“So we’re killing a god?” Steady as a mountain, my wife. Cold as steel.
“Looks like it. Have to find the god first.”
“And the book,” she said.
“Not sure I want the book to be involved.”
“You know why Mad Mat wanted you dead? You know why he buried me?”
“He—Mad Mat isn’t a man. He’s…she’s a god named Atë. Mad Mat is just an illusion, a shape she’s using. Atë wants the spell book of the gods and thinks we can open it for her. Death said… I think he thinks we can use it.”
“But not alive?” she asked. “Atë sent the monsters to bind us to the road and tried to kill you after Cupid had brought you back. Atë wants you a tethered spirit, Brogan, and me a monster.”
“Hey, now.” I didn’t argue, because she was right. Still, I rubbed her back again. We were quiet for a moment.
“If Atë is a god,” Lula said, “Why can’t she use the spells in the book on her own?”
“Because,” a deep voice said from the doorway, “she wasn’t one of the gods who offered a spell for the book.”
Cupid was in his biker form again. Bald head, white beard, jewels in his ears. Tattoos of the dove on one hand and owl on the other and more tattoos twining up his arms. Biker-black leather vest over a black T-shirt, jeans, and boots—also black—finished the look.
“Eunice has tea and food, if you’d like to join us,” he said.
Lorde hopped off the bed and trotted over to him like she’d forgotten we existed. She wagged her tail andwoofed softly.
Cupid knelt in front of her and rubbed at her ears. “Hello there, girl,” he said. “Have you been keeping an eye on them for me?”
She made a growly, vocal sound.
“Yes, you are a good girl. Finding Lula. Very good girl.” There was a bone in his hand now, and he offered it to her.
Lorde took it delicately from his fingers, her tail still wagging. He gave her side a pat, a soft smile on his face, then flicked a glance our way. “I’ll see you in the kitchen when you’re ready.” He walked out with Lorde following, absolutely smitten with him.
We waited until the sound of his boots on the wooden floor faded. He could probably hear us no matter how quietly we talked, but still, the illusion of privacy was nice.
“We could end our contract,” I said. “Tell Cupid we’re done looking for the book for him. We technically found it. Atë has it. We can tell him we’re done running his errands.”
Lula slid her hand in mine. “Do you really want him against us?”
“I’m not sure that’s the position he’d take. He could just find two other unlucky clods to track down the book.”
“Maybe Cupid already has the book. That fight with Atë. He might have taken it from her back at the house.”
I inhaled as deeply as I could, ribs twinging, then blew the breath out. “I suppose we’ll find out. Cup of tea with a god?”
“Coffee,” she said. “Eunice has a special blend.” She tugged on my hand, helping me swing my legs over the edge of the bed.
“How long have we been here?” I asked, unable to tell if it was day or night in the windowless room. I took a few shuffling steps and realized I needed to piss.
“Three days.”
I scowled, unhappy at being unconscious for so long. “Three?”
She ducked under my arm and propelled me toward the door. “We’ve been fine. Eunice has been nice. Abbi’s happy.” That, she said a little quieter, and I knew why.
We were both growing fond of the little moon rabbit. But she had a bit of the wild in her. She had a way of making friends, making family, and then running off. She’d already joined and left behind two clans of werewolves who adored her.
“She called Cupid,” I said, “after she figured out the illusion wasn’t you.”
