This time, his smile looked like a present.
Thank you, Maribelle.
My lips met the bottle again, draining it to conceal whatever remained of my thoughts as I toasted the piece of me that allowed me to navigate impossible situations. She wasn’t me, and yet she was. Somewhere, deep within me, Marlow-Maribelle knew how to talk to this god.
Apep flipped on a light and revealed a perfectly normal study, save for its lack of windows and the blank, closed door on the far end. There was nothing exceptional about the room. It had upscale architecture, but it didn’t scream of importance. He gestured for me to take a seat, and I obliged. I was disconcerted only when he stood before me rather than sliding into another empty seat. He fished the tool from his pocket and popped the bottle cap before handing me my second drink.
“What should I call you?” he asked at long last.
Relief tingled from somewhere at the base of my skull. If he’d been avoiding my name so he could dispose of me, I could finally let that go.
“Merit,” I said.
Was it the fifth smile of the evening? The sixth? They were all so small, I wasn’t sure how to count them. “Because you wish to be judged by what you’ve earned?”
“It’s the name I’ve earned,” I said. “And you? Should I continue to call you Apep?”
“It’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He relaxed against the closed door as I sank into the couch. I watched him, knowing he could open the door to release hellhounds, or mustard gas, or a swarm of wasps. I had a valkyrie blocked from entry, and I’d done nothing to determine how to dismantle his wards. I kept my face relaxed as my gaze flickered to the doorway, wondering if my tattoo for true sight would grant me any indication of how to help the situation at hand.
“So, did you plan on telling me about the valkyrie in the bushes, or was she to remain a secret?”
