Page 80 of Seph

What if I ask Hades for it—and not for something for Emily? Is that selfish or unselfish, because maybe that would make her happiest?

“I never had someone to hug me when I was upset before. I don’t like it.” Emily snuggled them under the floral comforter.

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t like needing it—but I love having it. Don’t let go?”

He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, feeling her wetness and his trailing down thighs and smearing across middles. Raw. Primal. Human.

“I’m glad I met you, Em. I always thought you were gonna kill me. Turns out, you make me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt in my entire existence. You sleep a little. I’ll keep watch. We’ll get up in a few hours and see what we can do.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“‘Ring in Halloween with our all-night buffet with pumpkin spice punch. Costumes welcome but not required.’” Emily read the sign over the breakfast buffet. Around her, other guests picked up fluffy scrambled eggs and thin, crispy slices of bacon, or waited at an omelet station.

Simeon nudged her as they waited in line in the dark dining room, lit with artificial pinkish lights.

She followed his gaze. Men in fringed vests and bellbottoms sat next to women in crisp belted dresses, gloves, and little pillbox hats.

These aren’t costumes. The hair—it’s not a wig, that’s real.

“Em, what d’you fancy? Belgian?”

“American, I think.” She kept her eyes on the group of flower children picking at their plates with vacant smiles.

“Belgian waffle, love?” Simeon pressed.

“Huh? Oh! Yes, thanks.”

At their table in the corner, Simeon showed her two bottles of water. “Save this. Take it upstairs. Gotta top up.” He nodded significantly.

“Right.” Lethe’s Nectar would protect them, but they’d need to keep drinking it while staying in Mnemosyne’s sphere of influence. “Check out the neighbors?” she asked casually, spooning fresh fruit on her waffle and trying not to hear her father’s voice accusing her of forgetting her specialized diet and giving into food that would make her slow and fat, an easy target.

“Must have money. They can keep them here. Tapping them for it. Real estate in Vegas ain’t cheap,” he muttered, squinting his eyes at a gentleman with a prominent scar on one side of his face and a pinstriped suit. “Couldn’t be,” he murmured, looking down at the low rumble coming from his empty stomach. “Good thing Jakob sent me with a packed lunch,” he joked, referring to the cooler in their room.

Emily nodded, eyes glued to the narrow hall past the buffet. “Kitchen is that way.”

“Yep.”

They said no more, but both knew the plan. Right as the matinee began, Simeon would sneak the precious bag of Lethe’s Dust down that corridor to the main vent that blew exhaust from the kitchen and kept the “club” room cool in the sweltering Nevada heat. With his speed and sensory perception, he was sure he would be able to dump enough to spread it through the ground floor—when Circe was on stage. They figured there’d likely be several other key members of Mnemosyne’s temple there, as well. With some of her most devoted servants suddenly unable to remember their own name, much less who they were worshiping, Mem would have to take notice—and have a hefty drain on her power, too.

“What if someone stops you?” she dared to ask under her breath.

“Then I tell them exactly why I’m here. I need to make someone forget my wandering eyes, and I know they’ll make it happen—for a fee. How much do you want to bet that some of the couples that come in and leave have the whammy put on them on the way out? Probably the dirtbag types. The boss lady seems to like that type.”

“Mm.” The waiting was killing her, especially this inactive sort of waiting. She stared around the dark, lazily lit dining room again, noticing they were the only “normal” looking guests.

And we’re so far from normal...

“I think these are the lifers,” Simeon whispered. “The rest are probably sleeping in or hitting the slots and wax museums and whatnot. Not everyone has a metabolism like you and I.”

“Not everyone is allergic to daylight like us, either.” Emily managed a weak laugh.

“Oh, you go on and sightsee if you want, Em.”

“No. We stick together.” She rubbed her temple suddenly, a sharp twinge from stress, poor sleep, and emotion attacking. “Something else I never had. In sticky situations, my father made it clear that it was every man for himself. Someone in the family has to survive, you know.”

Simeon took her hand. “Well, I feel that way, too—but about you. If things get messy, I want you to—”

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