The Girl and the Gargoyle: Book Two of The Girl and the Raven Series by Pauline Gruber

could make it.”
    As if we had a choice.
    He opens the door wide and beckons us in with a grand sweeping gesture. “Lunch is being served in the kitchen. I’ve made some of your favorites.”
    Dylan aims a curious look my way as we follow Jude down the hall. I think I can guess what he’s thinking. How does Jude know our favorite anything?
    A cold shiver races over my skin as we walk past the dining room. The ghost of my nearly dead self wraps her arms around me. I flinch at the sight of the mahogany table. Visions of my limp, bleeding body come flooding back to me. Jude’s blood soaked sweater propped under my head as Persephone spread some herbal gunk on my skin. The entire group: Persephone, Henry, Jude, Aiden, and Dylan circled around me as they chanted. Jude reached behind my head, cradled it as he worked his own healing magic.
    My legs give out, and I gasp as I relive the agony of that magic.
    “Lucy!” Dylan catches me before I hit the ground.
    Jude reaches my other side in an instant.
    “Are you okay?” Dylan asks.
    Jude’s eyes—dark and intense—burn into mine. He expresses concern in the same way he expresses anger; he tries to read me. His gaze flickers toward the table then back at me. “Let’s get her away from this room.”
    Jude is cruel, but every once in a while he surprises me with his understanding.
    They each grab one of my arms. I try to push them away, embarrassed. “I can walk.”
    The two of them lead me toward the kitchen. I like this room. It’s brighter and prettier than any other room in the house.
    An elaborate mural covers the opposite wall. How did I miss that before? It looks like one of those vintage French posters that are so popular. A plump man throws his hands out to his sides as if he’s introducing circus acts to an excited crowd. The whole scene is loaded with rich shades of blues, reds, and yellows. The windowsill, which runs the length of four spotless windows, contains pots filled with basil, oregano, cilantro, rosemary, and thyme. The smells remind me of Gram.
    Once I’m settled at the stainless steel topped table, Dylan scoots his chair close to me and sits down. Jude examines me again, as if to be sure I won’t break or keel over. Then he retrieves two casserole pans from the oven. He sets them on top of the stove, then reaches back into the oven and pulls out a baking sheet full of crusty bread. The most amazing smells fill the room. Tomato sauce, basil, oregano, and cheese.
    “You cook?” The words are loaded with more surprise than I intended.
    Jude smiles wickedly. “Do you think I only spend my days plotting the demise of humanity?”
    I blush and duck my head a little because yeah, I really only think of Jude as a killing machine.
    Dylan’s mouth falls open as we watch Jude squeeze lemons into a bowl, drizzle in some olive oil, add chopped basil, garlic, salt, and pepper, then whisk the ingredients together. He tosses the homemade dressing onto a large salad, then doles the salads onto small plates and delivers them to the table.
    Dylan and I look at each other, baffled. A demon who cooks?
    As if reading my mind, Dylan mutters under his breath, “This would make for a great new series on Food Network. Ladies and gentlemen, The Demon Gourmet.”
    “It would give Hell’s Kitchen and Cutthroat Kitchen a run for their money.”
    We both burst out laughing.
    Without pulling his attention away from his plate, Jude adds, “For the record, I would win. Now let’s eat our salads while the lasagna rests.”
    Lasagna needs to rest?
    I stab the lettuce and a tiny grape tomato. The dressing tastes delicious. The texture and flavor of the lettuce mix are more delicate than what I’m used to. There are garbanzo beans and little slivers of red onion. I try to take another forkful, but my plate is empty. I look up, coming out of my daze and see Jude and Dylan are only half done.
    Jude takes my plate to the counter, refills it and returns to the table.
    Is he