“Nothing. Yet.” He closes his eyes, like he’s bracing himself. “My thirdborn child.”
I slap his shoulder. “Shepard. ”
He peeks over at me.
“How could you,” I say.
“I talked him down from my firstborn—they always want the firstborn— he was cutting me a deal!”
“So there’s some shady character out there waiting for you to start a family?”
“Aw. Ken’s not shady. He’s a stand-up guy with a big heart.” He smiles.
“That’s a joke—he’s a giant.”
I smack him again. “Shepard!” I’m shaking my head, dumbfounded. “You know that giants eat babies…”
“Penelope, it’s fine. I’m not having three kids. I may not have any kids.
I’m a child of divorce.”
I stand up, still shaking my head, and add GIANT! to my What We Know list. “So you met this giant … somehow…”
“I met him the usual way.”
“You chased him off the road?”
“No. I noticed him and said hello. We’ve been friends for a while.”
I lean back against a blank spot on the blackboard. “I guess I’m impressed he hasn’t eaten you.”
“I think he only eats babies…”
“Merlin and Morgana and bloody Anne Boleyn,” I say. “So this baby-eating giant you’ve befriended collects demonic rituals?”
“It was in a book he had.”
“He collects old books?”
Shepard holds a finger up as if he’s about to say something interesting and not something outrageous. “He collects miniatures. ”
“Of course he does.”
“Magickal miniatures,” he adds.
“Naturally,” I say.
“I was helping him organize his collection. He tends to break things…”
“I mean.” I’m just nodding my head now, like this all stands to reason.
“He liked having someone else around who really appreciated his collection.”
“Which includes a book of demon-summoning rituals.”
“It was a book about demon culture! That’s what Ken told me, anyway. He could read some of it, but only with a magnifying glass, and kind of the way you or I could read Spanish out loud, phonetically, even if we didn’t understand it. Ken knew I’d always wanted to meet a demon.”
“Why have you always wanted to meet a demon?”
“Who wouldn’t? Can’t you think of a thousand questions you’d ask a demon?”
“I’d ask him to let go of your soul. That’s all. Then I’d close the door.”
Shepard’s back to eating his sandwich. “They’re not all ‘he’s, you know.
I’m not sure any of them are ‘he’s. What’s gender to a demon?”
“Did you get a chance to ask him that?”
Shepard looks sheepish. “I did not.”
“Okay…” I look back at my board. I write in Ken.
“If Ken is such a good friend, why didn’t he just give you the ritual?”
“A guy’s got to eat. Plus, it was a lot of work for him. He had to write the whole thing out phonetically.”
“And he didn’t tell you what it actually said?”
“He didn’t know! Like I said, he knew the letters, but only a few words here and there.”
“What did Ken say afterwards, when you told him what happened with the demon?”
Shepard’s face falls—like he pities Ken, of all people. “He felt terrible.”
“He’s going to feel a lot worse when I talk to him about this thirdborn situation. Did he try to help you at all?”
“He said he was afraid of making it worse.”
“What’s worse than losing your soul to a demon?”
“Dying, I guess. Getting cursed along with me.”
“Let’s call him,” I say. “This Ken. Right now.”
“We can’t call him. He’s asleep.”
“Nonsense, it’s ten A.M. in Chicago.” This is math I’m used to doing.
“No, I mean he’s hibernating. He’ll be asleep for years.”
“Giants hibernate?”
Shepard shakes his head at me. “If you ever gave me a chance, I could teach you so much about magic…”
“Oh my goodness, Shepard, stop. I’m going to roll my eyes so hard, they’ll get stuck.” I sit back down on the arm of the couch, tapping my lip.