Page 12 of Until the End of Ever
I rolled my eyes. “They might deny themselves, but they want fries. Everyone wants fries. In fact, I would like a double portion, thank you.”
I was positively starved after the events of the morning.
The vendor chuckled, leaning over his counter. “That is a good woman. Friend, if you take my advice, you put a ring on her finger immediately, yes? Souvlaki with double fries for the lady. And the rest of you?”
His English, while thickly accented, was perfect.
“Same,” Gideon said. “And I’d say, two more souvlaki, if you can pack them up for takeaway? Something tells me our friends will not take it kindly if we don’t bring them snacks. They don’t need double fries, though, lazy buggers.”
“Five souvlaki, eight fries,” Lucian summed up. “And is that ouzo I see? We’ll have three shots with lemonade, if you please.”
I had no clue what ouzo was, but a lemonade sounded divine. It was unseasonably warm, though we were high up in the mountain. Dressed for winter, I was starting to feel a little too hot, but I was reluctant to remove the soft shawl I’d taken to wearing at all times over my shoulders.
“Ah, you have good taste. But I can’t sell ouzo. Licenses, you know. It’s just in the back for me.” The man winked. “A lemonade, I can sell you, and as new friends, we’ll share a nice drink, yes?”
“Is that booze?” Gideon chuckled. “Are we going to get drunk on a Monday morning?”
“If there ever was a Monday morning worthy of booze, today is that day.”
Lucian’s clothes were always perfectly tailored, all lines smooth, but I’d seen him remove an entire picnic basket from his breast pocket earlier—reduced to the size of a nut, but still—so it was no surprise when he withdrew a large coin bag from his backpocket. No doubt, extended, flattened tailoring were part of the options Witch Styles offered, blending practicality with fashion.
He retrieved a money clip and slid two fifty-euro bills across the counter—overpaying by a lot, in my estimation.
The vendor’s eyes were on the coin bag. “Ha. Highvalers, yes? I guessed as much. I felt a little tremor earlier. You wouldn’t happen to have disturbed forces no one ought to play with, would you?”
Instantly on high alert, I took a step back from the stand, lifting my hand to prepare myself in case I ought to throw a shield up.
Lucian, however, seemed completely unbothered. “Might have. What’s it to you?”
The man laughed, shrugging. “We’re all alive, are we not? So, I say, none of my business. Still, color me intrigued. It’s been some time since anyone’s heard the echo. Back in the day, it happened several times per day. The ground would rumble, and our pythia would speak the words.”
He sounded like he’d witnessed all that firsthand, but what he was talking about wasancienthistory. From thousands and thousands of years ago.
“Who are you?” I asked warily.
Green eyes twinkled with mischief while the vendor placed five wraps on his grill, adding the already-shredded meat after. “You tell me your name, and I might give you mine, pretty lady.”
Lucian shot me a glance that held a warning, but I said, “Kleos.”
Frankly, I was too afraid to deny him anything. The aroma coming from his grill smelled so good, if he decided to no longer sell us food, I’d cry.
But what were we dealing with here? Certainly no ordinary street vendor. He looked and felt nothing like Apollo or Python; if not for the thoroughly confusing conversation, I would haveassumed I was in front of a middle-aged, portly old Greek man and nothing more.
That made him beam. “A good strong name. Glory,” he translated. “I am a son of Protesus—one of those history forgot, as I wasn’t stupid enough to challenge Hercules and let him murder me. They call me Mack, now.”
Protesus. That rang a bell. I searched through my memory, not immediately placing it.
“You’re a grandson of the sea god?” Lucian said before I’d remembered.
That was right; Protesus was the old man of the sea, the shape-shifting god one could hold on to to get answers about their fate.
How did Lucian always know everything?
“You’ve studied your history.” Mack grinned. “I never really had a special gift—not even seaworthy legs. So I sell souvlaki in Delphi. It’s nice. Quiet. Connected enough to the world tree to know if I should pack up and move away from this world.”
Done putting together the first souvlaki, the vendor handed it to me directly.
“The world tree?” I asked, distracted enough from the food to wonder what he meant.
