“That sounds better. I’d be his boss.”
“There are also some notes that say the warden, being set into place under the power of a god outside Ordinary, doesn’t have to follow any of Ordinary’s rules and can be judge, jury, and executioner.”
“Let’s go back to the part where I don’t want to throw Ryder out of town.”
“That’s the last thing.”
I shrugged into my coat and glanced out the window while Myra set the security system. The night was cloudy and clear, no rain.
“What?” I asked.
“There’s a question of whether or not any one god’s power can directly affect Ordinary’s laws set in place over the other gods.”
Time worked in Ordinary. So did life, death, love, war, poetry, harvest, and all the many other aspects of life that gods ruled over. But gods generally did not like to be beholden to any other god. That was the whole reason why the Reed family had been set into place as guardians and law-keepers.
We were an unbiased party.
“Huh. So maybe Mithra is all noise, no substance?”
“It was pretty obvious that the gods at least noticed Ryder was the warden. Old Rossi and Granny Wolfe seemed to listen to him. Maybe it’s one of those jobs that will be defined by the person who holds it.”
I thought about that. Wondered what role Ryder would want to play in this town now that its secrets were being revealed. Wondered if it would get in the way of whatever welcome-wagon spy thing he was doing for the DoPP.
“We’ll figure it out.” We walked to the parking lot. “Get some sleep, My. You have a race to win.”
“You too. Nice job with the powers, by the way. Can’t believe Odin took them so easily, and Crow didn’t argue about leaving town.”
“Two tricksters behaving themselves? Maybe our luck is finally warming up.”
She laughed as she got in the cruiser. Yeah, I didn’t believe that, either.
~~~
I woke too quickly, sweat from restless dreams cold against my skin in the darkness. My cell phone rang again. I pulled it to me, not bothering to look at the caller before answering.
“Hey, Delaney,” Jean’s voice was thick with sleep, or the lack of it. “Jame’s conscious. He can answer questions. Come on down?”
I rubbed at my eyes and shivered in the cool of my house. “I’ll be right there.”
I thumbed off the call, then glanced at the clock. Four a.m.
At least the roads would be quiet.
I dressed in jeans, flannel and boots, grabbing my official jacket on the way out. Just like I had since last May, I scanned the staircase and gravel dead end for shadows or people before I started down the stairs.
Someday I’d get over being jumped and shot in my own driveway. Today was not that day.
It took under three minutes to get to the hospital, the roads empty, the puddles having shrunk a bit from the break in rain.
Before I had a chance to ask where Jame was roomed, the receptionist pointed me down the hall and told me the number.
I was just now awake enough that I wished I’d taken some time to brew coffee before coming here.
Too late for that now. I knocked quietly, then let myself in.
There were five people in the room. Two of the Wolfe boys standing on either side of the door, twin columns of muscle and anger posted there as guards; Jean sitting in the chair at the right of his bed; and Granny Wolfe standing at the head of his bed on the left, her hand on Jame’s shoulder.
Jame was more human than I’d last seen him, cleaned up, pale with a bandage on his neck. He was wearing a hospital gown, so I couldn’t see any other wrappings or stitches, but there also didn’t appear to be any other heavy-duty gizmos or equipment attached to him to indicate more serious wound care.
