His tense posture softened a fraction. “Must be,” he agreed. “What else you got in there?”
I rummaged in the vegetable drawer and came up with what I was reasonably certain was endive. Meanwhile, Len unearthed half a loaf of French bread that was stale, but not moldy. Before long, he was deep in preparations, visibly losing himself in the rhythm of preparing food.
Rans and Guthrie came in, though Guthrie stopped cold at the edge of the room. A frown creased his features, and I wondered if I’d offended him by making free with his hospitality.
“Hey, Guthrie,” I began. “Sorry to take over your kitchen like this—”
Rans snorted in derision. “Please. It’s not as though anyone else here is going to use those perfectly nice steaks before they turn green and moldy.”
Guthrie waved both of us off. “It’s not that. Eat all the damned food you want. It’s just... the smell. Took me by surprise, is all.” He shook his head. “Fuck, that’s weird.”
I sniffed, but nothing seemed wrong with the scents of searing meat and toasting bread. “What about the smell?”
Guthrie broke free of his paralysis and went to sit on one of the bar stools at the kitchen island. “It doesn’t smell like food anymore.”
Rans was still propping up the wall near the entryway, his arms crossed over his chest. “What do you expect? For you and me, it’s not food anymore.”
Guthrie’s mouth twisted down. “Yeah, thanks for the reminder.”
Len finished the impromptu gourmet meal and searched around for a couple of plates for us. Once we were installed with our food, I gestured at Rans with a forkful of medium-rare beef.
“Okay, so tell me more about this plan involving an ocean,” I said. “I’m assuming since this is to do with saltwater, it’s a demon-deterrence thing?”
“Precisely,” he said. “It occurred to me that after being weakened so badly, it seems unlikely that Myrial would be willing or able to transport across a large body of saltwater to get to us.”
I chewed and swallowed as I mulled that over. “Nigellus still could, though. He’s proven that already.”
“Perhaps,” Rans allowed. “Though he’s been drained as well, and he’s already demonstrated a willingness to leave us to our own devices rather than use force against us.”
“Fair enough,” I agreed. Seeing Len’s look of confusion, I explained, “That bitch at the fetish club who was polishing her nails while people were bleeding out on the floor was a full-blooded demon. She’s got it in for us, so we’re trying to figure out a way to stay out of her clutches. A demon’s only real weakness is salt. It burns them.”
“Riiight,” Len said, drawing the word out. His fingers tapped nervously on the counter, and I realized that reminding him of the fact that Tristan had been shot in the gut maybe wasn’t the coolest thing I could have done.
“Okay,” I mumbled, trying to breeze past it. “So, we go someplace in the ocean? Like, an island or something?”
“Or better yet, a ship,” Rans said, tipping his head toward Guthrie. “Mister Moneybags here isn’t without connections.”
I raised my eyebrows at Guthrie, a silent question.
He sighed. “In my line of work, you get to know a lot of rich assholes, as well as undead ones.”
Rans made a scoffing noise.
“And these rich assholes have... yachts?” I hazarded.
“Plenty of them do, yes, but that’s not what I’m thinking of,” Guthrie went on. “Several of my business contacts have been pestering me to go on a high-end chartered pleasure cruise that set off to tour the Caribbean a few days ago. It sounded like a god-awful way to spend two weeks to me, so I kept putting them off.”
“But it’s a private chartered cruise,” Rans put in. “Plus, it’s moving around. Guthrie’s connections make it possible for him to pull up an itinerary for the cruise—but that will be much more challenging information for the Fae to track down. Assuming they even figure out where to look for us in the first place.”
Len looked up and frowned, his restless fingers going still. “Wait. Fae? I... thought demons were after you?”
“They are,” Rans said dryly.
“We’ve managed to piss off a wide variety of people lately,” I said around a mouthful of endive.
“Shocking, that,” Guthrie muttered.
Len looked between the three of us. “So... Fae, as in...?”
“Fairies,” I confirmed. “But the scary, full-sized ‘stealing your baby from the crib and replacing it with a changeling’ kind. Not the tiny, cute kind with wings.”
He blinked at me, and I launched into an abbreviated synopsis of the war between Hell and Dhuinne, trying to ignore the glazed look settling over his features.
“O-kay,” he said slowly, once I’d finished. Then he blinked again, lowered his eyes to his plate, and started cutting his steak into tiny pieces with great focus.
“Anyway, back to the matter at hand,” Rans said. “My biggest concern is getting from here to the cruise ship without tripping any alarm bells. As it stands, the Fae ought to be completely clueless regarding our whereabouts. Once we start traveling commercially—especially outside of the country—that may change.”
I set my cutlery down and worried my lower lip between my thumb and forefinger. “Not to mention how much time it will take. Time that might give Myrial a chance to finish whatever PR battle she’s fighting with Nigellus right now, and get out of Hell before we manage to get someplace with saltwater.”
“Quite,” Rans agreed. “However, I don’t really see a way around it.”
I pinned him with a flat stare. “Well, yeah. I mean, if only we knew someone who could transport people over long distances using magic, right?”
Okay. I was aware, on some level, that sarcasm wasn’t my most attractive trait. But, seriously, the testosterone-fueled pissing match between Rans and Albigard had been going on long enough. And I was banking on the fact that when push came to shove, Rans wouldn’t let his wounded pride take precedence over our safety.
Though he
