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“Who has lived long enough to have seen a few wars in his time,” Casanova snapped back. “And it’s never just the combatants who suffer—”
“I didn’t say it was—”
“And we both know it’s easier to run a staging ground if you don’t have to worry about sabotage!”
“Stop it!” I told him. But he didn’t.
“If I were them, I wouldn’t want anyone anywhere near my only doorway to this universe, not after what happened last time. Easier to kill us, kill the fey, hell, kill the humans, too. It’s not like they need them anymore if they’re invading the hells anyway—”
“They’d need them to feed their precious herd,” Caleb growled. “There’s no way they would—”
“If they want to feed their cows, they can do it with creatures like we saw on Rosier’s world. If even the incubi can control them, the gods’ll never have to worry about rebellion. They’ll never have to worry about any—” He broke off as I got up. Because it was either that or start screaming.
“Where are you going?” Casanova demanded.
“Somewhere else!”
“Cassie—”
“No,” I told him as he grabbed for my wrist. And missed, because he was drunker than he’d been in the bar. “I can’t, all right? I just—I can’t.”
“It’s okay,” Caleb told me. And then grimaced, because it wasn’t and we both knew it. “Just . . . sit back down.”
“I don’t want to sit down!”
“It’s not like you have a choice,” Casanova pointed out. “Where else are you going to go?”
I didn’t answer because I didn’t know. I just knew I couldn’t sit there and listen to them argue when there wasn’t a damned thing I could do about any of it. I was staggering with exhaustion, but I couldn’t sleep, either, not with Pritkin in there pleading for his life. And it didn’t look like there was enough left in that bottle to get me drunk.
I didn’t know what I wanted.
“I know how you feel,” Caleb said, and took my hand.
He didn’t grab it or yank on it or even trap it, which, in the state I was in, might have sent me over the edge. The fingers were slightly open, the hold loose. I could have pulled away at any time.
And so, perversely, I didn’t want to.
“I feel the same way,” he told me. “I’ve known John over fifteen years. He’s saved my ass half a dozen times, and I’ve returned the favor maybe half that many—”
“I think you might have evened the score today,” I said, a little unevenly.
“Maybe.” If this works out remained unsaid. “But there’s nothing I can do for him now. Except wait. They’ll have a decision when they have a decision, and John’s going to need us then. And we need to be here for him. All right?”
I nodded, because I suddenly couldn’t say anything. And let Caleb pull me back down on the sofa, or whatever it really was. I didn’t know, but it was comfortable, and then he pulled me onto his shoulder, which wasn’t. But I didn’t mind right then.
“Sorry,” Casanova said, which might not have meant anything. But then he handed me the bottle again.
“It’s okay,” I told him, looking at it blearily. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“No such thing,” he muttered, glancing around. And upended it.
• • •
I woke up on something hard. I tried punching it, because this pillow had seen better days. But it didn’t seem to help.
So I punched it again.
“Ow,” someone said mildly.
