We never knew how to fake it,
but we always knew how to break shit.
Couple nights, threw gasoline on the fire.
Waffle House - Jonas Brothers

I DIDN'T MEAN to tease a dead man with food.

But committing arson makes a girl hungry, and who was I to deny myself the pleasure of a buttery, golden waffle? Carbs were the best solution for a weary soul, second only to the beans that kept me—and my passed out dragon—alive.

Venti was still out cold when we pulled up to the local Waffle House. Before I got out of the car, I pulled the zipper back farther on my duffel. I may have enjoyed giving him hell over my "stinky" socks, but I didn't actually want him to suffocate before he woke.

If he ever woke up.

I nearly slapped myself at the thought. Of course Venti would wake up. Familiars were bound to the soul of their master, and as long as I lived, he would be at my side. The little ball of spunk had survived everything from a twelve-story fall to being flattened under a Rose Bowl Parade float. If he had been able to screech at me as he wriggled out from under the vehicle covered in flowers' corpses, he would survive a bag of poisoned beans.

But when Death told me of Venti's immortality, he hadn't mentioned what would happen if my familiar was put into an eternal slumber. Maybe it was in the fine print.

Either way, having an alive-but-sleeping familiar at my side for eternity was less than ideal. Venti was my companion—very often, my only friend. Our love-hate relationship had been strengthened by sarcasm and caffeine.

If he couldn't wake up on his own, I would find someone who knew how to fix him.

I pulled a pair of yoga pants over his noodle-y body, tucking him in like a child.

"I'm getting some breakfast," I whispered, stroking his head lightly. "Maybe I'll even save you a coffee. Black, just like our souls."

With a soft kiss to his scaly head, I forced myself to smile before slamming the door and trudging toward the restaurant.

Goosebumps prickled my right side, but I didn't look over at Cade. He'd been giving me that "look" since we left the Skyline Motel—the look that people gave me after I lost my parents, and again after the mysterious house fire that killed my great aunt and uncle. The one strangers gave when they saw a young woman using mobility aids to keep herself from collapsing. It was a look I'd been forced to endure for too many years. I would've been happier never seeing it again.

Thankfully, Waffle House was deader than my companion. Aside from a disgruntled busboy and the college-aged waitress who was a little too excited to have a customer, the restaurant was empty.

If only it were quiet.

"Can I get you another coffee?" The waitress appeared out of nowhere, reminding me why I hated sitting with my back to the kitchen.

Cade had insisted on occupying the chair with the best view, and I was not about to sit in a ghost's lap. Even if he was my teenage self's idol.

I glanced down at my mug. With hardly two tongue-searing gulps missing since her last insistent refill, I couldn't help but just... stare. I remembered working in a family-owned joint right after my sixteenth birthday to pay for my first vehicle. The owner urged us to keep beverages full and customers happy.

But racing over after every sip was too damn much.

"I'm fine, but thank you." I tried to plaster on my most cheerful morning smile. The corners of my mouth hardly lifted. "I'll wait for my waffles."

Joy's name tag did not match the wounded expression that soured her lips. "As you wish."

When she walked away with sagging shoulders, I almost felt bad. I didn't think I'd snapped at her. But, then again, I hadn't been able to enjoy my coffee in peace. That was more than enough reason to be a grouchy early bird. Screw whatever worm the others were after. I just needed caffeine, silence, and maple syrup.

Gods, when were those waffles going to be ready?

"Service is slow this morning." Cade leaned forward on his elbows, rubbing his eternally damp cheek. "I'm surprised Your Royal Resurrector hasn't asked for a manager yet."

I glared at him through the steam from my mug. "Your confidence in me is astounding, Karen."

"That poor waitress is just trying to be nice."

"Morning people should know what's coming to them," I muttered. Another gulp of dirty bean juice slid down my throat like fire. Some day, dead nerves would remind me of all the times I should've waited for my coffee to cool.

Cade sighed. "You hurt the girl's feelings. Look."

I didn't want to look, but the smell of freshly-cooked heaven forced my head to turn. My eyes followed a somber-looking Joy as she slouched her way to the table—or, more accurately, I watched the platter on her tray. She set down the stack of warm, buttery waffles with all the enthusiasm of a gagged siren.

