Page 20 of My Monster's Keeper
“You must be careful. Puppy is a Grim, and Grims always bring death wherever they go.”
“Humans believe Grim’s just foretell death.”
“A common misconception, they deliver death,” Wilder says and glances up at the building. “They are insatiable and need it.”
“So, he’s not going to stop wanting to kill me?” I ask and almost feel sad about it.
“We don’t know. It’s an experiment.”
Ire shoots through me. “One that should have been told to me before I signed on for this.”
“What’s in the boxes?”
I’ll allow the subject change for now.
“Want to help me open them?”
Wilder considers me for a long moment. “Yes. Yes, I want to open boxes.”
I grin at him and pick up a stack and lead him into the house.
***
Scrubbing my room takes most of the day, but by sunset and with the arrival of electricity in this den of iniquity, I put the finishing touches on my room. Clean bedding, new clothes. Toiletries. I’ve scrubbed the bathroom as best as I can, and it’s not awful. I’ll be able to shower in there without worrying about what germs are climbing up my body.
Which brings me to another problem. The strange staring eyes of the creatures. With each box I’ve opened, they’ve gotten quieter.
I look at the four boxes that I’ve got set aside in my room. It’s not much. I’m wishing I brought more.
“Stix?” I shout out.
It takes him a few minutes, but he appears at my door. He’s reverted to his nightmare form and his long fingers move incessantly over the wood.
I wonder if it’s a nervous thing.
With a huff, I pick up the box and hand it to him. “You need to give this to Frost.”
He frowns. “What is it?”
I detect a note of jealousy and almost smile.
“I got you all some things while I was punishing Diablos.”
“Punishing?”
“Financial torture,” I explain distractedly. I pick up another box and put it on top. “That one is for Puppy.”
I grab the last two and jerk my head in the direction of the door.
He follows obediently. I gift out the boxes and then turn towards the kitchen. I’m hungry again, but I really don’t feel like convenience store food.
“Pizza, it is.”
I pull out my phone and my new bank card and look around the room. They look so angry and defensive. It’s mildly cute.
“Has anyone tried pizza?”
No one answers me, but I get blank expressions. I get on the phone and call the local pizza joint, ordering a jumbo of every flavour. I add in some garlic breads, several drinks, those chocolate mousse cups, and five trays of lasagnes.
