“And drinking’s not?”
“I choose to ignore the contradiction.”
Raya snorted. “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”
He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table, cradling his face in his hands. “Tell me more about this so-called ‘denial’ of which you speak. Does it have anything to do with hanging out with a demon while also avoiding letting your witchy friends know about it?”
The waiter delivered their drinks.
Raya took a sip of champagne. “I’m not in denial.”
“That is a classic example of denial.”
“Shut up.”
He took a drink of beer and smacked his lips. “You’re a great big ball of contradictions and denial.”
“And what does that make you?”
Phoenix shrugged. “You tell me, Witchiepoo.”
Raya set her glass down with a thunk. “You’re just an immortal trust fund kid with the attention span of a squirrel.”
“You wound me.” He pressed his hand where his heart would be, if he had one. “My attention span extends for minutes—nay, hours.” He cocked his head. “How long have I been putting up with you, anyway?”
“You’re the one who followed me to Paris.”
“I? Followed you? I was visiting Paris before your umpteenth grandsire was born.”
“And your latest trip just happened to coincide with mine?”
Phoenix swallowed a gulp of beer. “I was bored.”
Raya threw her hands up. “And there we have it. You were bored.”
“What do you think it’s like, being an immortal supernatural being? I’ve seen it all. I’ve done it all. Now I just—wait.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know!” He caught her gaze across the table, his eyes troubled. “What would you do?”
“Me? Travel, I guess.”
“But what if you’ve already been everywhere?”
“Study? Learn something?”
“For what?”
Raya shrugged. “Just for the joy of it, I guess?”
“The ‘joy’ of it palls, I can tell you, after a few thousand years.”
The waiter delivered Raya’s platter of food, piled high with steak and french fries and emanating a heavenly smell.
“Mmm. Smell that.” Raya leaned over the plate and inhaled.
Phoenix wrinkled his nose.
