Page 87 of Dead Heat

Cam’s gaze swung to me. “He’s got you there. For what it’s worth, though, a cave doesn’t sound too hard to bypass.”

“Except the issue isn’t just the cave. It’s also the creature that guards it.” Helheim had its very own Cerberus. Garm was a monstrous hound, minus the two additional heads. Advantage: Greek underworld.

Gun examined his fingernails. “So you want to avoid the official entrance entirely.”

“Exactly.”

“What if you portal in?” he proposed.

“Is that even possible?”

“Not sure, but I can find out.”

Cam made a noise of disapproval. “You can’t.”

Gun’s teeth gleamed. “Sure I can. That’s what the cards are for.” He rose to his feet and motioned for me to join him.

“Where are we going?”

“To see a buddy of mine.”

“He isn’t your buddy,” Cam said. “He hates you.”

“Only because he’s a sore loser.” Gun looked at me. “Tristan likes to talk during poker. The more he talks, the more he loses.”

“He won’t agree to help you,” Cam said.

“Then I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Gun winked at me.

“Has it ever occurred to you that La Fortuna is like a magical mafia?” I asked. “Big Italian families passing their wealth and power through generations and exerting control over others.”

“Technically, Florence was its own city-state. It wasn’t part of Italy then.” He gave me a smug smile. “Hey, will you look at that? Something your grandfather didn’t teach you.”

“Are you coming, Cam?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to upset Tristan. His sister cuts my hair.”

“Very sensible.”

“We can take my car,” Gun offered.

I smiled. “You just don’t want to ride in my truck.”

“It’s old and dirty. I like a clean ride.”

“Gary is clean. He’s just old.”

We took Gun’s car—mainly because it was faster, but also because his backside was too pampered for Gary’s well-worn seats.

Tristan lived across Fairhaven in a Colonial-style townhouse on Ripley Road. The buildings on this street were trying very hard to resemble an eighteenth-century neighborhood. I half expected to see a horse-drawn carriage rumble past us. Black gaslit lampposts. Thick ebony shutters. Cobblestone walkways. Each and every door was painted candy apple red.

Gun parked near the mailbox marked with number seventy-seven. “We’re in luck. That’s his car in the driveway.”

“Promise me you won’t hurt him on my account.”

“If I hurt him, I promise it will be for my own amusement.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.” I exited the car and glanced at the townhouse in time to see the curtain shift. “We’ve been made. Any chance he has a ward?”

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