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“She hunted them here,” Caleb said, as if he didn’t quite believe it. “She hunted them in their own worlds.”
“No,” I said, but Pritkin was nodding.
“Every source I’ve managed to find says the same thing. She tore a bloody swath through a hundred worlds. Cassie—” He held up a hand, when I started to protest again. “I’m sorry, but it’s true. You must have seen the souk in Zarr Alim?”
“Zarr Alim?”
“My father’s capital city.”
I nodded, confused and angry.
“Well, if you’d had time to look around, you might have come across small amulets being sold by old women in the marketplace, amulets with a familiar face on them. They are still used as wards against bad fortune by the local inhabitants, even though no one really remembers why anymore. Just that once, long ago, their ancestors wanted protection from the face on those coins.”
“And what a pretty face it was, too,” someone said as a hand stroked down the side of my hair before abruptly clenching in it.
A very familiar hand.
And fuck.
Chapter Twenty-eight
“Release her!” Caleb jumped to his feet and threw out a hand—and a spell. Which ricocheted off the demon lord at my side and exploded against the ceiling, leaving a big black mark among the dirt and smoke stains. None of the bar’s regulars so much as flinched, except for the bartender, who hurried over with a bow and another glass.
Pritkin
didn’t react, except to pour another drink, so I didn’t, either. We both knew Rosier couldn’t hurt me. He’d sworn a vow, which apparently would kill him if he broke it, not to take my life.
Unfortunately, it hadn’t said anything about not plaguing my existence.
“Sit, sit,” Rosier told Caleb genially, who was looking in confusion from Pritkin to his father, maybe because he’d finally noticed that my assailant and his friend could have been twins.
I guess he’d kind of been too busy before.
Well, except that one twin had never had a chance to clean up after his joyride out of hell. As a result, Pritkin’s bare chest was streaked with dirt, his hair shed little puffs of dust if he moved too fast, and he hadn’t lost his shoes only because he hadn’t had any on to begin with. He had found some jeans somewhere to replace the ridiculous silky pants, but that was about the only improvement.
Rosier, in contrast, was wearing a plain dark gray suit, but the cut would have made Armani weep with envy. His shoes were polished to a high shine. His casual silk shirt was forest green, his son’s favorite color.
Or maybe it was his, too, although probably not for the same reason.
At a guess, Pritkin liked it because it had reminded him of home while he was stuck in the middle of the desert. Rosier probably chose it deliberately, to bring out the vivid color of his eyes. The ones that were so much like his son’s. The ones that were smiling at me as he took a seat.
I had to sit on my hands so I wouldn’t try anything fun—like clawing them out.
“Don’t stop there,” Rosier said, glancing at Pritkin. “Tell her the rest.”
Pritkin ignored him. Caleb remained standing, body tense and ready. The only one who moved was Casanova, slowly sliding under the table.
“Very well. I shall, then, yes?” Rosier glanced around at us, white teeth bared. “Let us see. I believe Emrys covered the part about—”
“His name is Pritkin,” I said harshly, cutting the bastard off.
“That’s even worse than the terrible ‘John,’” Rosier reproached. “In any case, Emrys is a human name.”
“But he doesn’t like it.”
More big white teeth. “In life, my dear, there is much we do not like but have to accept. It is part of growing up. Something Emrys is long overdue to learn.”
I glared at him. He grinned back. The kind of reckless, insouciant grin I would have thought Pritkin incapable of, before I saw him windsurfing a rug through hell. “You really don’t favor your mother, do you?” Rosier asked, searching my face. “Pity.” He leaned back and a lit cigarette appeared in his hand. “Now, there was a beautiful woman.”
