12

The next week was a blur to me. Between settling in, the side projects I was working on, waiting for word that the fae courts had decided to go to war with Valente International, and brushing up on how to make a Thanksgiving dinner, I barely had time to stop and breathe. Veruca stayed gone longer than I had expected, which helped me get half the time I needed, but I missed her fiercely. She had gotten under my skin in a way no one since Sarai had, but I hadn’t realized just how deep until she was gone.

It was late Thursday afternoon, with a turkey far too large for me already roasting in the oven, when I heard the lock on the front door tumbling. By the time I escaped the kitchen, Veruca was already relocking it behind her. I disengaged from my apron and oven mitt before assaulting her with a hug.

My right hand came back sticky and wet, a dark crimson under the pale afternoon sun of the western window. Veruca shook her one long bang, today a somber gray, then pulled me back into the hug.

I tried to revel in it, before saying, “Not your blood, I hope.”

“Nope.” I waited for more details, but none were forthcoming. Instead, after a long, intense hug, she sniffed the air and commented, “It actually smells like Thanksgiving in here.”

“And now that you’re back, I have something to be thankful for.” I gently kissed her cold lips.

It came out so sickeningly sweet I half-expected her to body slam me for it. Veruca was a lot of things, but sentimental wasn’t one of them. Instead, she surprised me by kissing me back. “Think dinner will be ready by the time I get out of the shower?”

I grinned. “Only if I stay in the kitchen and cook.”

V patted my back as she pulled away. “Well then, get your cook on. I’m starving.” She paused, then turned back to kiss me again. “And I missed you.” That said, she disappeared into the bathroom.

I washed the blood off my hand and arm, then turned my attention to a rather stubborn pot of mashed potatoes. I silently turned the pieces of the mystery that was Veruca over in my mind, but didn’t come up with anything satisfactory. The blood from an international killing would have long since dried or removed. I didn’t know much about Veruca’s work, but I doubted that she liked getting her hands dirty if she didn’t have to. That suggested she had killed someone locally and that she hadn’t planned the killing ahead of time. I had reasoned it that far, and no further, when I heard a thunderous knock at the front door.

My apron was still off from before, but this time I had to disengage my bloody shirt. A topless chef was strange, but not illegal. I checked my pants pocket to make sure the chaos blade was still in there, before unlocking the dead bolt.

Kerath, fully dressed and far healthier than when last I’d seen him, cocked an eyebrow at me. “I didn’t know Thanksgiving was that kind of party in Boston. In Ohio, we saved au natural for New Years and Super Bowl Sunday.”

I didn’t know if it was appropriate diplomatic protocol, but I hugged him, too. “Glad to see you made it. You had me more than a little worried.”

“Made it?” A voice queried from beside him. “I thought you said we weren’t expected.”

It took an effort to look around Kerath’s massive frame to see the petite blond beside him. She was pretty, but too thin, with all her facial features at sharp angles. “No, I mean, I’m surprised he’s alive. Last time I saw him...” I paused unsure how much she knew or was prudent to say.

Kerath blushed a slight green. “Ah, it’d take a lot more than one little van to kill me. Wizard Fisher, this is my betrothed. Lady Selena, this is the wizard who fought beside me.”

I had stepped back inside the apartment and couldn’t see her when she spoke. “For which we are both grateful, Wizard. My beloved tells me this is the appropriate day in your world for expressing thanks.”

I hoped this wasn’t going the direction of some stories I had read. I liked Kerath, but I didn’t need him as a constant companion until he found a way to save my life. “Well, Sir Kerath helped me as much as I helped him.” The smell of something burning distracted me. “Do you two want to come on in? I’m in the middle of cooking dinner.”

I hurried back into the kitchen as the scent of smoke grew stronger. It took me a half hour of frantic effort to save what I could of the meal. In the end, our Thanksgiving dinner consisted of a slightly dry turkey, reasonably decent sweet potatoes, and a trio of pizzas. I called out for the last item after I pronounced the mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce dead on arrival.