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“What would you like to drink?” he asked.
The question evidently surprised her. She was in a tavern, but her mind was not on ordering a drink.
“A glass of the house red, whatever it is,” she said. She hesitated. “Thanks.”
She rummaged around in her large bag, took out a phone, and set it on the table.
Should have seen that coming, he thought. Of course she intended to record whatever he told her. She was here in Carnelian because she wanted content.
He would work on that problem later. First things first. He caught the eye of a server and requested the wine. When the woman disappeared into the crowd, he turned back to Pallas and reminded himself that he needed to sound rational. Logical. Above all, he had to appear mentally stable. He had already frightened her enough for one day.
“I apologize for scaring you this afternoon,” he said.
She waved that aside and picked up the phone. “Tell me your story.”
He eyed the phone. “Do you mind if we talk for a while before you start recording?”
“Why?”
She was no longer running from the hounds of hell. She was in control, focused, on a mission.
In that moment he was certain he was looking at a woman who was walking a tightrope over an abyss.Like me.For some reason he found that reassuring. They both had secrets but neither of them was going to play games. They didn’t have the time.
“I’d rather you didn’t record me at this point because I’m not sure I’ll sound coherent,” he said. “I haven’t had a lot of sleep lately.”
“Yes, I can see that.”
He winced. “Do I look that bad?”
“You don’t look great. Try meds?”
“They make the dreams and the sleepwalking worse.”
“You sleepwalk?”
“Sometimes. If I’m not careful.”
Pallas watched him with a speculative look, not speaking. Then she glanced at the bar food menu.
The server returned and set the glass of wine on the table. Pallas smiled at her.
“One order of the buffalo cauliflower and tahini dip, please,” she said.
“Sure,” the server said. She dove back into the crowd.
Ambrose wondered if he should have ordered something to eat, too. It occurred to him he was hungry.
Pallas looked at him across the table. “All right.”
He blinked, wondering if he wasn’t tracking. Maybe he was in worse shape than he realized.
“All right?” he repeated.
“I won’t start recording until you convince me to move forward with the podcast.”
He relaxed a little. “Thanks.”
“Talk to me.”
