“I see,” he said. “And if they can’t keep what they’ve taken, will they still bare their necks? I’m almost disappointed you failed.”
I shot him a quizzical look.
He shrugged. “I can love the woman, even if I loathe much of what her last name brings.”
“Why?”
“Have you ever had your heart broken?” he asked. “It’s an important question.”
I had to stop to think.
“I can’t say for certain,” I told him, “But I think, in a way, I am a broken heart.”
He tilted his head a little to one side.
“Jeremy!” Sandra cried out.
Jeremy half-turned.
She stopped, freezing. “Back away, very slowly.”
Jeremy did. One step back, then another.
Green Eyes emerged from the snow in front of him. Her jaws were open wider than a human could pull off, teeth open, a bear trap, waiting to be sprung. A half-foot from Jeremy’s groin.
He backed away another step. Green Eyes matched his pace, maintaining the distance.
Jeremy glanced to one side. “You didn’t smell her?”
From the length of Green Eyes’ snow-crusted hair, Evan shook himself free of snowflakes.
“Ah,” he said, with a note of finality.
His eyes met mine. Level. Serious. Unflinching.
Green Eyes was waiting for my cue.
The maenads and satyrs were waiting for his.
I was utterly still, in a way only a bogeyman could be.
Jeremy was still in a way that only a guy with his private parts in a bear trap could be.
“Green Eyes,” I said. “Back off.”
She didn’t budge.
“Seriously,” I said. “Don’t touch him. It’s okay.”
She remained still for a moment, then backed away an arm’s length. Jeremy stepped back, and Satyrs drew closer, to protect him.
“Okay,” Jeremy said.
“How much bad karma do you rack up for setting your monsters on us now?” I asked.
“I imagine it’s less,” he replied, “than it might be for turning on one’s wife.”
He turned around, facing down Sandra, not me.
I could see the confusion on the maenad’s and satyr’s faces.
“I love you so much, Sandra,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “Bastard.”
13.08
“Jerry?” one of the Satyrs asked.
“Don’t worry, Itys,” the High Priest said. He sighed, and I could see the cloud of cold breath in front of his face.
Sandra put her hands in her pockets. I saw her gaze move past the High Priest to me. Her eyes were half-lidded, as if even this eventuality hadn’t truly startled her. She remained poised.
“Can you explain?” one of the Maenads asked.
“Yeah,” the High Priest said. “I can explain, but it’ll be after. For now, form ranks. No permanent damage or killing of any of the Duchamps… but we are dealing with them. Get ready.”
I saw Sandra shaking her head a little.
“That right, Blake?” the High Priest asked. “No hurting or killing the Duchamps. I’m laying out my terms, here.”
“I’m not making any promises,” I said.
He turned his head, so his face was in profile, only one eye turned my way. He gave me a disapproving look.
“I’m not stupid,” I said. “You haven’t promised anything. You’ve alluded, but that means nothing, in this world.”
“Uh huh,” he said. “I promise, then, to aid you in your efforts against the Duchamp family, provided you promise to refrain from doing permanent harm or killing the individual members.”
“If they don’t give me cause. I’ll exercise self defense.”
“Agreed,” the Drunk said, turning his head back to face Sandra.
“But I like Sandra,” one of the Bacchae said.
“I’m with Thais,” another said.
There were less committal murmurs of agreement, with that.
Sandra smiled a little, but it wasn’t a happy one. It looked more apologetic, sad.
“I guess karma comes back to bite me in the ass sooner than later,” the Drunk said. “Dissension in the ranks.”
I saw the one Maenad glaring at me.
She elbowed one of the women next to her, a Bacchae or Maenad, I couldn’t see the details, and muttered something.
Enemies. Blaming me for acting in self defense.
Green Eyes emerged from the snow next to me. I’d been so focused on the Drunk and Sandra that I hadn’t noticed her retreat. Evan shook off more snow. He wasn’t in any shape to fly, being as damp as he was, so I had to bend down a little to pick him up and lift him onto my shoulder.