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“But those don’t get you anywhere.”
He huffed out something that might have been a laugh, only it didn’t sound happy. “No. They don’t.”
I drank beer and didn’t say anything. Because I got the impression that we suddenly weren’t talking about the council anymore. But I wasn’t sure, since I couldn’t see his expression.
The proprietor had apparently not trusted scent to drum up enough business, and had draped strands of twinkly lights around the front of the shop. As a result, darkness shaded Pritkin’s eyes, which were above the lights, but under the shade of the awning. But cheerful, incongruous colors splashed everywhere else—green over a cheekbone, amber along a toned arm, rose across his neck. It looked like he was swimming in rainbow water.
He ducked his head slightly, and his eyes caught the light when he moved, flashing brilliant emerald. “How do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Stay so . . . hopeful. Optimistic. Certain. You grew up around some of the most cynical creatures outside of demons. You saw the way they view the world, always hungry, always scheming. How their every waking thought is about improving their position in some way—”
“They’d say that it also improves their families’ position, and their allies’,” I reminded him. “Vampires aren’t selfless in the human sense, maybe, but they take care of their own. Sometimes better than humans, since it hurts their power base if they don’t.”
“Which is my point. It always comes back to them somehow. And you grew up in that, were steeped in it, and yet . . . you came for me.”
“Yeah, well, you know. That wasn’t entirely . . .”
“Wasn’t entirely what?”
“I just meant, I got something out of it, too, so you can’t say—”
“What did you get?”
“I—we covered that, remember?”
“No. No, I don’t remember. I thought we decided that you could find many other people—”
“Not many. I don’t know too many half-demon war mages.”
“—others, then. To assist you in my place. Such as Caleb. Or Jonas.”
“Yes, well . . . that’s . . .”
“But no, that’s not quite right, either, is it?” He tilted his head. “You said something else . . . something about needing me, for me. What did you mean?”
“I meant—I mean, well, we’re friends—”
“Are we? Are we friends?”
“I—yes. What else would you, uh . . . ”
“I am not sure what I would call it. I had never given it much thought until recently. There did not seem to be a point.”
“Yes, yes, exactly. And there’s no reason to suddenly—”
“But I suppose I shall have to now, if I am returned, that is. Won’t I?”
“Um,” I said, and stopped. Because I knew how Pritkin argued. I ought to; it was his favorite hobby. Which would have been fine, except that he was better at it than me. And right now he was going in for the kill.
I could tell because of the voice, which had gotten faster and sharper, but also because of the expression. He’d moved slightly, leaning toward me, with one elbow resting on the counter propping up the hand he’d tucked under his chin. It was his boyish look, which he got when he was pleased, and that usually meant that someone else was about to be in trouble. And there was only one someone else here.
Someone who was employing tactic number two hundred and fifteen in dealing with irascible war mages, and changing the subject.
“I was wondering about something you said earlier, too,” I told him, after finishing off my beer. “You said you don’t come here by choice. Does that mean you don’t miss anything about it?”
Normally Pritkin got annoyed when I changed the subject on him—or when I tried. Because half the time, he called me on it. But he didn’t this time, and he didn’t seem upset. He even smiled slightly, a strange little half smile that I didn’t like at all.
