“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Why? Does he have something against humanity?”
That question carried a lot of undercurrents.
“I don’t think he’d live here if he did.”
“Which means?”
“You know why we have a monthly blood drive, right?”
“You mentioned it. It’s not due to the small town sense of civic duty.”
“Vampires are in charge of the blood collection in town. Well, vampires and one red cap.”
He scrubbed at his forehead a moment. “Red cap. Is that like a...gnome?”
“Sort of a murderous goblin.”
“So the blood collection is so the vampires, and red cap, can feed?”
“Yes. So they can feed. Though they only keep half for themselves.”
“Delaney, that blood is donated to save lives.”
“It is. And it does. Just some of those lives belong to vampires. You know what else? You’ll never see an Ordinary citizen turned, you’ll never see an Ordinary citizen bitten.”
“You’re telling me only nice vampires live in Ordinary?”
“Not at all. But I’m telling you they live by the rules here. A code. One that both protects their kind and human kind. It’s a good thing. Something not found outside this town.”
“And why is that? Why do the vampires followed those rules? Do you lock them up in garlic-lined cells if they don’t? Kill them with kites?”
“No, Rossi kills them. Any way he wants to.”
The conversation went silent while Ryder worked that out for himself. “He’s the prime. This is his land, territory, law.”
“Yep.”
“And he teaches yoga.”
“Yep.”
“And does crystal cleanses and spiritual healing classes, and jogs the beach naked.”
“Collects carved eggs, donates time to the suicide hotline, fills in at the Rhubarb Rally when my assistant dumps me with no warning.”
He winced. “Sorry about that.”
“You didn’t leave just to go to my house, did you?”
He sighed. “I got a call. Had to check some things.”
“Who called you?”
“Jake.”
“What did you check?”
“A couple leads. He suspected the vampire hunters were headed this way.”
It was still weird to hear him talk about vampires like it was no big deal. I had to admit, I liked it. Liked not having that secret between us.
“Still don’t believe in gods?”
He stared out the window and was silent for long enough, I finally glanced over at him.
“All-powerful beings who have created universes? Created us? Beings that care for us, or care for the world?” The pause was long. Finally: “No. Not really.”
“But if there was proof that gods were real? Something more convincing than those yahoos in my living room?”
His blunt fingers picked at the weather stripping on the inside of the window. “Not sure anything could prove that to me.”
I thought that a god could do a heck of a lot to prove exactly what he or she was. I wondered if he’d believe in gods once we met Mithra. I wondered if he’d be able to see the powers in the water bottle. Understand that there were things, big things that none of us mortals would ever have a real grip on, and if he could come to terms with our incredible smallness in the big scheme of creation.
“Good,” I said. “Good to know.” Because, really, maybe it was better that he didn’t believe.
Chapter 15
“The casino?”
I looked over at Ryder. “Great powers of observation, Bailey.”
“Someone stole god powers and hid them in a casino? I thought you were joking.”
We walked toward the front doors. He strode along a little closer to me than was absolutely needed. The back of his hand brushed mine gently, perhaps by accident.
He turned to look down at me. Winked.
Okay, maybe not by accident.
“It’s not a joke. Someone stole the...items and gave them to someone we’re meeting here.” We were in front of the sliding glass doors, and had to wait a minute for people to exit the casino before we entered.
I made a mental note to check and see if there was any mail for the gods while we were here.
“Who’s the someone?”
“Mithra.”
He frowned. “The giant moth that fought Godzilla?”
I laughed so hard, I almost tripped over my own feet. “That’s Mothra. Hoo-boy. Hold on. I have to text that to my sisters.” I pulled out my phone and tapped away at the screen.
“So happy I could be a source of amusement.”
I grinned up at him. “Mithra is, uh...someone who is a real stickler for details.” I hadn’t really put a lot of thought into what I should tell Ryder to expect. “He’s true to his word, but to the very letter of his word. He’ll want us to be true to ours too. Don’t promise anything, don’t agree to anything. You know, maybe just stay quiet and let me do the talking.”
“Is that why you wanted me to come with you? So I could be silent and watch you work?”
“No. I wasn’t the one who asked you here. He was.”
“He?”
“Mithra.”
We were through the main hallway and headed to the coffee shop at the end. It was the place where I usually met with gods who wanted to enter Ordinary for vacation time.
“Why does Mithra know me? Why does he want me here?”
“I have no idea.”
He lightly gripped my elbow, stopping me. I turned to face him.
“How dangerous is he?”
“Inside Ordinary? Not very. Here?” I shrugged. “He could probably kill us.”
“What?”
“But he’s more of an eye-for-an-eye type guy. Neither of us stole the power. I don’t think he’ll decide to off us without hearing our testimony.”
“That’s better?”
“Sure. He’ll be looking to punish, not destroy. I think.”
“You think.”
“It’s going to be fine,” I lied.
“What are the chances that’s actually true?”
“Ten, fifteen percent?” I grinned and patted his arm. “Good talk. To recap: Be quiet, don’t agree to do anything, let me handle this, and don’t lie.”
“Why would I lie?”
I gave him a look. “I don’t know, but I’m telling you not to. At all. Until we’re back in Ordinary with the powers in our possession.”
“God powers.”
“That’s right.”
“Still don’t believe in them.”
“Probably doesn’t matter if you do or don’t, does it?”
He shook his head but gave me a flustered little grin. “I don’t think that it does. Lead the way, Delaney.”
I led. The coffee shop was full, the tables alongside the windows packed with people talking, laughing. One table near the back had only a single person sitting at it.
The guy certainly didn’t look like a god. Short, scraggly salt and pepper hair about a week off from a good brushing, and a beard that was at odds with his look because it was neatly trimmed. His eyes were overly round, deep set, his face gave the impression of a pug dog.
I was a little surprised he’d been allowed into the café since he was dressed in three or four layers of shirts—mostly T-shirts and flannel, and jeans that were ripped at the knees and thighs.
He was a god. He could look like anything he wanted to. I could only assume he had chosen this form because he thought it would blend in.