CHAPTER 9
“That’s excellent,” I murmur to Hannah as she tempers the heated milk into the gelatin mixture. “Next, we need to bring the remainder to a boil and add—”
“The flour?” Hannah asks, using her arm to brush loose mane hair away from her face. Her whisking hand barely pauses. She’s wearing a huge smile.
We’re squeezed side by side in front of the heating apparatus, an appliance called a stove. Like the refrigeration unit, it is of a silver color. Above it is a black electromagnetic radiation unit with silver trim. Everything else—the cookery washing station with a tall black spout, the five cupboards that stretch above it with plain black handles, the heating appliances and the refrigeration unit, and the freestanding cupboard-with-a-countertop unit, the cupboards of which also have black handles—everything is a sterile, cold white.
“Yes, the ground grain powder,” I confirm. “Which container is it?”
“I hope we have some, Julie and I don’t really cook. Umm, try the red container with the bumpy lid.” She turns away from the active heating element on the stove to point at a lidded cylinder on the freestanding cupboard-with-a-countertop unit that stands out merely because of its shock of color—a Rakhii-fire red.
When I’ve turned to face it, careful to keep my wings tucked tight to my body, she says, “Yep, that one. Man, after a full day of work I never feel like doing anything in the kitchen, but you’re making this fun, Jonoh. Plus… ice cream.”
“Ice cream,” I agree. “It will amaze you.” I lift the red container she indicated, drawing it toward me along the freestanding unit’s countertop, which—besides the fact that it offers storage inside and atop it—doubles as a food preparation area, as well as a dining surface.
A little barely-visible thread breaks from the top of the bumpy red lid as it is pulled away from a ceramic jar that sat behind it.
I pause, curious, and I see that by moving the Rakhii-fire colored bin of grain powder, I’ve broken a web and exposed a rather large eight-legged Krortuvian-like creature which begins racing for cover.
Hannah glances at me, perhaps because she sees I’ve stopped moving. “What’s—?” she begins, her eyes following my gaze. “AHHHHHH!” she screams.
The sound of my mate’s shrill cry causes an instinctive reaction in me I’ve never before experienced.
My wings shoot out, slapping the cookery washing station at my back, causing a water lever to crank open, spraying water into the basin. The insides of my wings instantly heat, the calm yellow incalescencing to a turbulent, neon fire-medallion gold. The lower edges of my wings begin to violently shudder, vibrating loudly in a threatening display. My lips peel back in a rippling snarl—one that fairly seethes with my intention to take hostile action against the scuttling creature in retribution for frightening my Hannah—exposing my fangs. I hiss, and unthinkingly, I spit venom.
The spray hits the creature dead-on. The scuttling thing flips over and thwacks hard into the food preparation’s countertop, where it twitches, its legs moving independently in a creepish dance before it curls in on itself, for all the worlds looking quite dead.
“WHAT THE EFF?!” Julie shouts, appearing beside the food preparation area dripping wet and clad only in a towel. Her mane is everywhere, glued to her face, her shoulders, plastered the back of her head. “Is he killing you?” Then she takes me in, and her eyes go wide. “What’s up with your teeth?!” she asks me, still shouting.
“Sorry,” Hannah says. “There was a freaky spider!”
I attempt to close my wings, but they resist, still too unnerved to relax enough to fold shut. I set the cylinder down on the countertop and turn to shut off the water lever. “I believe the threat is vanquished now.” Julie’s gaze is still glued to my mouth so I work on closing my lips and hiding my fangs from view.
“Jonoh spit on it. That’s what killed it,” Hannah says, sounding shocked. Then she gasps and grabs up the whisk, stirring in a panic. “Aww, crap. Jonoh, we might have burnt milk, not boiled milk.”
I inhale to determine if this is the case. I’m relieved to report, “Not to worry—it doesn’t smell burnt. And we still need the finely ground grain powder,” I mutter, returning my hands to the container that somewhat started all the trouble. “Sincerest apologies for alarming you, Julie. I believe we have the damage under control now.”
“Great. That’s great,” she says flatly. Then she points accusingly at Hannah. “No more screaming! I thought the alien had snapped and attacked you.”
“He’s not going to snap,” Hannah defends.
Julie gestures to me. “Did you see what he changed into? He actually looked badass for a second.”
I pause, a scoop of grain powder held aloft. “I looked like a… like a badass?” My wings are still slightly flared, and I’m nearly blinded at the corners of my eyes where their yellow color still glows almost neon in shock.
Saphkarra, sitting on the counter beside me, reaches out her paw and bats at my grain scoop.
“Yeah, you can look badass. It’s a surprise to everyone. Get the cat off the counter!” Julie barks.
My wings blanch, the bright gold draining to a pale yellow as they crumple flat to my spine. I rush for my pet with haste. “My apologies that Saphkarra is on the food preparation area and dining surface. I shall move her quic—”
“Don’t apologize, just do it!”
My hands obediently close around my pet.
But the animal seems to have followed our conversation, and has decided that she will be the one to decide to leave. She ducks out of my grip and deigns to gracefully leap off the freestanding unit’s counter... only to end up on the macilent section of counter beside the cookery washing station. As far as I’m aware, it isn’t technically for dining on. Yet it’s meant to hold human food, not the paws and hind ends of pets, thus Saphkarra’s secondary choice of perch is unfortunate.
Julie covers her eyes with her hand. “You know what? WHATever. I’m finishing my bath. Ugh!”
“Have a relaxing bathing session, Julie,” I call helpfully.
“That went out the window when my roommate’s alien scared the daylights out of me. Your ice cream better be worth it,” she grumbles, storming back to the bathing and cleansing unit. “And I want real food too!”
I turn back to Hannah, who is mixing the sugar and eggs now. Her smile is easygoing and her eyes are intent on mine. “Don’t worry about her. We’ll whip something up for dinner. Whatever we make plus this dessert is going to be amazing.”
I feel myself flush with warmth. “Let’s hope so. Here, allow me to stir—”
Hannah tugs the bowl closer to herself. “I know so. And I’ve got this. What’s the next step?”