“Oliver?” Frost said sharply.
The frog-thing muttered something in a guttural language he could not understand.
“Excuse me?” Oliver said.
Coyote leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Tlatecuhtli says it’s not polite to stare.”
“Ah, yeah. Right. I’m sorry about that,” he said sheepishly, going over to take the empty seat beside Blue Jay. “Just takes some getting used to. All of this.”
The frog spoke again, its voice vaguely disgusting, like a series of belches. Oliver looked to Coyote for help.
“He forgives you,” Coyote said. “You’re an outsider. You don’t know any better.”
Oliver smiled at the frog, whose name he could not even begin to pronounce. Cuhtli-something. “Thank you.”
All of the Borderkind at the table were staring at him. Oliver wondered what would happen were he to remind them that it was not polite. He glanced at Kitsune, then at Frost.
The winter man raised his chin and shifted in his chair. His sharp, icy fingers scratched the table as he moved. This alone was enough to draw all of the attention in the room. Oliver was grateful. It was also clear that all of those gathered were willing to defer to Frost.
Mist steamed from his eyes. The afternoon light played a myriad of colors off of the angles of his frigid features. Frost gestured toward Coyote.
“Oliver, you already know Coyote.”
“Yes. Thank you for the clothes.”
Coyote touched two fingers to his forehead, almost as though he were tipping a hat, though he wasn’t wearing one.
“You have just met Tlatecuhtli. He hails from Yucatazca, where he is still worshipped by some of the descendants of the original Aztec people.”
The frog-thing let out a long, low noise and blinked once at Oliver.
The introductions continued. At the far end of the table, opposite Frost, was a monstrous, savage-looking creature from whom Oliver would have run screaming once upon a time. But his time in the world of the legendary had taught him not to judge so quickly.
The thing-called Chorti-was covered in shaggy gray-and-black hair. Though it was seated, Oliver figured it must have been nine feet tall at least, and it was twice as broad across as the table. Its hands were crossed over its chest as though it might be sleeping, and the long claws that jutted from its fingers were made of metal. Oliver had to look twice to confirm that.
Chorti smiled a mouthful of razors and offered him a little wave of greeting. A creature as frightening and imposing as this would make one hell of an ally in a fight. Oliver nodded to the beast and silently wished that it could come along with him to rescue Collette.
Beside Chorti, seated close enough to indicate that they were together, sat a coldly imperious woman with hair so white it looked almost silver. She wore a white dress, cotton and lace, and other than her hair she seemed entirely too proper and ordinary to be one of the Borderkind. Frost introduced her as Cheval Bayard, and Oliver took it from the accent in her quiet hello that she was of French origin.
Cheval leaned over to whisper something to Chorti and the beast-man grunted in amusement, a soft, chuffing laughter coming from his chest. She stroked the thick fur at the back of his head. Apparently, she was not nearly as cold as he had imagined. He liked her better for her easy way with the beast-man.
Oliver studied them a moment out of the corner of his eye. The way Cheval had whispered to Chorti gave the pair the air of lovers, but as she stroked him, it was almost as though he were her pet. Yet, when he saw the way they looked at one another-the knowing humor there-neither of those theories seemed correct, and he was left wondering about the relationship between the strange pair.
The last of the gathering was a seven-foot, broad-shouldered man with a gray-streaked, rust-colored beard. When the man looked up from beneath a wide-brimmed hat with stone-gray eyes, Oliver knew he’d met him before.
“And this is-” Frost began when he came to the man, the last introduction.
“Wayland Smith,” Oliver interrupted. “I remember you from Amelia’s.”
“Yes,” Smith replied. “That was…regrettable.”
The man was a weaponsmaster and forger, as well as a magician. And as far as Oliver was concerned, he could not be trusted. Smith toyed briefly with the fox-head of his cane, then rested it against the table.
After the introductions, that odd convocation began to eat. The beef had been marinated in some exotic spice, and Oliver thought it was among the most delicious things he had ever tasted. The boiled potatoes likewise surprised him. They had clearly been boiled as part of some other recipe, simmering with herbs and spices, and the flavor was rich, the potatoes creamy.
Several minutes passed in relative silence as the travelers began to sate their hunger. Low conversation went on amongst the local Borderkind. Frost was deep in thought and whispered several times to Blue Jay. Kitsune watched them, and Oliver thought she was irked to be left out of whatever scheme they were hatching.
His attention returned every few moments to Cheval Bayard and Chorti. The pair were such an unlikely duo-this beautiful, distant woman and her hirsute companion with his metal fangs and claws-that Oliver found himself unable to stop puzzling over them.
“Do you find her beautiful?” Kitsune whispered to him as the others continued their meal.
Oliver frowned and glanced at her, startled by the intensity of her eyes as she searched his own for the answer to that question.
“I suppose she is,” he admitted, “but I was just curious. They make a strange pair.”
Kitsune’s expression softened. “Sometimes the most opposite people make the closest friends. That’s true on both sides of the Veil.”
Oliver nodded, unconvinced.
She leaned in and lowered her voice further. “Cheval and her husband were traveling in Yucatazca. They were set upon in the jungle by bandits. Chorti came to their aid. He saved Cheval’s life but was too late to stop her husband from being murdered. The two of them fought the bandits together. None of the bandits survived. Cheval and Chorti have been inseparable since. Neither ever goes anywhere without the other.”
Oliver glanced around the room as Kitsune told this story, not wishing to be caught staring at the beast-man and the silver-haired woman as they ate. The tragic story touched him, but it also reinforced the melancholy he was feeling at the prospect of setting off on his own to find Collette. Loyalty like that which Cheval Bayard and Chorti shared was precious.
“All right, my friends,” Kitsune said when much of the meal had been consumed and the sharpest edge of their hunger blunted. She met Oliver’s gaze across the table, then opened her hands to include them all. “Shall we get on with this? We are all, each of us at this table, in danger. But the stakes are much higher than our own lives.”
She glared at Coyote, who only raised an eyebrow.
Frost tapped his fingers on the table again to get their attention. “Someone has set the Hunters after the Borderkind. All the Borderkind. Or nearly all. We have learned firsthand that some are collaborating with the Hunters, presumably to spare their own lives. Jenny Greenteeth was a traitor. She helped the Hunters track us, and for that, she died with them.”
“Not Jenny,” said Cheval Bayard. A tear slid down her cheek and she turned from them as she wiped it away.
“The bitch,” Coyote said, his voice flat.
Oliver studied him, wondering if any of this was news. Coyote seemed to know much more than someone who had been in hiding ought to be privy to. Either that, or it was simply the arrogant air about him.
“We prevailed, but not without losses. Gong Gong is dead.”
Chorti growled deep in his chest and his upper lip curled back from those razor-blade teeth. The frog-thing muttered something in his guttural tongue.