“I am,” I said dryly. Mom hadn’t exactly been on her best behavior in there. Or maybe she had.

At least she didn’t kill anybody this time.

“She didn’t seem pleased about the composition of the council,” Pritkin agreed. “But while not, perhaps, polite, the term was not an insult. Adramelech is a title, not a personal name. He functions as the speaker or president of the council.”

Damn. And he’d seemed like the nice one. “I thought you said the council doesn’t have a head.”

“It doesn’t, if you mean someone with more power than anyone else. He is mainly there to maintain order.”

“So he’s the one who should have maybe got around to mentioning that the old gods were about to stage a comeback?”

“Not necessarily. The Adramelech only organizes matters to be discussed and attempts to keep the debate on topic. He doesn’t usually propose topics himself.”

“Then who does?”

“Whoever has the oversight of the region in question.”

“And who has oversight of earth?” I asked, because Pritkin was sounding grim.

“You saw. That was the reason he was called forward. Asag of the Asakku.”

Great. “So, what reason does this Asag guy have for just ignoring the return of one god and the kids of another?”

Pritkin shook his head. “I don’t know. And I’m not likely to. I had difficulty even obtaining the basics on your mother. No one wants to talk about the ancient wars—or how they ended. Most go about trying to pretend they didn’t happen.”

“So they’re about to let them happen again?” I asked, in disbelief. “They can’t be that blind!”

“It’s not a matter of being blind,” Pritkin said, drinking beer. “It’s . . . fear, terror even. You have to understand, Cassie, the demons who dared to face the gods once . . . they were ancient compared to the ones you saw, powerful beyond belief, and bloodthirsty to a fault. They gloried in battle, lived for it, reveled in it. And yet they fell, as one of the few who would talk to me about it said, like a sky full of falling stars. Those who survived believe they cannot fight—”

“They can’t if they won’t even try! Would they prefer to be slaughtered?”

“They’d prefer not to think about it at all. The ones who lived—remember, they were those who didn’t interest your mother or the other gods. Who weren’t powerful enough to be pursued, or who survived by hunkering down, by playing it safe, by being cautious—”

“You can be too cautious. You can die hiding under a bed or whatever the demon equivalent is, as much as on your feet, fighting.”

Pritkin sent me an odd look.

“What?”

“When I met you, you preferred running, liked hiding. You told me several times it was what you were best at.”

“Yes, but it made sense then, when all I had to worry about was Tony. But it won’t help us now. Like it won’t help them!”

If anything, it would help our enemies, if the council decided to hide its collective head in the sand until a hungry god came along and ripped it off. No wonder Mom had been pissed. She must have looked over the group and wondered what had happened to the kind she’d fought. Or maybe she’d wished she’d left a few of the scarier ones alive.

“You look furious,” Pritkin said, watching me.

“I just—I can’t understand not fighting for your life— for what you want. Just giving up—”

A corner of his mouth quirked. “No. You would not understand that. You never stop trying, do you?”

“What else is there?”

“Despair. Hopelessness. Anger. Depression.”

“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.

“What would I miss?”

“I don’t know. Your father’s court was . . . well, parts of it were beautiful—”

“Many things are beautiful. Few are also good.” He moved a step closer.

“Yes, I . . . I guess,” I said, backing up slightly. “But it must have been hard, turning your back on all that wealth and power and . . ”

“There are only masters and slaves there. I did not wish to be either.” Another step.

“Well, no. But there must have been other things. I mean, he’s a demon lord—”

“There is nothing I want that he can give me.”

“But . . . but you could rule there. You could have anything you want—”

“Not anything,” Pritkin said softly, and my back bumped Formica.

I appeared to have run out of room. And he was still looking at me. But I couldn’t read his expression again, only this time, that wasn’t due to the lighting. I just wasn’t familiar with that particular—

He’s probably thinking how crappy I look, I told myself hurriedly, and that I’m going to have to go back in front of the council like this, and that it isn’t going to help our chances any, and damn, I wish I’d thought to grab one of those purloined Augustine dresses before heading out, not that it would probably have survived everything that happened in between, but you never know, and I wonder if any of these shops sell something that might be—

A thumb reached out and wiped away something at the corner of my mouth.

My thoughts froze.

I should laugh, I thought blankly. Grab a napkin, say what a mess I’d managed to make . . . only I couldn’t. I couldn’t seem to move.

And that was stupid, because clearly, he was just being nice. He was trying to make sure I didn’t go back in there and embarrass myself more than I was probably already going to. He was just trying—

The thumb began to move along my lower lip, slowly tracing its fullness. And my breath sped up, even as it tried to catch. Which should have choked me, but somehow got tangled up in my chest instead. To the point that it hurt.

This wasn’t—we didn’t—not that he—