Be Careful What You Wish For: A Zombie Apocalypse-Chapter 507: Pretty Damn Close

The silence was... weird.

I wasn’t used to it yet. The voices were gone, the emotions walled off. My mind was finally mine again, and it was too damn quiet.

I wasn’t that I was against a peaceful mind, it was just so...

Boring.

For the first time since I was 5, I didn’t have a single voice in my head, not even the Sins. Was this how normal people lived? If so, it was the pits.

Instead of sitting around my room, staring at a wall, I decided to wander around Hallow, trying to find something interesting. ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com

I checked all the rooms I could find. And I found a lot of rooms. There were more lounges, dens, and living rooms than any house should have, and there were even more bedrooms and bathrooms.

By the time two hours of exploration had gone by, I was absolutely certain of one thing.

I was extremely happy I wasn’t the one who had to keep this place clean.

A big house was nice and all... but keeping it clean? That was a full-time job all on its own. And not an overly fun one at that.

Moving on from the rooms, I started to count the floor tiles. I even tried rearranging some of the plants in the first-floor living room, but Hallow didn’t seem to appreciate my artistic interpretation of what plants should go where. I mean, they were all green, was it really that big of a deal?!?

Apparently, it was.

After Hallow had rearranged what I had rearranged for a fifth time, I gave up. I even tried watching the clouds drift past the window for a while, but they didn’t shift fast enough. Giving up, and needing a bit of chaos in my life, I considered starting a small fire in the sitting room, just to give myself a project.

But once again, Hallow put them out before they could really get going.

Spoil sport.

Eventually, I followed the smell.

Warm, spicy, rich. Like comfort and chaos simmering in a pot. I slipped around the corner, socked feet silent on the stone floor.

"Whatcha doing?" I asked, leaning against the kitchen doorway.

Beau glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smile. "Making some food. Nothing comes before food, don’t ya know."

He turned back to the stove, giving the pot a lazy stir.

"The only problem is... I’m not sure about the recipe," he continued, narrowing his eyes down into the massive pot. "And I don’t know if this looks right."

I stepped closer, peeking over his shoulder. "You can’t fuck up gumbo... not after you make the roux. Then it’s the trinity. After that, it’s smooth sailing."

Beau arched an eyebrow. "Are you still speaking English? Why don’t I understand anything that just came out of your mouth? Meh, whatever. Are you making this, or am I?"

"I can make it," I offered with a shrug, already grabbing an apron off the hook. It had been forever since I’d stepped into a kitchen, but the idea of making dinner for the family... for my family—yeah, that was something I could really get behind.

"And you are now officially helping," I grinned up at him.

"I wouldn’t have it any other way," he replied with a grin of his own.

We moved easily around each other. I chopped onions; he diced peppers. I stirred the roux; he added the sausage and the shrimp. It was strange how normal it felt. No one trying to kill me. No demons crying in my head. No magic. Just the clatter of spoons, the hiss of oil, the occasional swearword when I burned my finger.

"Cooking always felt like magic to me," Beau said quietly. "Taking broken bits and leftover pieces and making something warm. Something that fills you."

"Yeah, well," I muttered, dropping diced okra into the pot. "Not everything that fills you is good."

He looked at me sideways. "Is that why you always eat like you’re daring the food to fight back?"

"Shut up," I smirked. I mean, he wasn’t wrong.

He reached over and flicked a bit of flour at me.

I retaliated with a spoonful of the half-made gumbo. It landed on his shirt.

"Now, sugar," he warned, "that’s a war you don’t want to start."

"I always want to start something," I replied, grinning. "I can even promise to end it, too."

He grabbed a piece of chopped okra and tossed it like a grenade. It hit me square in the forehead and stuck for a second before sliding down my nose.

"You did not just okra me."

"I did. Whatcha gonna do about it?"

I narrowed my eyes and grabbed the cayenne pepper. "I will sabotage your spice levels."

"You wouldn’t dare."

I dumped a giant pinch into the pot, my eyes lighting up as he went pale.

Beau gasped, dramatic as ever. "You’ve committed a war crime. I’m telling Chang Xuefeng."

"Knowing Daddy, he’d probably ask for seconds."

We didn’t talk much after that. We didn’t have to. The gumbo did the speaking. The kitchen felt alive. It smelled like heat and home. There was music playing somewhere—a low jazz tune that neither of us remembered turning on.

Beau hummed along off-key while I tasted the beautiful chocolate brown goodness.

"Needs more heat," I muttered under my breath.

He passed me the cayenne without asking.

I added a bit. Stirred, tasted, and then nodded happily.

By the time we were ladling it into bowls, I was smiling without thinking about it. I didn’t feel like a god. I didn’t feel like the Devil. I just felt like a girl making dinner with someone who understood her kind of quiet.

Beau passed me a spoon. "Moment of truth."

I tasted it. Savory, rich, perfect.

"Damn," I said, impressed. "We might not be terrible at this."

He winked. "That’s because you had a professional glutton helping."

I snorted. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t eat it all before the others get here."

"No promises."

I leaned against the counter, bowl in hand, watching him devour his with the joy of a man who believed food was religion. It was kind of endearing. And messy. And very, very Beau.

"You ever think about what it’d be like if this was normal?" I asked, not looking at him.

Beau swallowed, licked his spoon clean. "This is normal. For us."

I laughed, not bitter for once. "God help us."

He grinned. "God’s not invited. But I bet Hell’s gonna smell amazing tonight."

As the kitchen settled into warmth and steam, I closed my eyes for just a second. The silence in my head didn’t bother me as much now. Not when there was jazz playing, spices in the air, and someone by my side who knew how to fight demons—with food.

The world outside wasn’t perfect.

But at this moment?

It was pretty damn close.