“I just find it interesting that his father, who is as savvy as they come, would sink money into a venture that had no chance of paying out. And then do it over and over again.”

“Why haven’t I seen her on the news?” she asked, unable to drop it. I should have brought Heather by to meet her at least.

Reyes finally ended the call. He eyed me a long moment, then strode behind his desk, combing through some papers, his movement agitated.

“I’ll be right back,” I said as Cookie was asking about Heather’s parents. “And that is another thing you are going to find out for me.”

She nodded, still in a daze, as I navigated the twists and turns of tables and chairs to get to Reyes’s office.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he said without looking up.

“Of course there’s something wrong. I can feel the heat rolling off you like the flames from a forest fire.” I curled my fingers into the front of my sweater, right over my heart. “Is it Beep?”

“No. Everything’s okay. Just an issue with one of our vendors.”

He was lying. I couldn’t feel it, not from him, not anymore, but I knew he was lying. My own anger spiked.

“If it’s Beep, I have a right—”

“It’s not,” he said, his voice deathly quiet.

I curled my other hand into fist at my side. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”

He stopped and looked up at me, his gaze curious. “You no longer know me? Or you no longer wish to?”

“What? What does that even mean?”

“Nothing. I have to cook. Sammy called in.”

He stepped around the desk and walked out, pausing slightly as he passed, then disappearing into the kitchen. He left me frustrated and more confused than ever. What had happened on our way home from New York? I’d played the entire month we were there over and over in my head. When we left, everything seemed fine. Perfect almost, aside from the fact that I’d just found out he was created from an evil god. Also, I had trapped a demon from another dimension inside a hell filled with innocent people. And I’d lost a friend while in New York. A very good one.

But on the way home, I could feel him pulling away. And now I was just frustrated and worried and wondering about our future more and more.

14

Just when you think you have all your ducks in a row,

someone comes along and teaches you the recipe to

duck à l’orange, and you realize you can live without a duck or two.

—MEME

I walked back to our table and realized there were two, actually. Two groups of men were following me. I got the feeling they weren’t together. But they seemed to have similar goals. Follow me around and record my every move.

One team was very good at their job. The other, Crew Minivan, was not. I’d spotted them yesterday, but I had no idea how long the second crew had been following me. They were definitely not from the Vatican. I hadn’t seen the Vatican guy in a while. They could have replaced him since he’d been made, but I rather doubted it.

No, these guys had ulterior motives, but quite frankly, I was tired of being followed around. And EMFed. I passed by the Crew Minivan and heard static coming from one of the guy’s laps.

Either he had serious bladder issues, or they were EMFing me. I’d never been EMFed before. Not in public, anyway. I couldn’t decide if I should be insulted or flattered.

I stopped at their table. Gave them all a thorough once-over. There were three and a tail. The three were men around my age, so old enough to know better but young enough not to care. They were your classic nerds. One even wore a pocket protector in his button-collar shirt. I thought those went out in the eighties.

Two of them had dark hair and looked similar enough to be brothers. They were pudgy and cute. The kind of guys that set your mother at ease when picking you up for a date, only to be the decoy for your real date, the bad boy from down the street who raced his motorcycle through the neighborhood at midnight. Or that was my experience, anyway.

The third one had been the driver every time I’d spotted them. He had light brown hair, too long in the front, and a bit of an overbite. He was also the one wearing a pocket protector. I’d have called him PP if the name hadn’t been taken by a poodle.

I stood at their table for over a minute, waiting for them to look up at me, absorbing the panic that was rushing through their veins. They clearly had not expected contact.

Finally, in unison, they looked up at me, their mouths slightly open, and I couldn’t decide if they were afraid of me or in awe.