He lifted the mug and took a sip. He blinked, his black gaze riveted to mine, his stare incredibly intense.
I waited. “Feel a song coming on, Than?”
His lips twitched at one corner. “Not in the least.”
I pointed at him. “That’s what we mortals call a lie.”
He blinked again and rested the mug against his palm. “I am curious as to this favor.”
I wiped my hands on my jeans, slicking away the sweat there. It wasn’t particularly warm in the shop, but I felt like everything inside me was vibrating with the rhythm of the song in my head. It was like having the worst case of nerves, while also running a marathon. I felt shaky, a little nauseated, and overstimulated.
“I want to know the repercussions of my death.”
He held still in a way I’d seen very few people manage. Then he drew the mug back to his mouth and took another sip.
I felt the silence stretch out, and decided I didn’t have enough time left to wait for anything. Not even Death.
“Specifically, I want to know what happens if you kill me while I’m containing a god power.”
“Specifically,” he said.
“Specifically.”
“It would be a great disappointment to me, Reed Daughter. I would miss you. Specifically.”
“Oh,” I said softly. I swallowed against the mix of emotions. It was kind of him to say that. But kindness—if that was what that was—wouldn’t solve my problem.
“I…I need to know if my death would somehow keep the god power from tearing apart the town. If I die holding it, containing it, will it slow it down? Stop it?”
“I am not the guardian of power. That burden your family alone must bear.”
I laced my fingers on the tabletop and nodded. “I know. I know you’re not an expert in guarding powers. But you know your power like no other being. I want to know if Death can kill a power.”
He sat back, his face almost serene with wonder as his dark eyes studied me like I were something he had never seen before.
“Such a thing…” he whispered with hollow longing.
“Is that a yes?”
He shook his head slightly, bemused wonder still relaxing his features. “I do not know.”
“Crap.” I slumped against the back of my chair. “There goes my nuclear option.”
He sat up straight again, his fingertips stroking the curve of the mug before he slipped his fingers through the handle. It seemed to be an unconscious motion, but the way he did it made me think he was petting a cat.
Or a bunny.
I tipped my head a bit to get a better look at the repeating pattern in his sweater.
Yep. That was one hundred percent bunny loving going on.
“What I can assume from your question is that you are no longer confident that you can bridge the power to its mortal vessel. Is that correct?”
“Confidence in my ability isn’t really the problem,” I said, even though, yes, I was worried that I wouldn’t do that part right too. “The problem is I think the mortal vessel has skipped town before I could give him the power.”
“And why would he do that?”
“I kind of punched him in the face.”
