I shook my head. “Not without IDs.”
If I could only create a decent magical disguise, or glamour, to put us in our fifties, we wouldn’t have to worry about some stupid ID, but glamours weren’t my thing. The one I currently had disguising my golden eyes, Demarco’s hammer, and my daggers, was already pushing my limited ability to its max.
“Where are we gonna get IDs?” Tweety asked.
I let out a breath, trying to formulate a plan. Working with Shade had put me in touch with a whole cast of unsavory characters who could do just about anything illegal for the right price.
“Bob.” I pushed off the counter. “We need to visit Bob. He’ll be able to help.”
“Who’s Bob?” Tweety asked.
“Oh you’re in for a treat, Tweety,” I said, leading the guys out of the store. “Bob’s even weirder than you are. But he’s expensive, so we’ll have to make a quick stop first.”
IT WAS AN average spring nighttime when we left Washington D.C., but our quick little stop took me, Demarco, and Tweety directly into a bright autumn morning. Sunlight filtered through rows of trees with colorful leaves for as far as we could see. Shielding our eyes to give them time to adjust, we stepped out of the shadows and onto a thick blanket of grass. The vineyard smelled of mulch, manure, and overripe grapes. In the distance, I could barely hear sheep bleating over the hum of equipment.
“Where are we?” Demarco asked, taking in the scenery.
“Australia,” I replied. “It’s gorgeous here in autumn, isn’t it?”
“Which part of Australia?” Demarco asked. “It’s a pretty big country.”
I shrugged. “No clue. I just come here for the wine. I’ve never asked. Anyway, don’t wander too far. I’ll be right back.”
Tweety nodded and leaned against a tree, but Demarco grabbed my arm before I could escape.
“Wait. Where are you going?” he asked.
“To the winery.” I pointed. “Over that hill there’s a pond, and it’s on the other side. Won’t take me long.”
“But you’re going alone?”
I always went alone. Stealth was important and it would take me less than a minute. I didn’t see what the big deal was. “There’s no danger. I’m just gonna pop in, grab a couple of bottles of wine, and pop back here to pick you guys up. Seriously, this is nothing. I only brought you guys along for the fresh air and sunshine. And the view.”
Demarco didn’t release me. “You’re buying wine?”
Buying? “Not exactly.” I’d been to this particular winery several times and knew what I needed and where it was kept. Storage area. Third row from the back on the right. Grab it, get out.
“You’re stealing wine?” He sounded disappointed.
My stomach twisted, making me want to explain. “They have lots—an enormous storage area—and they’re always making more. It’s the only place I know of where I can get the Sémillon grape, and Bob’s got a real weakness for rare blends.”
“Do you need money?” Demarco asked.
“No, I don’t need money.” I’d had lockers of different types of currency stashed away since I was a kid and being trained. Whenever I did a job, Shade encouraged me to take extra, sell it, and hide the proceeds. Besides, if I was ever in need, I could just go steal a painting or some jewelry or something and put it on the market. The turnaround was usually only a couple of days.
“If you don’t need money, why are you stealing wine?”
He made it sound so dirty and evil. It wasn’t like the winery was destitute and I was stealing from people who couldn’t even pay their rent. No, judging by the equipment they kept upgrading, business was going well. I’d stolen from people a lot worse off. Still, his question made me think.
“I don’t know. I’ve just always done it this way. Shade made me—”
“But you're free now, so why are you still stealing?”
Feeling attacked, I looked to Tweety for help, but the griffin continued to lean against the tree, looking anywhere but at me and Demarco. I was on my own. Great. Yes, stealing was bad, and Demarco’s mom had clearly taught him sandbox skills despite the fact he never had any other kids to play with, but he was being a little hypocritical.
“Where do you think the supplies you get on the beach come from? Do you really believe magical elves are manufacturing name brand clothes, food, and goods? Or do you fancy them waltzing right up to registers and paying for it all before they deliver it to your house?”
