I wait.
When nothing else is forthcoming, I sigh. “Fine. We are playing that game, are we?”
“You aren’t ready to understand yet,” Dastian says quietly. “You need to stop fighting us and work with us. We all have skin in the game.”
“Skin in the game,” I repeat. “Easy for you to say. You’re immortal. I’m the one who bleeds when things go sideways.”
“We bleed,” Dastian corrects. “Just remarkably less often, and with more dramatic flair.”
I roll my eyes and turn to Voren. “Fine. Truce. Collaboration. Whatever you want to call it. Now, show me to a room that doesn’t feature a murderous ghost, or I’m sleeping in the bathtub.”
“The bathtub has a leak and a rather depressive selkie living in the drain. You’re better off with me.”
“With you,” I echo flatly.
“Unless you want to take your chances with the Surgeon.” He gestures to the dark corridor where the shadows seem to writhe with independent intent. “He does enjoy fresh patients. Has a thing for women’s bits.”
My stomach lurches at that nugget of information I could have lived three lifetimes without knowing. A floorboard creaks somewhere in the gloom, sounding suspiciously like a footstep. My bravado, already running on fumes and saturated fats, flickers and dies as I move into Voren’s personal space, nearly stepping on his toes. He stares down at me but doesn’t say anything, for which I’m grateful.
“Across the hallway,” he murmurs after a few awkwardmoments. “It was a guest room. Nothing creepy happened in there.”
“That you know of,” I mutter, but follow him out with the other two gods behind me. This is going to be a long night.
Chapter 21
Dastian
Watching Voren play the gallant knight while Dreven looms like a sentient storm cloud is possibly the best entertainment I’ve had in a century. It’s almost domestic, in a twisted, macabre sort of way. Nyssa is sticking to Voren’s side like glue, eyeing the shadows with legitimate suspicion, which is fair considering Dreven is currently wearing them like a bad mood.
“Cosy,” I drawl, as we enter the so-called guest room. It smells of lavender and rot. “Though I reckon the mattress might actually bite back in here.”
Nyssa shoots me a look that could curdle milk, but her amber eyes are still swimming with that volatile light.
“Are you going to stand making remarks, or are you going to be useful?” Nyssa asks, hugging her arms around herself.
“I find my commentary provides essential morale.”
“Whose?”
Dreven brushes past me, a wall of cold authority. “Don’t provoke her, or I will toss you out the window.”
We lock gazes. I have things I want to say to him, but it will have to wait until Nyssa is out of earshot. Telling her he knows what the Devourer is goes beyond reckless. Nyssa perches on the end of the bed and bounces a few times. When it doesn’t collapse, she curls up on the end and then her face crumples. “God, I stink,” she mutters. “Does this place have working plumbing?”
“What do you think?” I ask.
She sighs. “Then you will have to let me have a shower at my house tomorrow. I can’t walk around smelling like this. Never mind a power blast, I’ll knock innocents out from the noxious gas wafting off me.”
“Be thankful you didn’t have to live back in the day,” I say with a sage nod. “The stench was unbearable at times.”
“Summer,” Voren murmurs, wrinkling his nose. “Dreadful.”
“This isn’t making me feel any better. Shower. Tomorrow. My house.”
“There’s a bucket and well out back,” I offer helpfully.
“No,” she says with a finality that makes me cave. She can go wherever she likes.
Voren lies down next to her, and she doesn’t flinch, but I catch Dreven’s eye and gesture with my head to move back out into the hallway.
