I made a fifty-fifty waggle with my hand. “We did an awful lot of interfering. I’m thinking we might just rename this truck the I Told You So, now that Cupid’s on our ass.”
I focused on those last words, filled them with my love and my laughter. Whatever mess we were in with the god, we’d handle it. No matter what the outcome, we’d handle it together.
“No,” she breathed, pulling back her shoulders and straightening her spine. “We do this together. Face the god together, right, Brogan?”
“It’d be smarter to let me go see exactly what we’re driving into.”
“Don’t you dare leave me,” she said, her emotions still too close to the surface. Losing the book to a hunter had been hard. Stella possessing her had been harder. Lorde getting injured—shot to save Lula—had been the hardest.
She was tired, injured, holding on by a string. And now she had to face a god.
But not alone. Never alone.
I held my hand out for her, palm up. “Never alone, love. Not even when you’re being stubborn and a little stupid because you’re afraid. We are not helpless, you and I. And there hasn’t been anything in this world that’s been able to kill us yet.”
She put her hand, palm down, over where mine was resting on top of Lorde’s head. I squeezed it hard enough I imagined she might be able to feel my flesh, even though I knew she couldn’t.
But she could feel my intention, my faith in us. Right now, that was all I had to give her.
“Let’s drive, Lula. Let’s see what the god wants.”
Lu took her foot off the brake and headed toward the bridge.
It never ceased to surprise me how the freeway, running parallel to the Route, could be full of cars while the Route—a little shabbier, a little narrower, a little slower, a thing of the past—was largely ignored.
Right now I was grateful for it. There were no cars behind us and none ahead. Whatever was happening, wouldn’t put innocent people in danger.
The bridge over Kickapoo Creek wasn’t anything special. Built in 1954, the concrete parapet, with its squared off rails, stretched out ahead, the spaces between the rails and balusters sectioning sunlight and shadow out across the length of the bridge.
There was a man sitting on a beast of a motorcycle in the pullout—just a dirt, grass, and gravel shoulder to the left of the bridge where fishermen parked their vehicles while they rambled down to the creek in search of small mouth bass and channel catfish. The man glowed with power that moved and pulsed around him like refracted starlight.
Not a man, a god.
“He’s on the other side,” Lu said.
“Yeah, I see him.” I could feel him too. The burn of his power stabbed the back of my neck, spread forward over my head like a giant hand had just grabbed me from behind and wrapped fingers over my chin and cheekbones.
“No deals,” Lu said.
“No deals.”
“No lies,” Lu said.
“No lies.”
“No fear,” Lu said.
“No fucking fear. Go ahead, Lu. Get close.”
She pulled across the bridge and turned into the pullout next to the god.
Cupid wore black denim, leather chaps, and a black jacket over a gray shirt that looked surprisingly soft and worn in. He was a big man—not as big as I am, but by no means small—bald headed with a long gray goatee topped by a mustache that could go for handlebar style if he wanted. He wore black leather and boots.
A diamond flashed at the top of his right ear and two gold hoops glinted in his earlobes. Colorful tattoos covered the side of his neck above his collar, disappeared underneath, and spread out across his hands, covering one with an angry owl and the wordlead, the other with a dove and the wordgold.
“Don’t leave the truck,” I said. I pushed through the passenger door and stood in front of Cupid, arms crossed over my chest.
“We don’t meddle in the business of gods,” I said. “We’d prefer you don’t meddle in ours.”
