“Huh.” Glyma cocked a hip, gaze jumping between them. “This might be the most sexual tension I’ve ever witnessed between you two.”
“Oh, gross!” Quin cried as Waryn gasped dramatically, hand pressed to his chest in affront.
“You take that back, young lady!”
And Glyma laughed, full-bellied and boisterous. It may have put a sappy smile on Quin’s face, but she would never admit to it. “How does anyone believe you two are in love?”
“Because I am an exceptional actor,” Waryn boasted.
“And I scare people into compliance,” Quin said.
“Sure,” Glyma said before she took Quin’s arm and dragged her toward the station exit. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
Outside the station, the blue sun felt extra bright and hot, glaring off the teal sand. The mustard sky was clear of any clouds to offer shade, and Quin—who had sharper eyesight than most—had to squint to protect her retinas.
They fell into step with one another as they crossed the sand toward a dilapidated, yellow brick building with a red metal roof. Quin walked in the middle, Waryn on her left, Glyma to her right. Glyma linked them at the elbows, and Quin tried to calm her racing heart.
“You look nice,” Glyma said, smoothing a hand over the lapel of her Quin’s powder blue blazer. “It’s a good color on you.”
She blushed like a teenager and ducked her head. “Thank you. Your dress is very fetching—I mean, it’s a pretty pattern.”
“Thanks. It has pockets!” Glyma showed off the pockets with her free hand, and Quin chuckled.
“All your dresses have pockets. I thought it was a prerequisite for you.”
“I do love a dress with pockets,” Glyma agreed. “Why should I have to sacrifice convenience for beauty? Men get pockets on everything, and they barely have any stuff.”
“I agree,” Waryn said. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense. Except for, you know, sexism.”
Meeting Waryn’s gaze above Quin’s head, Glyma said, “If marrying you wouldn’t make Quin miserable, I would be so happy you’re the man she chose.”
Waryn simpered. “Aw, Glyma, that is so sweet.”
“When did this become my life?” Quin questioned no one in particular.
“Oh my gods, look at it,” Glyma breathed, squeezing Quin’s arm.
Quin followed Glyma’s gaze to the building rising before them. It wasn’t in horrible disrepair. Some weather damage and discoloration, and one of the windows was cracked. But the roof was in good shape, thankfully, and from the quick perusal Quin gave it, the foundation looked sound.
“The sign will go right there. The Passing Through Cafe.” Glyma waved at the brick above the front door.
“You chose a name?” Quin asked, and Glyma shrugged.
“It’s my favorite so far. Has a nice ring to it.”
“I don’t get it,” Waryn said.
“Because no one comes to Purgatory,” Quin started.
“They’re only passing through,” Glyma finished.
Waryn chortled. “Clever girls.”
The front door opened, and a harrowed looking Sypent scowled at them. “You’re late.”
“Come now, my good man. Only a few minutes. We were admiring the architecture.” Waryn slapped the Sypent on the shoulder, making his tail rattle in warning.
Thank the deities Quin and Waryn were here for the viewing. The Sypent was from Pride—and a man—and if he felt comfortable enough speaking that way to Waryn, a Daemon from Greed—and also a man—how much worse would he have treated Glyma had she come alone?
