I knew we were right to come to Dionysus. The gods and the entities had lived for so long that really, any way they could apply themselves was a welcome diversion from the utter boredom of immortality. It was why Dionysus opened the Amphora, the reason Odin had a bed and breakfast, and that Loki was the head of his own multinational conglomerate. Forever, it seemed, was boring as hell, and we were practically doing Dionysus a favor by presenting him with a mystery. He hadn’t even asked for an offering in return. I knew, instinctively, that this was enough.
“Then we should get going,” I said, getting up from the couch, nodding at the others to do the same. “I’d like to see if we can secure more information, continue investigating.”
Dionysus crossed his legs, planted his elbow on his thigh, then dug his chin into the palm of his hand, smiling up at me. “Look at you, little nephilim. When I first met you, you were a knobbly twig of a boy, unsure of yourself, and awkward.”
I pulled my shoulders back, slighted, flexing every muscle in my body. Did he really just call me a twig?
“And look at you now,” he continued. “So confident and self-assured, a go-getter in every sense. But you must indulge me. It’s been so boring around here at the Amphora and I’ve been wanting to liven things up a little. We’re known for the parties, for the excellent wine, but I’d like my humble establishment to be known for fantastic food, too.”
I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Where are you going with this, exactly?”
Dionysus sprang to his feet. “I’ve invited a very famous chef to put together a special menu, for a few nights only. I’m feting the brightest stars of Valero society, both the normals and the supernaturals. If this goes well, then I can expand the Amphora’s offerings significantly, no?” He gazed into the distance and swept his hand in an arc, like he was imagining a huge marquee with his name in lights. “Dionysus, god of wine and food so fine.”
It was risky, but I chuckled at his enthusiasm. “That’s a little cheesy, even for you, don’t you think?”
“How splendid,” a piercing voice announced. “How did you possibly guess that the menu would feature so much cheese?”
This new person had just swept into the room with a little flourish, like he was announcing his own arrival. Our interloper was a blond man with a strong jaw and strong hands, his hair best described as long and floppy, the silk cravat tied around his neck wispy and elegant. His style was an odd mix of hard and soft, really, with a hefty dose of pretentious baked right in.
“Ah,” Dionysus said, approaching the man, throwing an arm across his shoulders. “And here is the man of the hour now.”
I narrowed my eyes at the man, this famous chef. Hey. Wait a minute. I knew this guy. I’d just seen him on television that morning.
5
“Hold up,” I said. “You’re Marcel Dubois.”
The man held a hand to his chest, unable to contain the thrill of being recognized. “Ah, so you have heard of me?”
I almost answered “Barely,” with my actual mouth, but managed to bite the retort back down. “A little,” I said, being very careful to give him a passably genuine smile. “A friend of ours is a very big fan of yours.”
He clasped his hands together, practically hovering off the ground from all the air rushing to inflate his head. “Magnificent,” he said, his words vaguely tinged with something that sounded to me like a French accent. “It’s always so lovely to meet my fans in the wild.”
I could feel Florian hovering right by me as he mumbled into my ear. “We didn’t say we were fans.” I tried not to snort.
“That’s right,” Asher said, his pants-charming instincts already kicking in. “Priscilla loves your work. It’s so interesting to see you in Valero.”
He’d said that last part with some emphasis, like he was already on the same wavelength that I was. Dead bodies, missing organs, and suddenly a celebrity chef was floating through town? See, this was why we were such good friends.
“Well, you know how it is,” Marcel said, waving his hand coyly at Dionysus. “Our good friend here decided to invite me over. Very kind of him to host a degustation right here at the Amphora.”
Florian elbowed me lightly. “A dega-what now?”
“A degustation,” Samyaza said. “It’s like a dinner meant specifically for tasting different interesting things.” Ah, yes, my father, the well-read warrior, former king of the fallen and wielder of a surprisingly expansive vocabulary.
“Precisely,” Marcel said. “Such wonders I have to offer you.”
I pointed a finger at myself. “Me?”
“Why, yes. You and your friends. Mr. Dionysus here did mention that he was having guests over so we could discuss what to put on the final menu. A rehearsal banquet before the banquet, yes?”
I shot a glance at Dionysus, who only shrugged and gave me a grin. Well, he winked, too. I squinted at him, then at Marcel. Either something fishy was afoot, or the god of wine was more generous than we’d thought.
But you know what? Two, three dishes into Marcel Dubois’s surprise degustation and I was already sold. No wonder Priscilla loved the guy. He wasn’t fucking around when it came to food. The four of us, plus Dionysus, were seated on one side of a long table, with Marcel preparing or placing the finishing touches on what felt like a dozen different things he wanted to test out. The dishes were tiny, most items barely more than a mouthful, but that was the whole point, just like Samyaza had explained.
I was very careful to note that there were no meat dishes. At least not yet. I watched the others as they ate. Florian, especially, was enjoying himself, particularly when it came to what looked to me like an ordinary clump of green grapes. But they
