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The last time I saw Toches, he was trapped in 1945 pretending to be Adolf Hitler with slick hair, arrogant attitude, and identical evil ’stache, since the vessel determined the clothes and hair. There were times when my defenders would have a full beard or hair down to their waist. This trip, the mustache had been traded for a scraggly beard and there was a little more buff to his wiry frame. Since the vessel didn’t turn a traveler into Captain America, I assumed the rat had seen time at the gym.

“Toecheese—” I began.

“Stop calling me that. My name is Toches, and that’s Mr. Toches to you.”

Marco smiled and took a long pull from his mug.

“What are you really doing here?” I asked.

“I told you. I’m on a fun trip.”

“A fun trip?” Marco questioned, looking around the sparse room and the peasantry style clothing of the customers.

“Yep, Gian-Carlo ordered us to have a good time. Those were his exact words. I want to see a witch. It’s on my bucket list.”

“You know witches don’t exist, right?” I arched an eyebrow, and he huffed at me.

“Besides,” Marco said. “They don’t burn witches at the stake in Salem.”

He eyed Marco then turned his attention toward me. “It seems your Scottish lover boy has been replaced with tall, blond, and stupid.”

A low growl rumbled from Marco’s throat, and I shook my head to deter him from tossing Toches across the room.

“He’s right. They don’t burn the people accused of witchcraft here, they hang them.”

Toches wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Really…damn.”

“And don’t let these Puritans hear you cuss, or you’ll find a noose around your neck,” Marco warned.

“Why don’t the two of you toddle on back to your secret lair and save your advice for someone who gives a shit.” Toches took a drink of the ale and made a face.

I agreed. It gave craft beer a whole new meaning.

“Speaking of Caiyan,” I referred back to his mention of my Scottish ex-boyfriend. “Where’s Gian-Carlo sending him and how is he getting there?”

“That guy needs to go back and fight for the good guys. He doesn’t have the balls to work for the Mafusos,” Toches snickered.

“I’m surprised you feel that way. Since he’s a talented grifter, you’d figure he’d be valuable to Gian-Carlo.”

“Oh, Gian-Carlo’s all stoked about him joining up, even wants to make him a full-fledged member, but there’s not enough keys. I don’t have one, thanks to you by the way. I had the Sleigh key in my grasp, then you took it from me.”

Not exactly what happened, but he was brooding and spilling his candy, so I let him speak.

“Whose key are you wearing?” I asked.

“That’s a secret.” He laid his hand over the top collar of his shirt.

A few moments later, a man and two young girls came inside the tavern. They took a table toward the back. As I glanced around the room, people were whispering and staring in our direction. Not good. My inner voice made the let’s get going signal. I ignored her for the moment. I needed more information about Caiyan.

“What does Gian-Carlo want with McGregor?” Marco asked.

Toches was silent. He drank his ale, and a bowl of pottage was placed in front of him by a tavern worker. He took a bite and nodded kindly at the server.

My stomach growled when the aroma of the stew-like dish hit my nostrils, but I was determined to find out where Caiyan was traveling. Marco wasn’t so determined.

“If you tell us why Gian-Carlo wants McGregor, then we’ll leave you in peace to enjoy your vacation.”

“We will?” I questioned.

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