Gladas pulled away from hugging Annabel and paced around the table, sighing. “Medea, though Hecate’s Acolyte, was closer to Circe—as Circe spends her time here on Earth, and Hecate prefers the Underworld. Circe must have spoken to Hecate and learned about you two. She knew about Xander’s job, about Mel’s abduction—all the right strings to pull you two into a trap. Circe said if Annabel and I brought you two back to her alive, she would provide us with a potion to lift the curse of the Scylla.”
“And you don’t believe her?” I asked.
“We believe her, but—”
“Do we want to sell our soul to the devil?” Annie blurted. “If we can get that potion without working for her… well, we would take that option every time.”
We all remained quiet for a moment. The winter wind had built momentum, and it worked against the small cabin. A sudden rain pattered on the tin roof and slicked the window. A leak allowed a steady dripping onto Andy’s nonexistent head, wetting the sheets and mattress.
“What if we could do both?” Xander asked, and every eye focused on him. “What if you can convince Circe you’re operating under her plan, when in reality you’re working against her?”
Gladas scratched his chin. Annie watched the water leak into her home, onto her brother.
“He means,” I said, “you take us to Circe and we fuck her shit up. Everyone is happy.”
Gladas beamed, his face breaking into a broad grin. “And I thought I would have to resort to threats to convince you to play along.”
“All right, then,” I said, slapping my knees and standing with a groan. The power high had faded, leaving my body riddled with pain. “Annabel is a Scylla, cursed by Circe because that freak loved Gladas, the Red Dot in your Neighborhood—and can you blame her? You want a potion that lifts the curse, so you two can finally— “ I made a loose fist with my left hand and moved my right index finger in and out of it. The action hurt my wrist—per usual—but it was worth it.
“Can you set up a meeting with Circe?” Xander asked Gladas.
“Also,” I said, “can we make plans for dinner? I’ve missed three meals today.”
“Three?” Gladas asked.
“Morning or post-breakfast beers. Afternoon beers. And now dinner. But the good news is I can still get my nighttime beers. I’ll make up for the lost calories that way.”
“You can eat here while we discuss the plan,” Xander said.
“What if I don’t want to? I had her fingernail stew earlier, and it made my mouth taste like gym socks. I can’t do it again. I really can’t.” I regarded Annie. “In your defense, my lady, it did cure my stomachache. So, that was pretty awesome.”
“You’re going to fight Circe on an empty stomach?” Xander asked. I’m serious when I say that guy was too much. It’s, like, dude, come on. Let me live my life and make my own mistakes.
“No, I’m not,” I said. “We’re going to swing by a burger joint and get me some fast food. So, let’s talk the shit out of this plan and get our heinies on the road.”
After a little more back and forth, which I’m sure you don’t really care to hear about—it was mostly just me making very solid points while Gladas and Xander basked in the glow of my insight and wisdom and strategic prowess, as Annie tried unsuccessfully to hide her lady boner over my charm and wit and perfect jawline and shredded muscles.
Two of those things are a lie. One is the truth. It’s up to you to decide which is which.
14
Xander drove Annabel, following Gladas and me back to Sacramento. I rode shotgun in his Tesla. I’m not saying I drew the longer straw in that deal… but I definitely won the game Xander and I weren’t playing. Gladas had insisted that Xander and I should split up. Apparently, he had yet to trust my boyish charm.
After being in the car for five minutes in the worst kind of silence—complete and utter—I tried to turn the radio on for a little distraction, but Gladas denied the action.
“So,” I said, unable to bottle my words inside any longer. They say it’s unhealthy to store your feelings and thoughts, and who am I to question the experts? “Tell me about yourself.”
“I’ve told you everything you need to know.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Don’t have one.”
“Weirdo. Mine’s purple.” I stroked my chin, thinking of another question. “Beer or wine.”
“Bourbon.”
“That wasn’t the question. Okay, forget it. I’ll tell you a little about me, then. Contrary to what people think, I’m a lover—a romantic. I’m a giver, if you know what I mean. Generous. In the bedroom, that is, in case you’re not keeping up. Some women have compared me to a chihuahua. Small in size, but aggressive with my passion to please.” I glanced at the dashboard clock. It read a little after seven. “What time you think we’ll get to Sacramento? Like in thirty minutes?”
“Another hour,” Gladas said.
“Are you serious? But I’m starving! You’re a Nephil. Teleport us.”
“A Demi. I don’t have that power.”
“You are literally the worst, which is saying a lot, because Xander was once the worst. And let me tell you something, Xander is the worst! So, for you to outrank him says a lot about how terrible of a person you are.”
“I am as I am,” Gladas said. I didn’t believe that pretentious statement earned a response from me, so the silence resumed. After a few seconds, Gladas broke it. “The demonic power you possess is incredibly dangerous. Only the most powerful Nephil have access to umbrakinesis, or shadow magic. Hecate. Hades. Persephone. Nephil who have conspired in some manner with demons. And even their umbrakinesis is weak compared to someone like Nyx or Erebus or Azrael.”
“What about Lucifer?” I asked.
“He is the Wyvern,” Gladas said. “The King of Demons. Only the Dragon