His forehead scrunched up. He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and admitted, “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about where they got the stuff we requested.”
“Well what I’m doing isn’t any different than accepting stolen goods from invisible helpers.”
“Mom and I didn’t have any options. We couldn’t leave, and it’s not like anyone else could deliver food and goods to us. We would have starved had they not helped us.”
His tortured expression tugged at my heartstrings. Demarco was a good man who cared about following the rules and I’d just pointed out the fact that, although he did it indirectly, he was still a thief.
“I didn’t have any options either,” I reminded him. “You have no idea how much it physically hurt me to disobey Shade. I didn’t want to take things—especially from nice people who had so little—but when Shade gave the orders, I had to. Regardless of any moral dilemmas. The alternative felt like having my guts compacted.”
He winced and looked away. His chivalrous overprotective vibe had to make it difficult for him to hear this and know I’d been in pain, and I felt like a heel for telling him. There was nothing either of us could do about the past.
Demarco closed the distance between us and gently slid his hands down my arms to take my hands. “Kinda my point, Romi. Shade’s not here now and he can’t force you to steal anymore.”
Such a good man, he was always trying to save me. Still, his words resonated, bringing a strange mix of relief, freedom, and fear. He was right. I no longer had to steal. But I’d been training to be a thief for as long as I could remember. If I cast aside the title, who would I be? We had four more essences of Zeus to steal, and then what? What would I do once we got Doreán back?
“I feel a deal coming on,” Tweety said, pushing himself off the tree and finally joining us. “Demarco stops using his wish list, and you stop stealing.”
Demarco and I locked gazes as I considered the implications. “I have the funds to stop stealing, but giving up your wish list… You know we’ll have to start doing normal people things, right? We’re talking grocery shopping and actually paying for the groceries. It’ll be a whole new experience.”
He cracked a smile. “Could be fun. What do you say, Romi? Ready to leave our thieving ways behind?”
“With the exception of the essences,” I amended. “We need to be free to steal those.”
“Except for the essences,” Tweety confirmed. “Do you, Romi, agree to stop stealing and do you, Demarco, agree to stop writing out weekly supply lists?”
Unexpected excitement warmed my belly and tugged at the corners of my mouth. Changes were a’comin’, but they wouldn’t necessarily be bad. In fact, the idea of raising Doreán in a home where he could flourish and grow into a good man like his father made me downright giddy.
“Deal?” Demarco asked.
“Deal.” I grinned, still holding his hands.
Magic tingled my skin as it sealed our pact. Now there would be extreme repercussions for stealing. I probably should have considered that before I made the deal, but I was too excited to give it much thought.
“Look at you two,” Tweety gushed. “All growing up and becoming respectable people.”
I mocked elbowing him in the gut and he played along, doubling over and sputtering.
“She’s prone to violence,” Tweety said. “Maybe you should have stuck something about that in the deal as well.”
“But I like it,” Demarco said with a grin.
The
look he gave me sent warm blood racing to every inch of my body. Something had shifted between us with the deal. I couldn’t put my finger on why, but I felt closer to him now.
“Come on.” I headed toward the hill. “We have to figure out where to buy wine around this dump.”
“Dump?” Tweety asked. “Romi, this place is gorge—” His eyes sparkled with humor. “Ah, sarcasm. I get it.”
I linked my arm in Demarco’s. “Looks like we’re not the only ones figuring life out.”
The three of us wove through the trees until we came to a walking trail. We followed the trail to the pond, crossed over a little wooden bridge, and continued along the path. The path ended in a parking lot, and beyond the lot stood a three-story building with a large detached storage and production facility.
“That’s where I get the wine,” I said, pointing at the detached building. “I’ve never seen anyone in there. Well… I came across a guy with a broom once, but we didn’t exactly have a conversation.”
I’d carelessly popped out of the shadows practically on top of the poor guy. He’d seen me, so I grabbed a bottle and smacked him upside his head, knocking him out cold but not doing any real damage. Then I took the bottles and split.
