Tempt the Stars

apparently would kill him if he broke it, not to take my life.
    Unfortunately, it hadn’t said anything about not plaguing my existence.
    “Sit, sit,” Rosier told Caleb genially, who was looking in confusion from Pritkin to his father, maybe because he’d finally noticed that my assailant and his friend could have been twins.
    I guess he’d kind of been too busy before.
    Well, except that one twin had never had a chance to clean up after his joyride out of hell. As a result, Pritkin’s bare chest was streaked with dirt, his hair shed little puffs of dust if he moved too fast, and he hadn’t lost his shoes only because he hadn’t had any on to begin with. He had found some jeans somewhere to replace the ridiculous silky pants, but that was about the only improvement.
    Rosier, in contrast, was wearing a plain dark gray suit, but the cut would have made Armani weep with envy. His shoes were polished to a high shine. His casual silk shirt was forest green, his son’s favorite color.
    Or maybe it was his, too, although probably not for the same reason.
    At a guess, Pritkin liked it because it had reminded him of home while he was stuck in the middle of the desert. Rosier probably chose it deliberately, to bring out the vivid color of his eyes. The ones that were so much like his son’s. The ones that were smiling at me as he took a seat.
    I had to sit on my hands so I wouldn’t try anything fun—like clawing them out.
    “Don’t stop there,” Rosier said, glancing at Pritkin. “Tell her the rest.”
    Pritkin ignored him. Caleb remained standing, body tense and ready. The only one who moved was Casanova, slowly sliding under the table.
    “Very well. I shall, then, yes?” Rosier glanced around at us, white teeth bared. “Let us see. I believe Emrys covered the part about—”
    “His name is Pritkin,” I said harshly, cutting the bastard off.
    “That’s even worse than the terrible ‘John,’” Rosier reproached. “In any case, Emrys is a human name.”
    “But he doesn’t
like
it.”
    More big white teeth. “In life, my dear, there is much we do not like but have to accept. It is part of growing up. Something
Emrys
is long overdue to learn.”
    I glared at him. He grinned back. The kind of reckless, insouciant grin I would have thought Pritkin incapable of, before I saw him windsurfing a rug through hell. “You really don’t favor your mother, do you?” Rosier asked, searching my face. “Pity.” He leaned back and a lit cigarette appeared in his hand. “Now, there was a beautiful
    woman.”
    “Too bad she thought of you as cattle,” I snapped.
    Rosier didn’t look perturbed. “Yes, no doubt. And that is part of your problem, isn’t it?”
    I debated not answering, but I needed to know what he meant. I needed to know why Pritkin was just sitting there drinking, instead of yelling or conniving or . . . or doing
something
to try to get out of this mess. I needed to know why he looked like we’d already failed.
    “What is?” I finally asked.
    “You haven’t put it together yet?” Rosier sighed out some smoke. “But then, you always were a little slow, weren’t you?”
    “Then make it simple,” I grated out, wishing I had something, anything, that would work on this son of a bitch. But it’s a little hard to age someone out of existence when that existence is measured in millennia.
    “Very well,” he said, suddenly brisk. “The so-called gods might have fed off us, but it seems they weren’t much kinder to their human bait. Except for your mother, who decided that they were destroying the creatures to which she’d foolishly allowed herself to become attached. Or so she said.” He let out a sigh and looked at me through the haze of smoke. “I’ve always found that excuse to be rather . . . paltry . . . for someone decidedly not steeped in sentiment.”
    I glared at him. “So? What does any of this have to do with—”
    “Think about it, girl, assuming you have the capacity! She wants to protect her beloved humans, she determines that her fellow gods must go, and her gift—which was rather stronger than your little version, by the way—would allow her to banish them and slam the gates shut behind them. The trick, of course, was ensuring that they did not return.”
    “She used a spell,” I said, wondering why my stomach had just dropped.
    “Yes, a spell. Which she had to cast herself, and then maintain until her little Silver Band or what have you could