He hummed, then pushed the soda bottles, one at a time, in front of each of us. “Is that the way she said it? ‘The god’?”
“Yes.”
“She didn’t say my name? Any of them? Mention my power? My traits?”
“No.” I knew what he was getting at, and I sure as shit didn’t like it.
“There are a lot of gods in this world, Brogan. A lot more in the universe.” His tone was fatherly, and there was a hint of relief, a little humor too.
I sighed and pulled the soda toward me. “All right. Which god do you think she was talking about?” I took a swig. Blueberries, and something rich like honey that sang to me of spring and sunlight, bloomed across my tongue. It was delicious, and I was certain it wasn’t a soda this shop carried, but rather one Cupid had created just for me.
“Could be any god,” he said. “If I knew more of what Euterpe wanted, it would help.”
“She didn’t tell me more. Other than the god would kill me as soon as we found the spell book.”
Lu, who had been sipping soda the color of starlight, jerked as if slapped. She placed the bottle that smelled of quince blossoms on the table in front of her, her gaze on Cupid alone.
“What god wants us dead?” she asked.
Cupid gave a short shake of his head. “I don’t know the minds of most gods.”
“What god wants the spell book enough to kill us for it?” she pressed.
“Either many, or none. It was made so long ago, I don’t know that any god remembers it, or cares that it exists.”
“You remember it. You know it exists,” Abbi said.
“And at least one other does,” he agreed.
“Someone who knows we’re looking for it,” I added.
“Possibly.” He drummed blunt fingers on the table.
“Why us?” Lu asked. That was a question we’d both pondered in the weeks since we’d first met Cupid. “There are other people on the road. Others who use magic. Others who are better at finding things. Locating lost magical items. Why did you choose us?”
Cupid’s expression was grave. “Because the book had already found you. Out of all the people on this earth, it fell into your hands. There are few who can touch it without suffering the consequences. The book is built to choose who holds it.”
I remembered the story of the man in the suit who had given the book to the ghost, Stella, and that he’d told her the book chose its owner.
I could tell Lu wanted to argue with him. The hunter had stolen it from us, hadn’t he? But then, there might be a magical workaround for holding the book. Might be magical items that could negate the book’s protection.
“Someone burned our storage unit looking for it,” Lula said.
Cupid blinked, surprised. “Who?”
“We don’t know,” she said. “Maybe the same person who ran us off the road and tried to kill us.”
Now his head tipped back, and his nostrils flared. I expected the music to pause, time to skip, as it had with Eunice, but reality remained unchanged.
The god though, he was different. Larger, more powerful, less human. He filled the space and gave it a weight as if everything here was rooted in place, immovable as the mountains.
I inhaled and blinked, and Bo once again appeared to be nothing more than a bald, bearded biker, holding a soda.
“When I have an answer,” he said, “the right answer to who is trying to kill you, I will tell you. But until then, I will do what I can.” He flattened his palm and slid his hand forward to the center of the table. “If any of you need to call me, use this, and I will hear you.”
He lifted his hand. I expected something magical, something magnificent, something rare.
“Dimes?” I asked.
