Page 12 of The Prince of Hidden Shadows
And as for pairing a god with a human?
That’s either a joke… or a catastrophe in the making.
Am I missing something here?
Hades’s little assignment arrived right on time, even if I wasn’t eager to take it on. It spared me from explaining that my heart wasn’t broken—my pride was, bruised where Hermes had stomped all over it. Relief, bitter and laced with sourness, loosened the knot in my chest. At last.
Anyway, here we are, in the bathroom of Nathan’s Tribeca loft, as I urge him to crawl back into his supine body, which he does without too much trouble.
First part of the mission: check. Nathan is safe, and his female friend is relieved. Good! I give myself credit for a job well done, reminding myself to keep an eye on those two. I’m no guardian angel, but Father wanted me to investigate, and my new friendNathan grew on me. After all, Nathan suspected his friend had a hand in the commotion. At moments like these, I hate that I can’t sense magic. I’m stuck observing from a distance. Once I have a clearer idea of what we’re dealing with, I’ll work on a game plan.
Until then, I leave the two friends alone and spend a few days at a downtown hotel, getting reacquainted with Manhattan life.
The amber glow of Tiny’s & The Bar Upstairs draws me in from the cold Tribeca streets. I end up at a corner table—private enough to feel tucked away, but not so hidden I’m overlooked. The air carries a faint scent of rosemary and butter, from the bread they keep bringing out in woven baskets. The place is small but well styled: pink walls, vintage fixtures, and a sense of stepping out of time.
The twenty-something waiter—short dark hair, strong jaw, and an easy grin—sidles up to my table with the kind of casual confidence that always unsettles me. “Decided yet?” What did he say his name was when he introduced himself earlier? “Or are you feeling adventurous and trust my recommendation?”
I glance up from the menu, catching the glint in his eye. His perfect smile tells me that he might be hinting at something, but I miss the cue. “Hit me. Do you have a favorite among today’s specials? I’m not from around here, and I’m game for whatever you recommend.” I have no issues mastering languages and accents, so my English gives nothing away—and he doesn’t pry.
“Oh, so we’re on the same page… perfect. I’d go with the pumpkin risotto for the main course.”
I shut the leather-bound menu. “Sounds... seasonal and exactly what I’d enjoy. Thank you.”
“You’re most welcome. I can suggest other things afterward.” His grin widens.
“Thanks, I’m really open to anything.”
“Noted…” He coughs lightly, blushing over his freckles. I’m about to ask if he’s okay, but he swallows before adding, “But you’ll have to tell me if it’s the best risotto you’ve ever had, okay? I have a reputation to uphold.”
“Sure.” I nod, unsure how to respond to that kind of charm—or maybe it’s flirting? It’s been a while since I’ve had to interpret human behavior; I lack practice.
He lingers, staring at the empty chair across the table, as if expecting something—or someone.
“Thank you,” I offer, and he saunters off. There’s a lightness to his steps, like he’s amused. Thoughtful, I shrug, opening the David Baldacci book I bought the day after my arrival. Tracking Nathan’s powerful witch friend took up most of my time, so I didn’t get to read as much as I’d hoped. The suspense is killing me, so to speak.
The risotto arrives, steaming and fragrant, with little flecks of sage on top. “Here you go. Careful, it’s hot—like me.” He chuckles, setting the plate down. Then, leaning slightly closer, he adds, “Kidding. Unless?”
I blink at him, once again, unsure of his intentions. Is he serious or just playing around? “Thanks,” I repeat, focusing on the food. It’s good risotto—creamy and perfectly spiced—but my brain is a little stuck on whether I’m the punchline of some inside joke I don’t get.
The rest of the evening passes in a blur of small exchanges—refills of wine, some bread I don’t care for, and a recommendation for dessert (that I decline). Each time I glance up, I’m greeted with that friendly grin. When the bill arrives, I drop some cash on the table and leave what I believe is a generous tip. I depart the restaurant without seeing him. Oh well!
The late February night air doesn’t affect me, but looking at the shivering and rosy-cheeked people around me, and the way they gawk at my summer attire, I remind myself to do some shopping tomorrow. I have to blend in! How careless of me… With that in mind, I search my jacket pocket out of reflex when I’m halfway down the street and unfold the receipt.
I stop dead in my tracks—not literally—as I notice the scrawl on the other side.
You look like you’re in the mood for dessert. I can offer à la carte - Andy :)
There’s a phone number beneath it.
I gasp, staring at the paper as if it holds a riddle. Even if I wanted to call him, I don’t own a phone; the last time I walked the Earth, cell phones didn’t exist. Maybe I should buy one—everyone clutches theirs, and I aim to belong. So much to catch up on!
Hurrying back to my hotel to watch my favorite show, I slam the door behind me and grab the remote. My cheeks burn—and not from the cold. I roll my eyes at myself and drop onto the bed as the opening credits fade.
Am I flattered by human attention?
Ludicrous. And yet, Andy’s playfulness disarms me. It’s not the wine talking either—I don’t react to it like humans do.
“A la carte…” I whisper. My interest is piqued, but will I act on it?
