Free The One We Feed by Kristina Meister Page A

a
plate of lemons for my water, if that’s okay,” I began, and when she looked at
me as if I’d committed a venal sin, I rounded out the order with, “and a cup of
your strongest caffeinated beverage for the kid.”
    Jinx shifted
uncomfortably and slapped a bloody hand on the dirty table. “No, no fucking
metabolic boosters. I’m werewolf, fucking hungry! I need meat—the biggest,
thickest, bloodiest steak-ground thing you make, A-sap. I’m talking still
mooing. Hell, just bring the fucking cow out, and I’ll gnaw a piece off it.”
    Her eyes sought
mine for a translation. I glanced at the menu and tried to smile, as if it was
all an inconvenient joke from someone who just didn’t get it. “Bring the coffee
anyway, and the largest, rarest steak you make, please.”
    “Soup or
salad?”
    “You have
either?” I replied, stunned.
    Her head
tilted upward snootily, as if it should be obvious that the fog wasn’t strong
enough to keep all culture out. “Yeah. Which one?”
    I glanced at
the boy. His eyes were so narrowed that I thought he might have developed laser
vision. It was clear that he did not want to waste energy on words.
    “What kind of
soup?”
    “Chicken.”
    Meat . Perfect .
“Soup.”
    She scribbled.
“Vegetable or beans?”
    “Um.” I waved
at the air. Beans had protein. “Beans.”
    “You want
toast or biscuit?”  
    “Look, woman,
I don’t fucking care what kind of carbohydrate you put on the stupid plate!”
Jinx roared. “We both know it’s just a butter-delivery device so just get me
the fucking steak!”
    “Jinx,” I
hissed. I glanced at her; her mouth had fallen open. “I’m sorry,” I lied. “He’s
in shock. He needs protein. He’ll have a biscuit, thanks.”
    She looked
unconvinced but stomped away, tossing sassy looks over her rounded shoulder.
    I sat still,
as if nothing were the matter. The last thing we needed was for the cops to
walk in. I smiled artfully at Jinx, turning my control over my muscles into a
performance for the Academy. “She could spit in it, you know.”
    “I don’t
fucking care if she pees in it.”
    To my
surprise, he picked up the glass of water and began to gulp it down, then tossed
himself back and squeezed his eyes shut. He seemed to be in a great deal of
pain, and as I looked at his midsection, I could see that the false clot was
shifting from the open wound in his stomach. Perhaps because of its
interference, the gap was not knitting shut as quickly as mine had, nor did it
seem to be as clean a closure. I was tempted to ask about it but was certain
that if I did, he would grab the plague-carrying ketchup and fire. I sat there,
feeling useless, until a memory hit me.
    “I’ll be back.”
I got up and walked to the bar counter. She was standing there, a tray in front
of her, my tiny plate of dried-out lemon slices waiting beside the saucer for
the extra-strong coffee she was making. As I walked up, she seemed to retreat
into the appliances.
    I smiled, but
we both knew it was a compulsory gesture.
    “Do you sell
memorabilia?”
    “Huh?” Her
ponytail swung as her head slid back on her shoulders in confusion. “You mean
T-shirts and stuff?”
    “Yes,” I
sighed. “I’d like one.”
    Her eyes
twitched in Jinx’s direction. He was busy emptying the sugar packets into my
glass of water and stirring like a madman.
    “Yes, for him.”
    She walked
over to the glass cabinet and unlocked the sliding door. When she emerged, she
had a bright red shirt that bore the logo of the restaurant and a black shirt
embossed with the words “BIG MEAT.”
    I pointed at
it.
    “You sure?”
    “Definitely.”
    She shrugged
and tossed it at me, lapsing into a grin as if it was a bet she’d just won. “I’ll
put it on your bill.”
    “Thanks.”
    On the way
back to the table, I snagged the ice-water pitcher and a second box of sugars. When
they appeared beside him, the boy looked up at me as if I were a saint. He was
using a teaspoon to measure out