Poison Fruit

Later that night, walking back to my apartment after Jen and Lee and I had said our good-byes, I thought about what Dawn had said to me. I’d never thought of myself as a soldier—rather more of a diplomatic liaison—but Hel had given me a dagger, not a talking-stick to pass around the speaking circle. She hadn’t given it to me for the purpose of threatening Bethany Cassopolis. I’d used it before to end lives, twice.

I didn’t relish the thought of using it again, but if I had to, I would.

And my mom’s reading had indicated there was a conflict coming. There was a hell-spawn lawyer out there who might or might not work for Hades, Greek god of the underworld and wealth.

There was my nightmare.

But there was also a blanket of new-fallen snow on the world, Christmas lights, and a star sparkling atop the tree. There was the memory of frost fairies glittering amidst the snowflakes, and of a young woman lifting up her voice in song to fill the aching void of their absence with a different kind of wonder.

There was Scott Evans’s firm handshake and the clarity in his eyes, the knowledge that I’d done good in the world.

Those were the thoughts I chose to hold close as I climbed the stairs and let myself into my apartment. Mogwai greeted me with yowls, protesting his confinement, but he let himself be assuaged with a full bowl of kibble. After a hearty meal, Mog deigned to plunk himself on my lap, flex his claws in and out, and purr with satisfaction while I sat at my desk and entered Bethany’s transgression into the Pemkowet Ledger database, because hell, yes, that was going on her record.

In the park outside my window, the Christmas lights on the big spruce continued to sparkle through the falling snow. I gazed at them for a while, absently petting Mogwai, before turning out my own lights and going to bed.

I slept well. Tonight, the shadow of my nightmare kept its distance, and I was at peace with the world.

And then in the morning, Stefan called, shattering that peace.

      Twenty-six

I was making coffee when the call came.

“Daisy.” Stefan’s voice sounded grave when I answered, and I got a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. Whatever dire favor he’d been hinting at, it was going to be asked of me.

“Hey,” I said with a lightness I didn’t feel, trying to fend off the inevitable. “Are you back in Pemkowet?”

“Yes,” he said.

“Is everything okay in, um . . . ?” I couldn’t for the life of me remember the name of the town in Poland where he’d been for the past weeks.

“Wieliczka,” Stefan supplied. “Yes, thank you. Would you happen to be free anytime today? There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

I poured a carafe of water into the coffeemaker. “Does this have to do with that favor you mentioned?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’m afraid it does.”

Great. I switched on the coffeemaker. “I don’t suppose you’d care to cut the cryptic eldritch crap and enlighten me, would you?”

“No.” There was a trace of humor in his voice, but it didn’t alleviate the gravity. “As I have said, this is something that must be done in person, Daisy.”

I sighed. “Yeah, I figured. I have to go into the station for a few hours this morning, but I’m free in the afternoon. Will that work?”

“Yes,” Stefan said. “Would you be able to come to my condominium at two o’clock?”

The word condominium sounded funny in his Eastern European accent; or maybe it was just the idea of a ghoul—my bad, one of the Outcast—living in a condominium. Immortality and homeowner’s leases didn’t seem like two things that went hand in hand. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.”

So much for peace.

All morning long, a fog of apprehension clung to me. What, exactly, constituted a dire favor for one of the Outcast? Maybe Stefan had suffered some kind of injury doing whatever the hell he was doing in Poland and wanted to feed on my super-size emotions to restore his strength. That would explain why he had to make the request in person . . . sort of. But I’d seen Stefan’s method of dealing with a serious injury last summer. When that psychopath Jerry Dunham had shot out his knees, Stefan had freaking impaled himself on his sword, dying and reincarnating in a heartbeat, as good as new.

Besides, Stefan had mentioned the possibility of a favor before he even left for Poland . . . right before he kissed me.

Oh, I hadn’t forgotten about that kiss. As far as kisses went, it was fair to say that one had rocked my world.

By noon, I gave up trying to guess. I logged my hours on my time card, went home and made myself a tuna salad sandwich, watched an old Law & Order episode—ever notice that there’s always a Law & Order episode on somewhere?—and spent the remaining time practicing my psychic shield drill, just in case Stefan tested me to make sure I’d been diligent. Last night’s encounter with Bethany was a good reminder that I needed to keep my skills honed.

At two o’clock, I presented myself at Stefan’s condominium.

“Daisy.” Stefan greeted me at the door. He gave me one of his courtly little bows and smiled at me, and my heart lurched absurdly in my chest. “It is good to see you. Please, come in.”

“It’s good to see you, too,” I said in the small foyer. It was, although he looked tired. I wondered if it was due to jet lag, the draining effect of being away from a functioning underworld while traveling, or the ominous favor.