At that moment, Orion’s stomach interrupted with a loud grumble. He flushed. When was the last time he had eaten?
“Poor thing, you must be famished,” the god murmured. A table so long it verged on ludicrous unfolded before them, spanning the entire breadth of one wall. Perhaps a hundred people could have fit comfortably around it, and the amount of glistening dishes that sprung from its surface could have fed just as many. Steaming platters covered every inch of the table like something from a splendid dream: sizzling steaks and tender cheese pies, smoke-glazed vegetables stuffed with rice, grilled salmon with lemon and herbs, poached eggs in creamy tomato sauce, spiced lamb stew, and just about every other dish Orion could possibly imagine.
Two lonesome chairs appeared at each end, and Eoin pulled out the nearest one for Orion. As soon as he sat down, the entire room literally whirled around him with Eoin as the only anchor, so that after the table had rotated, the god needn’t walk to his seat at all.
Eoin lowered himself and raised his glass of amber liquid in toast. “May this realm never eclipse you, Orion Galashiels.”
Orion lifted his own glass, filled with something pink and bubbly, and took a sip. It tasted of fresh summer peaches. Four butterflies flitted over to him, carrying a satin napkin between them. They draped it across his lap. “Why are we sitting so far apart?”
Eoin shrugged. “Wish me closer, and so it shall be.”
Orion frowned, and without much effort at all, the middle of the table suddenly sucked inward, like a taut rubber band snapping back into shape. He yelped as baskets of rosemary bread and tureens of pumpkin soup launched into the air.
The butterflies that had delivered Orion’s napkin darted upward. Their wings and slender little bodies turned inside out, swelling and transforming into gaping maws with vicious pearly white teeth. They consumed the food—tableware and all—in a gulp so voracious that it caused them to flip inward once more, teeth nowhere in sight.
Orion stared slack-jawed as they fluttered back over to Eoin to rest delicately upon his shoulders.
Eoin raised an eyebrow. “Well, they have to eat somehow,” he said, as if this were the most reasonable fact in history—and who was Orion to think otherwise? “It’s either this or they go and infest the nectar arboretums. And that never ends well.”
“Nectar?” asked Orion, sampling a bit of sausage and immediately forking an entire half of it into his mouth. He restrained a groan. The food here didn’t just look beautiful—it tasted beautiful, too.
Eoin laughed at his bliss. “Yes. Nectar. The fare of the Immortals. A few spoonfuls are enough to revive us from exhaustion beyond your scope. Currently, I’m drinking nectar wine. I would offer you some, but it would turn your bones to ash.”
“How very considerate of you,” said Orion. He suddenly noticed Eoin wasn’t eating—no plate, no silverware. “So . . . you live off nectar?”
“Yes. Though I do allow myself to indulge in these sorts of things on occasion.” The god swirled a finger in the air and a rib cutlet levitated toward him. It sliced itself midair and floated into his mouth. As he chewed, he propped his hand beneath his chin and gazed into his wine glass with a quiet solemnity. “Mostly to keep myself sane. I have forced myself to learn how to savor the finer things in this life . . . especially if I don’t deserve them.”
“But . . . why wouldn’t you deserve them?”
Eoin looked up, blinking, as if he couldn’t fathom the question. Then understanding flickered across his handsome face. “Ah. I forget that few mortals living today have read the Legends of the Immortals.”
“I have,” said Orion in surprise, though he couldn’t remember when or where. “Are they true?”
“Indeed,” Eoin replied. “Soraya penned them, in fact, centuries ago. She is the eldest of my shadowlings. Perhaps you’ll meet her one day. But if you have read the legends, Orion, then you’ll know that as the God of Shadow, my existence serves no pleasant purpose.”
“But you saved me,” Orion argued. “Or your shadows did, at least. Besides, no other Immortal could handle such enormous responsibility, so you stepped forward to shoulder the burden. Surely you aren’t a complete wretch. That counts for something, doesn’t it?”
A soft, secretive smile bloomed on Eoin’s lips, the subtle curl of chrysanthemum petals turning toward the sunshine. “If you say so, Orion Galashiels, then I suppose it does.”
Chapter Five
“One absynthe,” said the bartender gruffly, setting down the glass with a clank. The emerald-green liquid sloshed around, giving off its own ominous glow like a strange deep-sea creature that had never seen the light of day. “That totals to . . . eighteen.”
Harry dragged the drink toward him with his elbows perched on the countertop, and took a lazy sip. “Cheers.” Then he rotated on the stool and leaned back against the countertop’s edge, his half-lidded eyes sweeping the underlit bar. Sickly sweet smoke from cigars and ember spirits wafted to the ceilings, swirling around the black lights in a haze of purple and gray. A small crowd had gathered around the pool table, and Harry watched as a gorgeous, serpentine seishi arched down with a cue stick, ocean-green hair slipping across one shoulder as they lined up their shot. There was a crack, like all the knuckle bones in a hand shattering all at once. The seishi blushed as a web of fractures spread across the cue ball. They glanced up and caught Harry’s eye, smiling prettily, but he only lifted his glass to the mystical being before turning back around.
The bartender slung their towel over their shoulder. “You need to pay up,” they grumbled as Harry raised the glass to his lips once more. “Absynthe doesn’t come cheap, you know.”
Harry inhaled long and deep, savoring the hellish burn that raced down his throat. He blinked back tears and reached into his pocket, blindly pulling out a handful of gold notes. He plucked two from his palm and tossed them into the air. “Here.”
A black tongue shot out of the bartender’s mouth, twisting over itself to catch both coins just before they hit the counter. The tongue darted back into the mouth, coins and all. The bartender bit down hard on the gold and let out a low laugh. “So what, you’re the real deal, eh?”
Harry drained the glass, slammed it back down, and prodded it away. “Another, please.”
The bartender raised a bushy eyebrow. They looked like any mortal, but that tongue could asphyxiate a human faster than the tightest choke hold. “You sure about that? That’s some strong stuff, you know.”
Harry forced himself to inhale patiently. His fingers curled around the pendant hanging from his neck. It heated at his touch, as if to comfort him.
He wanted to throw it into the Jade River.