"You killed it?" Robin pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. "Please tell me you killed it. If it's alive…" He shook his head and let the words trail away.
"It's not alive. All the king's horses and all the king's men…" A humorless smile touched the corners of Niko's mouth. "Well, I think you get the picture."
"It's a good picture. I like that picture." Goodfellow sat with a graceless thump on the coffee table and dropped his face into his hands. Then he threaded fingers through wavy brown hair and sat up with a harsh exhalation. "Abbagor's big and homicidal, but for sheer deviousness, you do not want to screw with the Auphe. They're psychotic, they hold a grudge, and they're mobile as the plague." He rubbed at his eyes. "I realize you know that better than anyone, but it bears repeating."
"I'm not so sure Abby doesn't give them a run for their money." I kicked a foot lightly against the corner of the table and went on awkwardly. "About the troll, Goodfellow, I want to say… shit… you know."
He turned his head to study me soberly. "All you had to do was ask, Caliban. I'm something of a coward, but I would have stood firm. You only had to ask."
Niko had moved up beside me to rest his hand on my shoulder. "We're not used to depending on anyone else," he offered to Robin while giving me a reassuring squeeze. "Either of us. It doesn't come easy. I know that's not much of a justification perhaps, but we are sorry."
He was apologizing, Niko, who'd done nothing wrong. He was apologizing for me because I was too stubborn and too chickenshit to get the words out myself. I felt even lower than I had before… until Niko's hand left my shoulder to thwap me in the back of the head. "Aren't we, Cal?" he prompted sternly.
The self-recrimination flowed out of me as fast as water. Who needed a conscience to keep me in line when I had my brother around to do it for me? "Yeah, sorry," I muttered with a sullen scowl for Niko and a slightly softer one for Robin.
The killer smile returned, showing more teeth than an Osmond family reunion. "Forgiven and forgotten," Robin said expansively. "How about I treat you gentlemen to lunch and we can discuss your transportation situation."
It struck me then that Goodfellow could turn out to be an ally. He wanted us to stay, and I wanted to stay; now all we had to do was convince Niko. That shouldn't be too hard—no more difficult than convincing the sun to rise in the west and set in the east. "Lunch sounds great," I responded with alacrity. "Let me grab my shoes." I could feel Niko's frown aimed at my back as I bent down to root under the couch for my sneakers.
"I'm not sure we have the time for this. In fact, I know we do not have time for this."
I jammed the shoes on my feet and bolted for the door. "It's only lunch, Nik. Forty minutes isn't gonna make or break us." That wasn't necessarily true. In the scheme of things, forty minutes could turn out to be a lifetime, but at the moment that wasn't something I wanted to contemplate.
Niko wasn't too happy about it, big surprise, but despite that, we did end up at the nearest Italian restaurant. I snorted as Niko studied the menu with obvious ill grace. "Don't pout, Cyrano. You're scaring the waiter."
"I do not pout," he hissed between clenched teeth as he closed the menu shut with a snap. "Children pout. Brainless runway models pout. You pout. I do not." Turning his attention to the waiter, he went on more calmly. "I'll have broiled fish, no herbs, no sauce, and salad. No dressing."
That was Nik, living life on the edge as always. What a wild man. I ordered lobster ravioli with a side order of chicken parmigiana. Hey, it was Goodfellow's dime. I'd probably load up on a dessert or three while I was at it. Robin ordered in rapid-fire Italian, handing his menu back with a smooth "Grazie, grazie."
"Exactly how many languages have you picked up over the years, Goodfellow?" Niko questioned curiously.
"All of them." He shook out his swan-shaped napkin with a smug flourish. "I'm a bit rusty on a few regional dialects of the African bush, but otherwise I get by. And of course when it comes to the language of love, I have no equal."
Buttering a chunk of bread as soft and fluffy as a cloud, I groaned. "Jeez. Oh, well, it was a whole twenty minutes of peace anyway. That has to be a record. You know, Loman, they have a twelve-step program with your name all over it. 'Hi, my name is Robin and I'm a sexaholic.'"
"I've said it before and I'll say it again." He raised his wineglass to me. "You absolutely have to get laid." It was a nice restaurant, nicer than most I'd been to. That didn't stop me from lobbing the buttered roll directly at Goodfellow. He caught it easily, took a bite, and washed it down with the wine. "Delicious. Thank you. Now, gentlemen, I've been thinking about your problem and I may have come up with something."