Made in the Shade: A Humorous Paranormal Women's Fiction (Magic After Midlife Book 2) by Deborah Wilde

Author:Deborah Wilde [Wilde, Deborah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Te Da Media Inc.
Published: 2021-06-06T16:00:00+00:00

16

“Bust out the proper booze and let’s order some food,” Laurent said, “because I’m starving. Wolves need to eat. A lot. Then we’ll come up with a plan.”

He deemed the Merlot I had barely acceptable, grumbled when I insisted on ordering Chinese food, and then added four extra dishes to the order, all of which he polished off. I almost lost a hand trying to get some spicy prawns and snap peas.

By mutual unspoken agreement, we didn’t discuss anything work-oriented while eating. He asked about some photos of Sadie and me, and shared stories about Juliette when she was younger. They’d obviously been close, and I didn’t understand why he wouldn’t want her around, other than the working for Tatiana part, but I didn’t pry. There was some trauma in his past and if he ever wanted to share it with me, I’d listen, but it wasn’t my place to push him.

Laurent told me how he’d found the couple that had celebrated their anniversary with champagne. They were indeed possessed, and he’d only managed to dispatch the woman.

“Even though the dybbuk was in control of the host, the man still had all his memories of the two of them. His grief was like a live wire.” Laurent gripped his chopsticks so hard that he snapped one, then slid the paper off a fresh pair. “I have to find him.”

“You will.” I didn’t know what else to say. “Might as well get back to cracking the code.”

“Sure.”

Unable to eat another bite and wishing I could pop the button on my capris, I doodled little stick figures in my green paisley notebook: one for Raj and another for Topher with a line connecting them.

Laurent watched me. “Did you ever try writing with your right hand all those years you hid your magic?”

I shook my head. “No one would have been able to read it. Though don’t ever force me to use leftie scissors. I despise them.” I paused, back for a moment at my parents’ kitchen table, the pencil feeling awkward and slippery in my five-year-old self’s grip. “When I was first learning to print, my grandfather kept taking the pencil out of my left hand and putting it in my right one.”

“Because all Banim Shovavim are lefties and he didn’t want you identified?”

“Funnily enough, it wasn’t so much that, since enough Sapiens and Ohrists are left-handed. He had his litany of cultural prejudices associated with the evils of being left-handed. Sinistra in Latin, gauche in French. Se’mol in Hebrew for left-side derived from Samael, the Angel of Death.”

Laurent methodically went through each take-out container, eating any leftover scraps. “Charming. How come he didn’t win that fight?”

“My mom quoted a bunch of famous lefties at him like Da Vinci, Mozart, and Marie Curie, and said her daughter would use whatever hand she wanted.” I grinned and held up my left fist, the pen still in it. “Lefties for the win.”

“Tatiana is left-handed,” he said.

I raised my eyebrows at him. “And?”

He swallowed the last bite of spicy pork.

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