Elven Blood (Imp Book 3) by Dunbar Debra

Author:Dunbar, Debra [Dunbar, Debra]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: fantasy, paranormal, urban fantasy
Publisher: Anessa Books
Published: 2013-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

14

It was early the next morning when Gregory ported me back from the Marriott into my kitchen. I offered to make him coffee, knowing full well he didn’t eat or drink, and that after spending almost twenty four hours in a room with me and five angels, he’d happily make up some excuse.

He accepted. And he attempted to assist in the coffee–making.

“Ground up, burnt beans, right?” he asked, sniffing the canister of Folgers. I hated to disappoint him, but I was too tired to do fresh ground beans in the French press.

“The machine runs hot water over the beans, then goes through a filter into the pot so you don’t have the grounds floating around your drink and getting stuck in your teeth.”

I put a filter in the coffee maker and handed him a tablespoon. “Here. Scoop out ten tablespoons of the coffee grounds and dump them into the filter.”

While he was occupied with that, I texted Wyatt to let him know I was back. I also had to re–send the one to Candy. Something, or someone, had blocked cell phone reception in the Marriott, so not only did hers not go out, but I’d returned to five messages from Wyatt informing me of his progress on our project, and that he’d killed yet another demon while safely behind his spiffy new wall. Wyatt also expressed the hope that I was “having fun”. Ha, ha, very funny.

There was also one from him letting me know Amber was in town from college and that he wanted her to meet me. Ugh. Family stuff. Wyatt’s mother refused to see me, or even speak my name. I could understand. Her darling boy ensnared in the clutches of an older woman. Much older. And there was that whole demon/Satan thing too. I wasn’t sure how thrilled Wyatt’s younger sister was about our relationship. This was probably going to be a very short, awkward introduction. Which would be fine with me. Demons don’t do family stuff.

I looked over and Gregory was still measuring out the coffee. Carefully and exactly measuring out the coffee. To the grain.

“Oh for fuck sake,” I told him, snatching the tablespoon and shoveling approximately ten scoops of grounds into the filter. “We’ll be here all week and I need coffee right now. That hotel stuff never got changed from yesterday morning. It was like a pile of sludge for the last half of our meeting.”

“You clearly have more than ten tablespoons in there,” Gregory said reprovingly. “How can you expect consistent and optimal results when you don’t measure correctly?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s coffee, not rocket science.” I poured the water into the machine and hit the “brew” button.

“Ah. So there is a range of acceptable input and output?”

I shot a frustrated look at Gregory, and realized he was teasing. It was a bit of a shock.

“Are you actually going to drink any of this stuff?” I asked him. I was irritable. I hoped these Ruling Council meetings were once a century or something or I was going to go stark raving mad.

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