Demarco stared at me. “Just how much wine have you stolen from this place?”
I shrugged, trying to count up my visits to Bob. “I don’t know. Twenty bottles? Maybe thirty. Come to think of it… probably closer to fifty.”
“But that’s all over now.” Demarco sounded like he was reassuring himself and coming to terms with my past. “Hey, if you ever need money, I have more than I can ever spend. Even if I do have to buy my own supplies now.”
“You do?” Tweety and I both asked, stopping to stare at him. What use could a guy who grew up in a bubble have for money?
“Mom was a famous model, remember? She was pretty loaded. Her houses went to her parents after her funeral, but Mom took control of the bank accounts.”
“Hold up. Your mom had a funeral while she was still alive?” I asked.
“It happens all the time on TV,” Tweety assured me.
Shaking my head, I turned on the griffin. “Soap operas? Again? Really, Tweety?”
“But they’re so interesting.”
“Tweety, we’ve discussed this. They’re not an adequate representation of real human behavior, and they’ll just confuse you.”
“No more than the Disney channel,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I haven’t seen a single person break out in song and dance.”
“Point,” I said, conceding. Nudging Demarco, I asked, “They had a funeral? And she told you about it?”
“No. I was an infant when it happened. But since Mom was a pretty big deal with the media, there were lots of articles online. I stumbled across them when I was about ten. It was so surreal… reading all these theories about what had happened to her. One article even blamed aliens. Crazy.”
Well, the gods were otherworldly. “I bet that was hard to read as a kid. Especially since it wasn’t like you could reach out and tell them what really happened.”
“I wanted to, but Mom said nobody would believe me and it’d be harder on our family in the long run. She let her parents have the houses, but spent a lot of time talking to her attorney. He tried to find us, but never could. Mom authorized him to sign the bank accounts over to trust funds in my name. She always thought we’d get out of the bubble and she didn’t want us to end up destitute.”
“Smart woman,” Tweety said. “For your information, they hide money away in soap operas too. It’s how people survive after they fake their own deaths.”
I rolled my eyes.
Demarco ignored us and continued. “There’s two million between the accounts, and if we need more I can always sell weapons now that we have a way to deliver them.”
Two million? Holy crap. I had maybe three hundred grand stashed away. Between the two of us, we’d be set for life. I mean, assuming our lives continued down the same road. Together. Which was way too much for me to think about right now.
“A way to deliver them? Oh, you mean me? Is that all I am to you? A delivery service?” I asked.
“Don’t worry, I have other plans for you too,” he replied, pulling me to him to kiss my forehead.
“Aww,” Tweety gushed. “Sweet, but if you two would stop slobbering all over each other, I believe we have some alcohol to acquire.”
DEMARCO, TWEETY, AND I headed for the building that looked like a combination house and storefront. A little bell over the door announced our presence as we stepped over the threshold and into a shelf-lined room.
“Be right out,” a female voice with a strong Australian accent called from somewhere in the store.
The guys followed as I wandered down the nearest aisle, scanning the shelves for the familiar bottles of Sémillon wine.
“There you are.” A woman with wispy silver hair and deep laugh lines surrounding her thin lips like parenthesis appeared at the end of the aisle holding a bottle of wine. “You must be here for the tour, eh? Aw, the sneaky buggar. I didn’t think he had one set up this morning. All right, come here and we’ll get you settled.”
Tour? As we approached the counter I frantically scanned the area, wondering what this tour would entail. There, on the countertop sat a laminated map titled “Wine Tour.” The route appeared to weave around the entire vineyard and looked like it would take forever. Definitely not something we had time for. “No tour,” I said. “We’re just here to buy a couple bottles of wine.”
“Too right, love. I can help you with that.” She leaned her head into the back room and projected her voice. “Ethan, mate, you got a tour group out here waiting.”
“We’re in a bit of a hurry,” I tried to explain.
