“No.”Not anymore.“I’m being polite, but if you don’t want any, just say so.”
“Oh.”He scratched at the side of his neck, and for just a moment there was a vulnerable flash of the kid he must have been, however long ago.“Really?Okay.Sure.”
Oh, Liv, you can’t really believe all this bullshit.The trouble was, she was sort of starting to.“So I’m just a potential, I’m not really aliraiyet.”Liv sniffed gingerly at the latte—it was, indeed, blessedly plain—and took a long almost-scorching swallow, then picked up the heavy antique butter knife.“I’m gonna cut this in half and we can share.And you guys live for a long time.Do you ever die of old age?”
“Nope.”He watched her division of fluffy, golden-brown cakes, and his gaze kept stuttering to her face, patent disbelief making him look even younger.
“Because you stay young?”
“Because it’s a violent life.Statistics aren’t on our side.”Jake paced across mellow hardwood, his footsteps only making a token noise every now and again.He dropped into one of the chairs opposite her with that same eerie quiet.“And because if one of us goes around the bend, his brother—or his Father, or his sons—have to hunt him down and kill him.They know him best, so they can hunt him quickest.”
Well.There goes my appetite.The butter knife shook, so she laid it carefully down.“Is that so,” she managed, picking up her latte again.The pancakes could wait for a second.Coffee slopped inside a trembling paper cup.
“It’s all right,” Jake said, almost kindly.“You won’t go insane.Liraiare immune.”
Not comforting, kid.Funny, the longer Liv spent talking to this guy, the older she felt.“That’s nice.”
“And I’m too young to go dark, plus Erik would hang me up like a side of beef if I did.So don’t worry.”
“What about if Erik…?”She didn’t want to ask.And the old guy, did that mean he was more at risk of this nebulous insanity too?
What if all three of them decided she was too much trouble, or… God, it was a hall of mirrors.Even absolute proof of monsters seen with her own damn eyes wasn’t helping.
“Coffee first,” Jake said, and there was no levity remaining on his fair blond face.“Then worry about sanity.”
It was good advice, but she still didn’t like it.So she took another burning gulp and studied his face.“You still want some of my pancakes?”
“Maybe just a bit.”But he smiled, and just maybe she’d gotten through to at least one of her captors.
It was a start.“We’re going to have to share the plate.”She worked to keep her tone businesslike.“But I’m not sharing my coffee.”
Understatement
“Father?”Erik finished shaking droplets from dark hair, hissing slightly through his teeth to smoke the moisture into invisibility.You could keep the rain from touching you, but other spatters and stray droplets wormed their way in during winter, when everything was a grey aching mess.
At least, this far north it was.
“Ah, yes.Afternoon shift.”Ignatius considered the plate; on it, a wrapped vegetarian bagel sandwich sat, neatly cut in half and surrounded by an arc of plain potato crisps, misshapen gold coins.“She had a good appetite this morning.Perhaps she’ll want tea.”
“Maybe.”Erik glanced across the kitchen.One long counter held plain white boxes—everything from outside had to be examined and re-wrapped, not only to keep theirliraiinsulated from reminders of lost freedom but also to make sure no thin thread of ill intent wormed its way into the temple.Looked like Father had been busy shopping; he was an inveterate internet bargain hunter.“Who’s taking it in?”
“You may have the honor; Jake took her breakfast.I will visit the lady at dinner; I am told she has questions about her new status.”Ignatius’s frown was not quite magisterial, merely distracted.There were distinct smudges under his dark eyes, and he moved stiffly.A froth of parsley stood in a well-scrubbed water glass to his right; he selected a sprig and arranged it carefully.
“Restaurant quality.”Erik couldn’t help but smile, sobering when Ignatius glanced in his direction.Still, the old man looked pleased.
“It’s a good thing, to remind oneself of the… oh, the aesthetics of food.”Father’s fingertips flicked, and an invisible preservation folded over the plate.The tray’s domed silver cover stood ready at a precise angle, its surface showing a version of the kitchen and two men, distorted into monstrous shapes.“It sounds snobbish, doesn’t it.In any case, it helps to have something novel to focus on, or to anticipate a small pleasure.”
“Yeah.”But a Son had to be careful, toomuchnovelty and your moorings started to slip.It was a tricky balance; the god had as many whispers as there were dreams, and they were all shapechangers.Erik almost wanted to askhow are you holding up, but Ignatius might be offended at the implications, no matter how well-meaning the inquiry.“So, it’s a little active out there.”
“Active.”Ignatius did not raise an eyebrow, but it was probably close.
“Yes, sir.”Erik had long ago fallen into Father’s habit of understatement.The bleak humor in such a practice suited him.“Any word from Control?”
“Not in the last day or so.”Ignatius paused, examining his elder son closely.“It’s… worrisome, Erik.”
Erik’s back ached and his shoulder bore a ring of fresh, savage purple-red bruising.It would fade quickly, but fighting without backup was a good way to get an overload of cumulative damage, not to mention run a greater risk of sliding off the rails.
Keeping the god out of your head during a fight robbed a Son of concentration needed to stay alive.“They still want to wait for more daylight?”It boggled the mind, but this was just a frontier temple.Even moving the relatively few miles to Rochester—not Stanfeld, as he’d thought—was fraught with danger.
