The Unlikeable Demon Hunter (Nava Katz #1)(63)

18





Monday morning, I hustled to go meet Dr. Gelman, banishing all Rohan Mitra thoughts from my mind. Today's weather was more spring than winter. Walking briskly kept me warm, even with my jacket open. I followed the map on my phone to our meeting, eyeing the building in question. Several signs on the ground floor invited people in to a billiards hall, but it did say Café Louvre in giant red neon letters along the second story. Worst case scenario and the place was a dump, I'd grab breakfast from my new favorite bakery on the way back to the hotel.

I hit the second floor and found myself transported. La Belle Époque, indeed. It was an airy, thoroughly charming Parisian café. A long rectangular room, the space was painted salmon pink and cream with rococo plaster touches and ceiling medallions. A long bar ran most of the length.

"Wait until you actually eat something," Dr. Gelman said. She braced a hand on the wall, winded from her climb to the second floor. Once she'd caught her breath, she noted today's outfit in approval. "Better."

With a final longing glance toward the pastry case, I followed her into the farthest reaches of the room. We sat down at a small wood table for two. The waitress handed us our menus and bustled off. There was a good selection of croissants and omelets, but I'd been promised pastry. I pointed back toward the case. "Which one should I have?"

"Go right for the treats, don't you?"

"Always. I want no regrets. You never know when you might die." I clapped a hand over my mouth, realizing that in her condition that might not have been the best thing to say.

"Don't stress yourself, kid."

The waitress came for our order. Dr. Gelman asked for an omelet for herself and the classic sacher for me. "A latte, please," I added.

The scientist looked around the mostly empty restaurant, as if memorizing the few patrons' faces.

"What's wrong?"

"Probably nothing." She pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "You got the supplies?"

"Yes." I reached for my purse to give them to her but she stopped me.

"Keep them. You'll need them for the ritual." She placed the cigarette in her mouth, coughing as she did.

"Really?"

She sighed, annoyed, but dropped the cancer stick on top of the pack.

"Thank you. How does the ritual work?"

"You know the story of the golem?" she asked.

"Clay monster. Rabbi brought it to life." Even if I hadn't vaguely known the tale, the story was set here in Prague. Half the tourist shops displayed books with covers to that effect in their windows.

The waitress deposited our lattes. I sucked my first sip back like a junkie getting her morning fix. Which, let's face it, I was.

"Once the golem had been physically built," Gelman said, "the rabbi needed to write the Hebrew letters aleph, mem, and tav on its forehead to bring it to life. They spelled ‘emet,' meaning truth."

I searched my brain for a long-buried memory of Jewish folklore told to me by my grandmother. "Didn't they stop the golem by erasing the word?"

"Not the entire word. The aleph. It changed emet to met. Death."



       
         
       
        

"I don't want Ari to be erased or die."

The waitress placed my sacher in front of me. A thick slab of chocolate cake. "You're so pretty, face cake!" I clapped my hands.

Gelman and the waitress looked confused.

"It's as big as my head," I explained. "Thus deserving of the moniker." The waitress shot me a weird look like she was wondering if my craziness might interfere with her tip. I beamed at her in reassurance. "Thank you."

She didn't look convinced and after telling us to let her know if we needed anything else, hustled away.

Dr. Gelman cut into her omelet. "Is your twin like you?"

"Not even a little bit. And yes, my parents were overjoyed by that fact. I see the look on your face."

She chuckled.

I dug my fork into the dark rich chocolate, making sure to snag some of the ganache coating and the whipped cream piled high on the side.

Oh, sweet mother of fuckers. I almost wept at the taste. It was the nirvana of chocolate, the perfect sweetness, the perfect moistness, the perfect richness, and then to reward the eater further, the cake was shot through with raspberry. Literally the best pairing in the world.

I dabbed at my eyes. "I'm all verklempt."

She smiled indulgently at me. "I'm glad you like it."

I forced myself to put my fork down and savor this experience. "Ari?"