Page 19 of Great Service from Top to Bottom

“I don’t fucking like him.” Zee pointed a glossy fingernail at me, then huffed and folded his arms. “You like him.”

I shrugged. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?” he whined. “He’s old, and strict, and boring.”

Why did I like Reynard? That was a good question. I’d not really thought about it. “I don’t know. I like that he’s made mistakes and owned up to them. He’s reasonable, and wise, and strong, but also, really, really hot. He makes me feel safe, I guess.” And there was an old, ageless part of me that kinda liked the old, ageless part of him too.

Zee twisted in the seat. “Don’t I make you feel safe?”

“Yeah, but it’s different. You’re you and he’s him and I’m me, and the three of us just sort of work together.”

Zee rolled his eyes. “Have you forgotten how he tried to gift you to his queen, who, by the way, isn’t on this side of the veil, so how was he going to do that? We still don’t know. But whatever, sure. He makes you feel”—air quotes—“safe.”

There had been no real risk of the vampires’ plan succeeding. I hadn’t survived this long by losing to those who wanted to capture and use me in multiple ways. “Some of us aren’t perfect like you, Zee.”

“I know, right. It’s a fucking curse, being this perfect.”

Speaking of curses, mine was still wobbling. And I’d deal with it, after we’d been to the market and found the fae who had sold me Tom Collins, so we could find out if and where Tom Collins might be backed-up. One thing we all agreed on was getting our Tom Collins back.

The car maneuvered through traffic and for a little while, Zee and I fell quiet. Zee pulled his phone out and took a few selfies. “Fucking fucks, ugh.”

“What’s happened?”

“A fan recognized this car as a vampire sedan, and now they’re all, hashtag Reyzee in the comments. I can’t even update my socials without Fuck-Hard sticking his fangs in. Zee’s daddy takin’ him for a ride. Puh-lease. If anyone is riding anyone . . .” He trailed off. “Yeah, alright, that’s valid.” He muttered some more, and tapped away on his phone, probably trying to do damage control.

While he was distracted, and we were chatting, it seemed like a good time to ask why he’d been avoiding me. “Zee . . . ?”

“Hm?” he mumbled, focused on his phone.

“Why don’t you want to have sex with me anymore?”

The car hit a bump, Zee jolted, and the phone slipped from his fingers and dropped between his knees. “The fuck?” He twisted, and fished around on the floor, his face smooshed against the back of the front passenger seat.

“It’s just . . . I assume you’re feeding from somewhere, but it’s not me, and that’s fine, I guess, you don’t have to be with me, but I sort of thought we had a thing now—you and me—and I know we never actually agreed to be a thing, it just kinda happened, but I liked it. A lot. And these last few days, you’ve made it clear you don’t want that anymore. Which is fine. That’s totally your choice.” His eyes widened. He straightened, sitting back, without finding his phone. “But it would be nice to know if I did something wrong. I haven’t really had many uhm . . . friends, or things, and if I did something wrong, then I’m really sorry, and I know it’s been super tough, what with the almost dying and the hotel and Reynard, so I understand. I really do. It’s probably even a good idea. I mean, we work together, and we’re business partners, and emotions in the middle of that? Bad idea. You’re a demon and I’m very human. You’re probably right, and I⁠—”

He pressed a finger to my lips. “Okay. Take a breath. One, that’s way too many words. And two, it’s not you, it’s me. And three, don’t ask why or I’ll poof out of this car into traffic, and that shit ain’t fun.”

“Why, though?” I mumbled behind his finger.

He plucked his finger back. “I’m uh . . .” His gaze danced. “Going through some things. I just need to figure some stuff out. But I want this—you and me—I want it more than anything, more than life, more than mac and cheese. Don’t ever doubt that. Hey look, there’s the market—” He poofed from the car.

He’d said he was going through some things, exactly as Reynard had suggested. So it wasn’t me? Then why not let me help? “Stop here, please,” I told the driver, and climbed out.

Even though he had vanished, we’d made tiny steps toward progress. That was good. Now we just needed to focus on finding Junk Jim in amongst a whole lot of people . . .

The Ferry Plaza building, with its enormous clock tower, had stood watch over the Port of San Francisco for more than a hundred years, or so the tourist plaque said.

The police presence at the entrance suggested today’s market was no normal event, but behind the austere-looking armed officers, brightly colored banners draped from streetlamps to the big building’s arches, zigzagging down the street above countless stalls. I spotted Zee’s horns among the throng of humans and Lost Ones, and hurried into the fray after him.

A wash of noise and color and spiciness rolled over me. The first few tables housed handmade baked bread—thankfully, not from Fido’s—in a traditional gargoyle style, like big cobblestones. They smelled delicious. The next stall sold cakes, the next handmade flower brooches and necklaces, the next a bunch of bagged spices not usually seen this side of the veil.

Ward weavers sold Lost Ones clothing, as a lot of races couldn’t buy clothes that fit their dimensions off the rack. The next ward weaver’s table sold wards too, charmed into bracelets and pendants. Drawn to the shiny display, I forgot I was supposed to be following Zee, and gazed at the rings and necklaces. Most were cheap costume jewelry, but the handspun wards made them valuable. The seller was genuine too. As most humans couldn’t see wards, they often got tricked into buying fakes, but I could see how these little gems glowed from the ward weaver’s touch.

“You!” A screech rang out like a bell.

Everyone around me looked over at the gnarled old woman hunched around a crystal ball. She wore the classic Romani shawl, strewn with beads. Her keen eyes found me, and seemed to hold secrets from long-dead civilizations.

“You!” she screeched again, pointing a twig-like finger in my direction.