“Aw, crikey, a hurry you say?” she deadpanned. “American or Canadian?”
“American.” Technically I had no clue where any of us were born, but since I was raised in the Seattle Underground, we were pretty sure Demarco’s bubble was situated somewhere in northern California, and had no clue where Tweety had come from, American worked.
“Of course you are. Americans, are always in a rush, eh?”
“Guilty.” I resisted the urge to ask if all Australians talked so much.
“Well, while I’ve got ya, you can tell me what’s happenin’ to all the spring crops over there? Been all over the telly, but it doesn’t make sense. Sounds like everything’s carkin’ it for no good reason at all.”
“Carkin’ it?” I asked.
“Dyin’, love.”
Before I could answer, a balding man wearing glasses as thick as windowpanes came out of the backroom. “I already told you, there’s a perfectly good reason. Those pesticides and the genetically enhanced seeds the Americans use are finally catching up with them. I knew this day would happen. You can’t mess with nature like that and expect it not to mess with you back.”
His theory had merit, but wasn’t what had happened at all. In reality, Demeter was pissed about Hades keeping Persephone locked away in the underworld for good—rather than their previously agreed three months—and had halted food production in retaliation. If we didn’t steal back the essences of Zeus so Athena could put the big man back together and sic him on his wayward brother soon, everyone would starve. The Australians didn’t realize this since they were heading into fall, but anything they planted would wither and die right now, too.
I didn’t have the heart to tell the old man what was really going on. For one, it made me sound a bit egotistical that the production of food, and therefore the fate of life in general, rested on the thieving abilities of me and my two companions. Also, Ethan seemed like a dedicated conspiracy theorist, and bringing gods and magic into the conversation would mix up our flavors of crazy into a dish nobody could stomach.
“Bloody hell, Ethan.” The woman sounded exasperated. “These nice people are here for a wine tour. They don’t want to hear any of your grumblings, ya nutta.”
“Actually, we’re just here to buy wine,” I interjected, determined not to give up on my primary objective. If Demarco had just let me steal it, we’d already be standing on Bob’s doorstep by now. I cast the blacksmith an annoyed glance and he shrugged.
“Nonsense.” She ushered us all out the door. “It’s your first time here. You must take the tour. Impossible to fully experience the wine until you do.”
Without further ado, Demarco, Tweety, and I were swept up onto the back of a flatbed truck. Despite my continued insistence that we didn’t have time for a tour, we were seated on padded benches and handed brochures. A young driver slipped behind the wheel, and we were off.
Ethan started in about the history of the vineyard, going into great boring detail about his ancestors and the work they’d done to turn the vineyard into the beauty it was today. The way he painted his family was like they were saints. I didn’t want to sound insensitive but I knew from experience hard work didn’t necessarily create good people. My ancestors worked so hard they created darkness, tamed shadows, and made entire cities prosper, yet they were some of the worst beings out there. I kept my mouth shut.
Once the history lesson was over, Ethan launched into a spiel about the distinctive tastes of each grape and how they titillated the taste buds. Titillated. To my horror, he really did use that word.
Snickering, the teenage griffin beside me asked Ethan to repeat his last sentence.
“This particular wine is strongly spiced to titillate a jaded palate,” Ethan repeated, reading from notes he clearly did not write.
Tweety’s lips pressed together and his cheeks filled with air as he forced down laughter. I elbowed him in the side and flashed him a look I hoped adequately threatened his life as the truck rolled to a stop. Thankfully, Ethan was too busy trying to open a box of plastic taster cups to pay us much attention.
“It’s a funny word, Romi,” Tweety defended. “Titillate.” He chuckled, clearly cracking himself up. Say it. Come on, you know you want to.”
No, I didn’t want to. What I wanted, was to buy the damn wine and get the hell out of there. We had fake IDs to make, a god to barter with, essences to steal, a child to get back, and a world to save. Relatively speaking, titillate wasn’t all that funny.
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