“He had several too many. He’ll be fine in the morning. You know his constitution. Jean’s waiting for us in the car.”
We walked to the door.
“What did the deities have to say?” she asked.
“They don’t think Heimdall’s death was accidental either.” I pushed out into the cool, salty breeze. Took a nice deep breath. Smelled rain on the air.
“Is that all?”
“They made a deal with Dad that they’d help me through my first power transfer.”
“That’s…nice?” she said.
“And a little condescending. But yes. Mostly it’s nice.”
Jean perched on the hood of the car, drinking a beer and staring at the sky. “Finally. I thought you two would never come out. I am not the desig-ig…desig-nated driver tonight.”
Myra looked at me.
“I’m good. One beer two hours ago.”
She nodded and tugged on Jean’s leg, sliding her down the hood a bit.
“Yo-ho-ho,” Jean sang, “where’s my bottle of rum?”
“We’re leaving,” I said.
“Shotgun,” Myra said.
“Shotgun,” Jean said too late. Then: “Crap. Fine. I’ll sit in the back seat. Who’s covering my shift tonight?”
“You,” I said. “Roy’s already over his hours for the day. Ryder should be gone.” I started the engine. “Finish the beer. I’ll stay at the station, do some paperwork until you sober up, then it’s all yours.”
“Killjoy,” she said.
I glanced in the rearview. She stuck out her tongue at me.
“Want me to drop you at your place?” I asked Myra.
“No. I’ll go to the station too.”
“It’s not your shift.” I turned onto the main street. “You should get some sleep.”
“I can nap on the cot.”
“Are you that worried?”
“I just think we should all stick together tonight.”
And since it was such a nice thought, I didn’t argue.
Chapter 17
“CANNON LUBE?” I suggested, looking over the situation with a critical eye.
The groundskeeper’s daughter, Treana, who was sixteen now, snickered.
The groundskeeper was a woman named Stella with #6.5R Nice-n-Easy auburn hair pulled back in a tight bun and a badge and uniform that looked more official than mine. She speared me with a hard glare.
