“Here I am, little lady,” he says, giving her a soft smile. “Guess I should tell you again, in case I didn’t enough last night, how grateful I am that you got me out.”
Perry waves him away, turning her attention to the coffee streaming into her cup. “It was nothing.”
“Can I at least make you and Dex some breakfast?” he asks, getting to his feet. “If you’re going to let me crash on your couch this week, I could become your live-in cook.”
Perry laughs and brings her coffee to her mouth, facing him. “Sounds like a plan. But do you really think you’re going to find a place—and a job—in a week?”
He glances at me before looking back to her. “Actually, I’m getting a ride back to Portland with Ada when she leaves.”
Perry’s brows knit together as she gives me a suspicious look. “You’re going with Ada? Why?”
“I have business there.”
“What business? Why does it have to involve Ada?”
Max laughs, running his hand over his chin. “I can’t tell if you’re looking out for me or looking out for Ada.”
“Both of you,” she says. She shakes her head, putting down her coffee. “And I’m not…I’m just surprised. I didn’t think there was anything for you there.”
“There’s nothing for me here, Perry. I have you and Dex, but I’m pretty sure you don’t want me crashing here forever. In Portland I have Jacob. That’s enough to get me back on my feet.”
“You think Jacob can give you a job?”
He gives her a funny smile. “You never wondered how I had money, when I never seemed to do anything but watch over Dex, and you? Perry, I’m a survivor. I’ve been around for a very long time, sometimes in my role as guardian, like for Dex or for Rose, sometimes just as a mere mortal. But I’ve always been taken care of. Don’t you worry about that.”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Wait, so like Jacob bankrolls you? Where does he get his money from?”
Maximus shrugs. “I’m not sure.”
“Oh my god. He’s a drug dealer,” I mutter.
“He’s not a drug dealer,” Max says. Then he thinks that over. “Okay, maybe he did a bit of that back in the seventies, but those were the days of rock ‘n’ roll.”
“Money laundering,” Perry supplies.
Maximus laughs. “No. Nothing illegal. Let’s just say immortality lets you make some good investments and leave it at that. Anyway, Jacob will help me regardless. He owes me that much for actually following through and getting me here, especially when I did the same for him back in Prague.”
“So you’re going to be a man of leisure,” Perry comments.
“I didn’t say that. Hell, maybe I’ll open a beach bar somewhere in Mexico. Spend my days slinging margaritas in the tropical sun.”
“You’re going to burn so easily,” I comment.
“I don’t know,” Perry says, trying not to smile. “He was in the eternal inferno and he seems fine to me.”
“Very funny,” he says dryly.
“Oh,” I say to Perry. “I should let you know that he thinks the whole went to Hell and came back from Hell thing is getting old.”
She laughs. “Already? It’s been less than twenty-four hours.”
“And I reckon that’s been long enough,” he says. “Now tell me what you and your husband want for breakfast before I make you something you hate.”
Perry throws her hands up in surrender. “Bacon and eggs, scrambled. Dex will have the same, you know he eats anything.”
“Done. Now go back to bed and I’ll call you when it’s ready,” he says, going over to the stove again.
Perry raises her brows. “Wow. Sure I can’t convince you to stay longer?” Then she looks at me and says in my head, Are you okay with taking him back to Portland?
I frown. Why wouldn’t I be?
Perry studies the back of Max for a moment. He stops what he’s doing and looks over his shoulder at us. “For your information, ladies, I can hear your thoughts.” I flush, feeling bad. “And I’ll have you know, Perry, that I aim to be the perfect gentleman. I’m never not.”
Perry opens her mouth to correct him and he quickly adds, “Aside from a few times.”
But I know that Perry isn’t worried about Max being creepy or weird or anything like that. The two of us have always had an easy relationship, and even if he does get inappropriate, which isn’t really in his nature, I’ll put him in his place really fast.
She’s worried because we don’t really know what happened to him in Hell and if there are any lingering effects. If it’s changed him in some way. And if he’s truly alone, so to speak. You don’t go through something like that and come back the same as you were before.
I guess it’s just a matter of time before we find out how much damage was done.
Three
“I survived. I speak, I breathe, I’m incomplete, I’m alive – hooray!”
– The Vampyre of Time and Memory
“Get in, loser.”
I gesture to my Mini Cooper parked on the street outside Perry and Dex’s apartment, the cold winter wind whipping my hair around my face.
Max stares at the car for a moment, most likely wondering how he’s going to fit his massive frame into my mini-mobile. The ends of his black scarf dance in the breeze and he gathers his coat closer to him. Over the last few days he’s slowly been acclimatizing to the new/old world, and it turns out the guy gets cold easily. I guess the temperatures in Hell are insane, as to be expected, not that he’s discussed anything about that place with anyone so far.
And it’s freezing here anyway. The damp cold that the Pacific Northwest likes to unleash this time of year really sinks into your bones. Because Max doesn’t have any of his magic Jacob money (which is what I’m calling it) at the moment, Perry and I took Max shopping for some winter clothes, with Perry fronting the bill. His coat is charcoal, knee-length, and pretty dapper, elevating his normal style of flannel shirts and jeans. Part of me is hoping that when we get back to Portland and he gets money, I can be his personal shopper and really give him a makeover.
“Loser?” Max asks, glancing up at me, brow furrowed like I just insulted him.
I roll my eyes. “You’ve never seen Mean Girls? We’ll have to fix that. Get in the car, big dude.”
“I’m not sure I’m going to fit,” he says, opening the door.
The thing about my car is that it looks small from the outside, but from the inside it’s surprisingly roomy. I get in the driver’s seat and buckle up, starting the car right away to get the heat flowing for the big ginger. I watch as he shoves the seat back and then presses his large hand against the ceiling.
“I guess I do fit,” he remarks, then stares at his knees pressed up against the glove compartment. “Barely.”
“Buckle up,” I tell him, just as Karen O’s cover of Led Zeppelin’s Immigrant Song comes blasting from the speakers. Then I burn it out of the parking spot, the car sliding on the icy road for a moment before it gets traction.