Page 64 of Find My Way Down to You

“I think—” I swallow. Try again. “I think I’ll take my break now.”

No one stops me.

Tonia hands me two slices of pizza with a weak smile. I nod my appreciation.

It’s not until I sink low in the corner booth that I notice the pizza toppings. Pepperoni and pineapple. My throat constricts.

I nudge the plate aside.

Without meaning to, my brain leaps to Cary. That first time I saw him here in this very booth. A face like marble. Eyes like the darkest corners of the earth. A tightly kept mystery wrapped in a scowl and black clothes.

Tugging out my phone, I search his name on the internet.The top four results are: Cary Elwes and Cary Grant, the actors.Caryophyllaceae, a pink flower Mom would know about. Finally, Cary, a town in North Carolina I never plan to visit.

There’s no mention of the Deathless. Or the ferrier of souls.

“Of course not,” I whisper before switching tactics.

My next search isthe underworld. A Wikipedia link pops up. I’ve barely made it through the introduction when a voice groans behind me.

“Oh gods, no. Never trust Wikipedia.”

Someone slides in opposite me.

Henri.

He grins mischievously. “August, you’re one difficult mortal to find.”

“Am I really?”

“No.” He laughs. “But it sounded great, right? Very enigmatic. Like maybe you’re more than you seem.” The last sentence comes with an eyebrow raise. An unreadable glint in his brown eyes.

I bite the corner of my lower lip. “I guess?”

Henri relaxes his arms across the back of the booth. His green blazer looks velvet, expensive. The cream-colored shirt underneath is barely buttoned, exposing hints of his pale russet chest. His glinting charm.

Snakes and wings.

His smile grows. “Well? Go ahead.”

“Go ahead and what?”

He rolls his eyes. Not out of annoyance. More like he finds me entertaining. “Go ahead,” he repeats, “and ask me what you want to know.”

“Oh.”I scratch my chin. “Um…”

He flicks his wrist, gesturing to my phone. “I swear. Mortals will believe whatever the internet tells you.” He tsks. “Did you knowanyonecan edit those entries? All you need is a username and an imagination.”

I chuckle. “I mean,someof it is true. There are citations. Sometimes bibliographies and further reading.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” Another eye roll. “All collected from scholars who trust whatever some privileged, dead white man with a story and an audience said.”

Well, he certainly has a point about that.

Henri leans forward. “Tell me: Is every story told about you true?”

Immediately, my thoughts slingshot to high school.Troy Ackerman.His square face, freckled white skin, shaggy blond hair. Those shrewd blue eyes always pointed menacingly at me. The ugly words behind his flat smile.

“No,” I say with a bite.