Joy left without a single smile, or even a: "Here is your morning sunshine on a plate, darlin'." Maybe she'd finally gotten the message.

I never knew ghosts' mouths could water until Cade drew in a long whiff of my breakfast. He slumped forward onto the table, chin resting on his folded arms.

"What I wouldn't give for a waffle right now."

His longing stare bore a hole through my hardened heart. I'd already pissed off a waitress and burned a small child to death. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to spread kindness with a bite of deliciousness.

I cut off a fair-sized chunk of waffle and held out my fork. Cade stared at me like I'd grown Folga's electric fangs.

"I know I'm new to this whole 'dead' thing," he said, "but how does food work?"

I shrugged. "No better way to find out."

Cade didn't look convinced, but he also didn't push the question. If he was anything like me, curiosity pulled him in inconvenient directions at the worst times—one waffle was probably his safest gamble.

He put his lips around my fork, and when he pulled away with a successful bite of waffle inside his translucent mouth, he swallowed with a laugh. "Well, would you look at—"

The waffle passed clean through his body and bounced off the booth with a thud. For a long moment, we looked from the floor-bound waffle bite to each other and back. I sucked in my lower lip to suppress a laugh.

"Is everything... tasting okay?"

Joy's voice nearly sent me through the ceiling. When did she appear at my side? Did she just watch me feed the air? Clearly, judging by the puzzled look she gave to the waffle chunk, she hadn't seen Cade's ghostly form across from me.

I smiled anyway. "Absolutely delicious. Your finest work."

"I... I didn't make this." Her wide, brown eyes refused to meet mine. She clutched her coffee pot with a trembling hand. "Here." She set the pot of deliciousness in front of me. "Unlimited refills."

As she scurried away, I hurried to refill the two sips I'd taken.

Cade's gaze never left the woman, even after her hurried footsteps scuttled out of earshot. "What was that about?"

"You act like waffles fly off a fork and bounce off empty seats every day," I teased, wedging a fluffy bite between my teeth.

"I'm serious," said Cade. "She looked petrified. Not just now... even when she came out of the kitchen."

"Probably thought I was going to ask for her manager." I downed the waffle with more throat-searing, watery beans. The coffee was mediocre at best, but gods, would it feel good when it jolted my sleepy brain to attention. "Or she was trying to figure out how you casually know an evil spider."

Cade stiffened, pulling himself away from the table. "What?"

"You and Folga were pretty chummy back at the motel. Where'd you two meet? Was it Tinder? ArachnidsOnly.com?"

"I think you need less coffee."

I snorted. "Don't dodge the question. Rock stars don't hang out with spiders in their free time. I've seen some nasty, old venues, but I'm pretty sure something as big as her would be a serious health code violation."

Cade shifted uncomfortably, drawing circles on the table with his index finger. Trails of mist followed his touch and left delicate patterns on the worn surface.

"Folga is a Watcher," he mumbled, so softly I almost didn't hear him.

But I did, and I nearly lost my grip on the coffee mug. Watchers were rare. They were sent to keep tabs on the Underworld's collateral: those in debt to Death, escaped monsters who thought they'd found their freedom, souls past due on their demonic arrangements... but they never made their presence known to those they followed.

"How did you—"

"Rinzor wanted me to know she was there," he answered. "Wanted to make sure I kept up my end of the bargain."

Warning bells tripped in my brain. "You offered something else."

There was no other explanation. No demon would send a Watcher to taunt their clients into remembering that he would collect their soul. It was usually a foolproof die-and-swipe transaction. Despite Rinzor's apparent forgetfulness to collect a celebrity's soul, Cade wouldn't have had a Watcher on his tail unless he bargained with more than just his life.

If ghosts could sweat, Cade would have been even more drenched than he was from his pre-death shower. He had too much sealed behind those full lips—too many skeletons hiding in the walk-in closet he'd shown off on his TikTok.

When he opened his mouth, I grinned with the promise of answers more delicious than waffles.

Until Joy's shrill scream sailed from the kitchen.