Page 25 of Samhain Savior
Confusion swamped me, the sounds of a bustling metropolis mingled with the dank, earthy smells of the trees around me creating a nauseating cocktail that I had to close my eyes against or risk puking all over Archer’s shiny loafers.
“Wait,” I protested, stumbling behind him as he used that infernal fucking leash to drag me where he wanted. “Just wait!”
He didn’t stop moving, but he did slow, allowing me to stay upright, at least for the moment.
I could hear the others marching along behind us, their own footsteps not as hurried as Archers or as clumsy as mine. Finally, he directed me to a bench, the low seat surrounding a cluster of squat trees, their few remaining leaves dancing in the cold October wind.
“Sit.”
I gaped at him, somehow still shocked at his audacity, but Archer only loomed over me until I complied, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his dark eyes narrowed in anger.
I didn’t know what he had to be angry about. I was the one getting mysterious letters left for me in ancient crypts, not him.
“Oh, sweet!” Vine crowed, one fist in the air as he looked around. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down, boss. I’ll be right back. Don’t start without me.”
I watched him take off, darting over a low wrought iron fence and across multiple lanes of traffic—ignoring several angry shouts and even more blaring car horns—before disappearing inside a dimly lit shop. Less than two minutes later he was racing back toward us, two to-go boxes dangling from his hands and a smile stretched across his handsome face.
“Hey, witch. Want a wiener?”
“Excuse me?” Startled by his brash words, I looked at the others. Mal was staring off into the trees, his head once again tilted at an odd angle, ignoring us completely. Corson, however, stood with one fist over his mouth, trying and failing to hide a chuckle.
Vine grinned at me, his eyes flashing with amusement as he settled on the bench beside me, placing one of the boxes on his lap like it was the most precious thing in the world.
“You know...a wiener. A delicious, smoky frankfurter in a fresh-baked bun.” Opening the box, he reached inside and pulled out a hot dog, holding it in front of my face andwaving it back and forth as it steamed in the brisk morning air. “There is nothing better than a hot dog from Gray’s Papaya.”
Unbidden, and very much against my wishes, my stomach decided to rumble loudly, the delicious smell of the hot dog overwhelming my desire to remain stoic and aloof.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Vine laughed as he passed me the hot dog, both of us ignoring the sullen stare that Archer was firing our way.
The other guys both crowded around, divvying up the food and scarfing it down like they hadn’t eaten in a month, but Archer stayed where he was, across the square, scowling impressively, still connected to me by a strand of ghostly shadow.
Bastard.
Still, something in me wanted to bridge the gap between us—both literal and metaphorical. Catching his eye, I held up another of the hot dogs, offering it to him because it seemed that the others were not inclined to ensure he also got something to eat. Lip curling, Archer ignored my offer, huffing out an annoyed breath and looking around impatiently.
Fine. He could go hungry for all I cared.
I was down to my last bite, a small wedge of processed meat that should probably not be identified for the sakeof my mental health, when Pandora poked her nose out of her pouch, sniffing the chilly air.
“Sorry, girl,” I whispered, smiling down at her regretfully as I held out the piece of meat for her. “No mealworms today.” Huffing out her displeasure, she took the offering, stuffing it into her mouth as fast as she could.
“What does she normally eat?” Vine asked around a mouthful of food.
“Bugs, mostly,” I said, rubbing my finger lightly along her forehead and down to her nose, smiling at the little purr she made under my touch. “Some fruits and veggies, too.”
“We’ll get her taken care of,” he said confidently, as if crickets and fresh peas were easy to come by on a New York street corner.
“If you’re all quite finished,” Archer drawled, rolling his eyes. Vine let out a soft chuckle, not at all intimidated by the angry demon glaring daggers at us.
Another tug on the leash, and I stood, my stomach settled and my head mostly screwed on straight.
“Let’s go.”
Discarding the trash, Vine slid into step behind Archer, keeping pace with me as I trailed along behind. The other two took up rear positions, and I recognized the defensive formation immediately.
Vine continued to make easy conversation as we walked, matching my stride as I struggled to keep up with Archer, dodging the determined commuters on their way to work. A couple of them looked at me, their confused gazes eyeing me up in my cloak and boots, but one look from Vine and they tucked their chins and went about their business, like any good New Yorker would.
“They can’t see the shadow,” Vine said lightly when yet another person passed our party like we weren’t even there. I saw Archer’s shoulders stiffen at Vine’s words, but he didn’t comment. “In all honesty,” Vine continued when I gave him a questioning glance. “Humans don’t really see much of anything. They live in their own worlds, focused on themselves so completely that none of them ever really bother to lift their heads and look around.”
