" I scrubbed at the mirror harder and wondered how Tyler cleaned the one in his bathroom. 

Or if he had someone else do it for him.

Someone like Oksana.

“Oksana, Oksana, Oksana,” I muttered as I continued cleaning the mirror. It was weird to be so deeply jealous of someone I knew nothing about.

I had just finished up when I heard a noise. I figured it was Pigeon, but then she came in to sit on the floor next to my feet. She was whimpering.

Which meant . . . I went down the hallway and found Oksana in the kitchen.

I tried not to gasp. I’d chanted her name and had accidentally summoned her.

She had spread groceries all over the counter. A large pot sat on the stove, and I heard bubbles popping, as if something was boiling.

For all that was holy, I hoped it wasn’t a bunny. Whatever it was, it smelled a little like dirt and sulfur. Wasn’t that how brimstone was supposed to smell?

Maybe she was cooking up something for her good buddy, Satan.

“Hello.” I smiled and waved at her.

She had a cigarette hanging from her lower lip. She paused from cutting up a head of cabbage to glare at me and then resumed her cutting.

When it was obvious she wasn’t going to respond, I opted to be more direct. “What are you doing here?” Did somebody accidentally leave the gates of hell unlocked? I hoped I didn’t come across as too accusatory. I was genuinely bewildered to find her in my apartment again.

Her eyebrows went up, as if my question were stupid. “Cooking.”


“Oh. So, what are you, uh, making there?”

“Borscht.”

That was a kind of soup if I remembered correctly. “What do you use to make borscht?”

She glared at me again, obviously not in the mood to talk, and it kind of surprised me when she answered. She held the large knife she was using against her shoulder, making me feel the tiniest bit of fear. “Beets. Cabbage. Knucklebones. And other things.”

Knucklebones? Like . . . from people? What other animals had knuckles? This concerned me.

“Well, that sounds . . . great. Have fun. I’m going to go clean.” She so didn’t care what I was going to do. I wanted to ask her not to smoke because I was a big fan of my own lungs and breathing in general, but I didn’t know if I had the authority to say so.

I scampered away, trying not to think about how unfair it was that she not only looked that way but could cook, too. She’d probably never stick a cast-iron pan in the dishwasher. "

― Sariah Wilson , Roommaid