuckled. “I hear you. I have to go to the gym every day and . . .” I paused. What trendy fitness activity were mortal women doing these days? “.

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