Laughter dances in Lincoln’s eyes. “That would be Mrs. Pomplemousse.”
“That’s right.” She’s an ancient broad who was mistreated by Aldred. Her big claim to fame? Aldred confessed to her that he was in league with Armageddon, making her our best potential interview of all. There’s no way we can skip it.
“Mrs. Pomplemousse.” I step back, shaking my head. “Why is her name more of a mood killer than three dead demons?”
“Because it’s us.” Lincoln tucks the codex into his pocket.
I scan the room. What a mess. “I’ll tell Mom to send a cleanup crew later. For the time being, we should probably haul ass to Mrs. Pomplemousse. We’re super late as it is.”
“Agreed.”
I silently vow that no matter what happens, I am not letting Lincoln torture me about this kiss. I’ll be Miss Cool. Miss No-Lust Demon. Miss Awesomesauce Who Can Lose A Bet And Not Give A Crap.
Maybe.
Chapter Four
Lincoln and I rush down an empty street that’s lined with identical row houses. Mrs. Pomplemousse lives at number 13. In this area, all the fa?ades are two stories high, made of brick, and fronted by tiny lawns with mostly green grass. For Purgatory, that’s fancy stuff. Tall windows look out from the second floor of each dwelling. As we walk by, I get the sneaking sensation that those windows are actually eyes, and they all watch us with evil intentions.
Great. I’m seeing nasty faces in buildings. Might be time for a nap.
In short order, we reach Mrs. Pomplemousse’s door. Lincoln knocks. While we wait for her to respond, I lean on my guy’s shoulder. Before coming here, Lincoln and I made a quick stop at the limo where we changed into our “average person” outfits. I’m now sporting skinny jeans, Bolshie boots, and a red sweater. Lincoln’s got on camo pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt. The cotton waffle weave is very comfy to lean against, actually.
Naptime sounds better by the minute.
From the other side of the door, there comes a chorus of rattles and clinks as the occupant undoes what must be a half-dozen locks. The portal slowly swings open, showing a grandmotherly lady with a plump body and a dragonscale tail like mine. Yes! She’s a fellow wrath and lust demon. Furor class. How did I not know this about her?
I frown. Oh yeah, I didn’t have time to read the briefing too closely. I really need to nail “preparing before you start something big” issue. First, there was the sloppiness with my fighting hood. Now, I didn’t even know Mrs. Pomplemousse was one of my demonic kind. It’s not like there are a ton of quasi-Furor out there.
Oh, well. I’ll definitely start being more diligent. Tomorrow.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Pomplemousse. You must be Lincoln and Myla.” She’s wearing a too-tight suit for this occasion, complete with a matching pillbox hat and veil. It’s sweet.
Lincoln bows slightly at the waist. Old ladies love that shit. “Apologies for our late arrival and casual appearance.”
She purses her wrinkled lips. “Did you have to kill some demons?”
“Oh yeah,” I answer. “Two of them.”
“That’s wonderful, dear. I used to fight in the Arena myself when I was younger. Why don’t you come inside and have some cookies?”
You don’t have to say “cookies” to me twice. “Why, I don’t mind if I do.” I walk past the threshold to find your basic grandmotherly setup. There’s faded green wallpaper printed with tiny flowers. The scent of old people and mothballs fills the air. Some overly poufy furniture surrounds a small table that’s been set for tea. And best of all? An impressive pile of cookies sits at the center of the tabletop.
Time to make myself at home.
I plunk onto a huge chair and scan the yumminess. Mrs. Pomplemousse has a nice assortment of munchies here, I must say, including ginger snaps, chocolate chip, and some kind of fudge thingies. All homemade. I might ask if she’ll adopt me.
Mrs. Pomplemousse plunks onto the couch across from me and beams. “Don’t stand on ceremony, my dear. Eat up.”
So I do. “These are really yummy.”
Oops. I might have said that through a mouthful of ginger snap.
Lincoln settles onto the chair beside mine. “Mrs. Pomplemousse, I must imagine this is all rather surprising, us asking you to provide a recorded interview and all. Plus, Myla and I are not anyone’s idea of typical company.”
Mrs. Pomplemousse starts pouring herself tea. “You aren’t, but I’m a tough old bird. And Myla and I are both from the Arena. It takes a lot to shock us.”
I raise my arm. “Testify.” This time, I have the sense to cover my mouth with my free hand while I chew and speak. Who says I won’t make a great Queen of the Thrax? I’m already getting this regal manner stuff down.
“In that case, we’ll begin.” Lincoln sets the codex on his lap. “This is a magical book that will record your testimony.”
“Oh, you don’t need to record me. I’ll go right into court and help you take that bastard down.” Her tail flicks behind her.