“Wait.” Emma frowned and raised Lydia’s thin, pale brown eyebrows. “Isn’t that stuff, like, corrosive? It sizzles like acid.”

“Yeah, in its concentrated form. It was a challenge to contain. Over time, it’ll eat through nearly anything but plastic.” Sabine’s grin looked almost vindictive, and I started to question her motives. “But it’s easily diluted in anything water based, like coffee or tea. Or nondairy diet protein shakes.”

Tod set his empty soda can on the coffee table. “You’ve been experimenting with it?”

“Just a little—I don’t want to waste it. But one drop dissolved in eight ounces of water is perfectly safe to touch. I stuck a finger in and felt nothing. Even took a little sip.”

“And?” Nash prompted.

“And I dumped the rest of it out. I just wanted to make sure it was safe, not feel the effects myself.”

I groaned, “Do we even want to know why you were testing it?”

Sabine shrugged. “Probably not. But I’m willing to take a full dose this time, if that’ll convince you that it’s safe. Physically, at least.”

“No!” Em and I said in unison. She continued, “The last time you were all hopped up on jealousy you tried to sell us in the Netherworld.”

“I’ll try it,” I said. “Otherwise, we’re not doing this.”

Sabine shrugged again and sank back against Nash’s shoulder. “Fine. I’ll go get it when we’re done here.”

“It’s not somewhere Sophie could find it, right?” Tod said.

“It’s in the toe of my left boot. The dancing queen won’t go near shoes without a designer label. She thinks she’s allergic to cheap fabric.” She twisted to scowl at Nash. “Sophie and I are not compatible. I still don’t see why your mom won’t let me stay with you guys.”

Emma actually grinned, for the first time in days. “Because Harmony thinks she’s too young to be a grandmother. But she’s, like, what? Eighty?”

“Eighty-two,” Tod said. From puberty on, bean sidhes age much slower than humans. Our average life span is around four hundred years. Not that I’d know from personal experience. Half the  bean sidhes I knew were already dead or living on borrowed time. But Nash didn’t know his brother had traded death dates with him—Tod didn’t want him to feel guilty about something that was beyond his control. “Anyway, it’s not the grandmother thing that bothers her. It’s the thought of you two as parents.”

“That thought bothers me, too.” Sabine’s gaze settled on me and Tod. “Not a risk for you, though, right? You two have all the luck.”

“Yeah.” Sarcasm dripped from the word as Todpushed pale curls back from his face, and I could feel my own cheeks flame. “Not having to worry about teen pregnancy totally makes up for the fact that we’re dead.” His eyes flashed in anger, probably on my behalf. “Every time I think you’ve reached the pinnacle of insensitivity, you exceed your own reach.”

“No way. You don’t get to be mad about the truth.” Sabine turned to Nash, obviously puzzled by social etiquette she didn’t understand. “Are they pissed because I mentioned sex or death?”

“New subject!” Nash stood and stomped into the kitchen with his soda.

“I second the motion,” I mumbled as he drained his can and dropped it into the recycling bin. I would much rather talk about trekking toward certain death in the Netherworld than ever again discuss sex in front of my boyfriend, his brother/my ex, and his new girlfriend. Who was also his old girlfriend/first love, who’d once tried to sell me to a demon to get rid of me.

Some conversations will just never be comfortable.

“Okay. So.” I shook my head, trying to mentally strike the previous two minutes from the official record. “Any ideas for how to lure Belphegore into our hellion cage match?”

“Vanity, right?” Nash reappeared in the living room with an open bag of potato chips. “I nominate my venerable brother. He likes to play hero, and one look at him should establish the vanity angle.”

“Nash!” I really shouldn’t have been surprised by the dig. But I was.

“What?” He raised one brow at me in challenge. “It’s okay to call me jealous, but not to call him vain?”

“Awareness of one’s obvious advantages doesn’t imply vanity,” Tod insisted calmly.

Nash turned on him. “Does it imply narcissism?”

Tod huffed. “This coming from the guy who owns more hair products than his girlfriend.”

“I don’t own any hair products,” Sabine said. And that was true. Her beauty was natural. Dark, fierce, and kinda scary at times, but completely natural.

Nash glared at his brother. “When you were still alive you spent more time looking at yourself than at girls, and I doubt death changed that.”

“Seriously? Are we doing this again?” The overhead light flickered in response to Sabine’s irritation—another creepy aspect of hanging out with a mara. “You’re pretty. He’s pretty.” She turned to scowl at Nash. “Your brother’s arrogant, and you’re confrontational. You’re both fed, clothed, sheltered, and sexually satisfied.”

“Sabine!” I hissed, while Em stared at the floor, evidently lost in her own thoughts. But the mara continued without even glancing at me.