Page 59 of Spring's Arcana
“Yes, sir.” The bartender’s tone never changed. He glided away again.
Nat touched her glass with a fingertip. Icy condensation, just like any other cold drink in a warm room. “Let me guess, you’re the god of air.”
The man made a slighttchnoise, like Leo decrying a child’s impoliteness. “Spoken like a white girl.”
What the fuck did you expect me to speak like, a cartoon rabbit?“Guilty as charged.” Nat strangled the depressingly familiar flare of anger; it hurt to think of Leo. Was it too much to ask that even one of her parents cared about her? But every great love story left out everyone else in the world, she supposed. “And not in the mood for a lot of bullshit right now.”
“Bullshit’s at least warm when it comes out. And it’s useful for some things, you know.” The man stayed where he was, probably eyeing her curiously; Nat felt the weight of his gaze. Not precisely unfriendly, but not kind, either. “But I don’t carry it around with me and you shouldn’t either. Coyote.” He offered his hand, a flicker of motion in her peripheral vision.
Is that your genus, species, name, or title?Realization arrived just as her mouth was opening to sayleave me the fuck alone,and she turned, studying him afresh.
It wasn’t the eyes, she decided. Nor was it his clothes, or the fringe on his jacket moving in slow, questing twitches like it wanted to grab any small animal unwary enough to step close. It was thevitality,a crackling sense of force only barely contained, an inaudible humming she couldn’t find a source or comparison for. He just seemed more…there.
Like de Winter, and Dmitri, and Coco, and Candy.
Like Mom used to be, before she got sick. There hadn’t been a sharp boundary, a dividing line; it had happened gradually.
Like a child growing up. They started out tiny squalling bundles, but then one day you looked and your kid was ready to go to college. Everyone said so.
Koschei didn’t share that vitality, despite his rich voice and apparent durability. Jay did, but relatively weakly. Leo? Not at all.
So Nat shook his warm, strangely callused hand. Nothing butskin contact, like a hundred other times she’d been forced to this social ritual. “Nat. Nat Drozdova.”
“Pleasedtameetcha. Or whatever lie white people say.”
She reclaimed her hand and shifted on the stool, leaning away. How on earth could you respond to that? “I can’t say the same.” At least she was absolved of the duty of politeness, however briefly.
“Then you’re more honest than your mother.”
It stung, but only for a moment. “You knew her.”
“I met her. Big difference.” He nodded as the bartender slid a white ceramic cup of strong black coffee into range; the man calling himself Coyote turned his back to the rest of the bar, hunching his broad shoulders and dropping his chin. Despite that, his eyes gleamed like live coals, and she realized he was using the mirror behind the bottles to watch the entire place. “She’s sent you out for it, then. The treasures, and what she took.”
Treasures?“Yes.” Had Mom hidden more than the gem? Oh, what the hell, she might as well pump this guy for whatever information he’d give. “I’m going to save her. She’s dying.”
He shrugged—not Dmitri’s fluid catlike movement but a canine ripple, his jacket twitching like loose, furry skin. “Everything changes.” His teeth were just as white as the gangster’s; apparently, divinities had good dental plans. “Didn’t the cats teach you that?”
“They don’t lecture me.” The impulse to hunch her own shoulders guiltily and blurt outit was just my imaginationwas immediate, but Nat quelled it, picking up her stinging-cold glass. Maybe she was insane and gabbling on a street corner, lost in hallucinations. “I don’t lecture them either.”
“At least there’s that.” Seen in strong-nosed profile, he wasn’t quite handsome or the opposite. Still, nothing in his face was apologetic. He looked, all things considered, very comfortable with himself indeed, and Nat longed for a sliver of that confidence. “You know he’ll kill you if he can.”
There was no reason to pretend to be shocked, or ask what he meant—it was, indeed, like talking to one of the cats. And now she remembered him, the memory like thunder after a lightning flash.
At Jay’s party, in top hat with those silver conchas and beaded necklaces, carrying a pipe, he had given her a long appraising look.I am where you least expect me.
Nat suppressed a shiver. Of course Dmitri would kill her; he’d flat-out told her as much. It looked like others might be willing to help him or warn her, but nothing more. “So he informed me.”
“It’s a valuable thing you’re after. Lots of other people wanting it. You know what happens if you eat a Heart, right?”
“You take his power?” It wasn’t a bad guess, Nat thought. Cannibals did it all the time.
“Nice guess.” His fingers drummed the bar in quick succession, tiny thumps much louder than they should be. “Suppose you could, if you tried. Give you a helluva stomachache, but might be worth it. Didn’t tell you that, I bet.”
“It didn’t come up.” Why would Mom have hidden it, then? Nat was, however, fairly certain she didn’t want to ask this guy about that particular parental choice. “I don’t suppose just giving it back with an apology will help anything.”
“Would you?” Coyote studied her in the mirror; it was probably easier to talk about this sort of shit if you didn’t have to look directly at the other person.
Like conversations on long car rides, maybe. “I…” Nat stopped.
