Page 71 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

He gives her a startled look as she climbs out of the car.

“And how I had no clue my life was in danger, that’s also pretty impressive.” She doesn’t know why she’s pushing herself to compliment him. Doesn’t know why she desperately wants him to know that she appreciates it, appreciates the stress, appreciates the effort. “Glad I didn’t get shot or anything.”

He squints at her, his eyes briefly flashing red before that too vanishes. “You’re welcome?”

She tosses her mess of a ponytail over one shoulder. “Let’s get some supplies, see if they have your pretzels.”

21

Everything goes smoothly, no hint of anything harming her or him. They pick up some of the rather gourmet cat food on the grocery list, and Delina holds it up to Maison.

“And they claim Chance just hunts in the wild,” he grumbles.

“There’s cat treats here, too,” Delina says, definitely grabbing some extra of those. “I knew they must spoil him.”

Maison tosses a cat toy into the basket as well, the sort that someone will absolutely trip and twist their ankle over.

The store had acceptable hair products and gorgeous apples and she ends up getting enough to actually make some comfort foods, before they pile it into a cooler with ice packs Gurlien had insisted they take.

It’s so close to how shopping back in Prescott used to go.

“Gurlien told me to go to the brewery,” Maison says, almost disgruntled, and there’s some context that she’s missing there, something, but if it keeps her out of the cabin a little longer, she’s not going to protest. “Gave me a list.”

“He doesn’t strike me as a beer drinker,” Delina says with a shrug, though her curiosity is buzzing.

“Me neither,” Maison replies, “but he was oddly insistent about having me try some. I think he was trying to be social.” There’s a long pause after that. “Or trying to apologize.”

“Not so good at that, is he?”

“Not at all.”

The brewery is close,and Maison’s just about to vibrate out of his skin with the same unnamed tension.

“Do you think someone’s going to attack me here?” Delina asks dryly.

“No, they tracked me by my phone, don’t have that anymore,” Maison replies idly, which thankfully answers that question. “Unless they’re just coating the entire seaboard, and in which case, there’s not much we can do.”

“Can Necromancy be an offensive power?” Delina asks, as they step inside the brewery.

It’s barely after midday, so only a few disinterested bartenders linger at the front, and Maison tucks them in one corner, conveniently away from any window, and it’s so familiar, it’s so normal, that it makes her heart stick.

The bar is raw wood, the tables made from old fashioned stumps, and the light is on the dimmer side than most industrial style breweries. The floor is more raw concrete, and the tables have stools rather than proper chairs.

He orders for them, referring to an actual physical list written down by Gurlien, and comes back precariously balancing two flights.

“Did Gurlien want to apologize or to get you drunk?” Delina asks, raising an eyebrow at them.

“Good question.” He places one in front of her, then cheers her with the first glass from his. “Yes, Necromancy can work on the offense, in theory. If you can provide something with magic, you can almost always take something away.”

She shivers at that, then shivers at the sensation of helplessness she felt stuck behind Maison, with someone intent on killing her. “So can you teach me?”

He hesitates, taking a drink from his first beer to stall, then making an impressed face at it. “I don’t know if I’m demon enough to do that.”

She sips from hers, a surprisingly fizzy wheat beer, and watches him underneath her eyelashes as he obviously wrestles with his emotions and expectations.

“I can—possibly—teach you some basics,” he says, after savoring the entirety of his first sample, a dark, rich looking amber. “In general, people are taught by the same genre of magic.”

“Were you?” she asks, and he swallows, the long lines of his throat moving. “Are there a lot of Half Demons?”

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