Jarod picked up his glass and took a sip. When he nodded to Muriel, she filled myglass.
I was drinking wine. Letting a mob boss do things to my body that would make the residents of Abaddon pray for my wicked soul. And wearing a very unangelic dresscommando.
When both Muriel and the waiter left the dining room, I said, “Maybe I shouldn’t help get your rank under fifty. I’m pretty sure if I ever ascend, I’ll be going straight toAbaddon.”
Jarod tossed his head back and laughed, which in turn made megrin.
Now I was cracking jokes about Hell? What was the world comingto?
Still chuckling, he leaned toward me and raised his glass. “To Abaddon and the magnificent angel who’ll be sharing mycell.”
Shaking my head, I clinked my glass gently to his, then drank, the crisp buttery flavor thrilling my taste buds. I must’ve hummed, because Jarod’s mouth twisted into a brazensmirk.
The dining room doors swept open then. I squared my shoulders as Tristan took the seat opposite me. The room became so silent I could hear the brush of his chair’s feet against the deep-huedrug.
Jarod leaned back, spinning his wineglass between his long fingers. “Tristan? I think you have something to tellLeigh.”
Tristan eyed the wine shimmering in my glass. “Leigh, I apologize for having subjected you to Jarod’s meeting. I have little faith in people and projected my qualms on you. My actions and words were indecent andundeserved.”
I gave a quick nod, but that was mostly for Jarod’s sake, because Tristan’s apology was far too polished to settleme.
As he scooped out the bottle of wine Muriel had placed in a silver ice bucket at the center of the table, he said, “I thought drinking was against yourfaith.”
“It . . .is.”
“Devout people make my skin crawl. They’re so convinced that prayers and higher beings can solve all of their problems it turns them into indolent, entitled societal burdens who talk out of their asses more often than their mouths.” He took a swig of his wine and licked his lips. “Looting Uncle Isaac’s cellar, Isee.”
“He’s no longer here to drink, but weare.”
“To the simple pleasures in life.” Tristan raised his glass. “Wine, women, and punishingswine.”
The waiter arrived then, holding a tray laden with crimped white ceramic dishes overflowing with golden domes that wobbled as he walked. He presented me with the tray first, and I picked up one of the platedsoufflés.
“Don’t touch the ramequin, mademoiselle. They’re very hot,” hewarned.
I waited until everyone was served to break the puffed cupola with my spoon. The egg concoction deflated like an unplugged bouncy castle, discharging a ribbon of tangy steam that made my stomach grumble. I ate in silence, listening to Jarod and Tristan discuss an upcomingtrip.
They left out the finer details, and the larger ones too, for that matter. All I gleaned was that they would depart for Nice in the morning on a private jet and be back in time for dinner. As my spoon scraped the bottom of my dish, I pondered how Jarod’s score could decrease if he kept conducting business with shady people, because sadly, I doubted all the Court of Demons did waspunishswine.
The waiter returned to clear our soufflés, presenting us with new ones, pink this time. “Tomato reduction,” heexplained.
Would there be more savory ones after this? Perhaps, I shouldn’t clean off each dish, but the eggy treats were so incrediblylight. . .
Dipping my spoon in, I asked, “Jarod, why don’t you hold your day of succor once a week instead of once amonth?”
Tristan gored his soufflé. “That would turnLa Cour des Démonsinto the WailingWall.”
I disregarded his comment, waiting for Jarod’sresponse.
He studied his pink dome. “I don’t have time to organize it every week, Feather,” he said, making my hope deflate like Tristan’s soufflé. “But we could hold it twice a month.” He lifted his eyes tomine.
If Tristan hadn’t been in the room, I would’ve gotten up and kissed Jarod for his concession. Instead, I held on to his gaze and expressed my gratitude with asmile.
“Tristan, find a date in my calendar for the next one and spread theword.”
Jarod’s order turned Tristan’s cool expression crisper. “I’ll get to it afterdinner.”
If we’d been kids, and the table hadn’t been banquet-sized, he probably would’ve kicked my shins under the table. Since we were all adults, we contented ourselves with ocular jousting and tightretorts.
