Will held up a silencing hand. “True. And generally, that’s how it is. Once Ophelia was stopped, all it meant is that someone else will take her place and come after you, trying to get the Vessel for himself. But, Sophie, no one knows about you. Ophelia had a connection to you.”
I sat back, both startled and impressed. It must have shown on my face because Will stiffened. “What? You don’t think I know anything about this whole fallen angel business? You’re my charge, love, and I’m well-versed in all the things that go bump in your nights.”
An inappropriate hot blush washed over me. I clamped my knees together, mentally claiming that the fire was the reason for the sudden sweat at the back of my neck—it had nothing to do with Will and what went bump in my nights.
I took a refreshing sip of my beer. “What about Adam? He was working for Ophelia and he knew what I was. He said he did.”
“Just before the building he was in went up in flames.” Will smiled. “Remember? I was there. I was the bloke with the rubbers”—he pointed to his shoes—“and the enormous hose.”
The hopelessness of the situation must have gotten to me, because I found myself giggling uncontrollably when Will said “enormous hose.” He watched me, his hazel eyes catching the gold glow of the cracking fire. The warmth raged inside me again and I sucked down half my beer in a single gulp. I winced, burping softly.
“’ Scuse me. And I don’t mean to be na?ve, but aren’t fallen angels like”—I struggled for the words—“immune to fire? Adam didn’t even flinch, and the flames were right on us.”
“Adam isn’t here, love.”
I finished my beer. “So you’re just going to dismiss this whole thing? Just like that?”
“I didn’t say that. As per our otherworldly agreement, I’m keeping an eye on you, and you’re keeping an eye on the Underworld.” Will smiled and clinked his glass with mine; then he finished his beer. “Another?”
“I guess,” I groaned.
By the time Will came back with our second round, I had kicked off my shoes and had tucked my legs under myself, enjoying the calming warmth of the fire, the comfort of the little pub with its beer-and-shepherd’s-pie scent.
“I guess I could be wrong,” I said, taking a hearty sip.
Will turned to stare at me, full in the face. His eyes were wide with incredulity. “You don’t say!”
I took another gulp. “Shut up. I do have another theory.”
Will raised an interested eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“Well, Mrs. Henderson burned Nina up.” I held up two fingers. “Twice.” Then I hiccupped and took another sip to wet my mouth. “And Kale ...” Here I looked over each shoulder, scanned the bar for intruders, and crooked my finger, beckoning Will closer. “Kale,” I started in a hoarse whisper, “and Vlad were almost doing it on my living-room couch. I walked in on them.” I didn’t know if it was the beer or the recalled image of Vlad’s deathly white chest, but a shudder washed over me. I clamped a hand over my mouth because suddenly the idea of Kale and Vlad—Vlad!—writhing on my living-room couch was far more hilarious than disgusting. “Get it?”
A mask of confusion—or maybe disgust—set across Will’s handsome features. “Get what?”
I gestured wildly, slopping some beer on my wrist and licking it up. “Mrs. Henderson burned up Nina.”
Will grabbed my near-empty glass as I tried to negotiate it to my other hand to make the requisite two-finger gesture.
“I know, twice,” he said. “But you told me yourself there is no way Nina is involved, and I have to agree with you.”
I scooched closer toward Will, until he and I nearly were nose to nose. I began enunciating exaggeratedly, certain that that is what it would take to get my point across. “And then Kale seduces Vlad, and she gets hit by a car.” I took my drink from Will and finished it, wiping my foam mustache with the back of my hand. “Get it? It could be VERM, out for revenge. They’re protecting their kind.”
Will blinked at me and I fanned myself. I leaned over and deposited my empty beer glass on the table and took a healthy slug from his. “It’s hot in here.”
A waitress stopped by and poked at my glass with the nub of her pencil. “’Nother?”
“No,” Will said, eyes firm on me.
“Yes,” I said, eyes just as firm. “He’s trying to be my party pooper.”
The waitress returned with another round of beers and a selection of appetizers, which Will had suggested. He read off the menu and I nodded to each one. Now we had an army of deep-fried deliciousness picking up the comforting flames of the fire.
I smashed a hunk of deep-fried mozzarella in between two slabs of boneless buffalo wings and tossed the whole thing in my mouth, reveling in the hot, deep-fried goodness as I licked the gooey residue from my fingers. I finished off my bar menu canapé with a slug of cold beer. “So what do you think?”
“I think maybe you’ve had enough.”
I slapped down my glass. “You know, I’m really tired of you patronizing me. You would be out of work, if not for me.”