“Excellent work. Excellent.” He beamed at the screwdriver and was about to turn back to his machine when Gregory stopped him.
“Would you mind banishing that woman from Anwyn?”
Astrid, on the receiving end of Gregory’s pointed finger, gasped. “You can’t do that!”
“Actually, I can. I’m the king and rightful ruler of this realm.” Aaron cast a disparaging glance at Holly, who was getting to her feet with a furious look in her eye, one that was aimed at Gregory and me. “I’m not going to banish you, but I could if I so desired.”
“Why not?” I asked, my sudden hopes dying a cruel death.
“Because I asked him”—he pointed at Gregory—“to do one simple thing, and he has failed to do it.”
“I have the roebuck in my possession,” Gregory said, a little frown pulling his brows together.
I really must be in love, I thought to myself, because even his frown looks sexy.
“And I can get you the descendant of the dog that was stolen from you. The dog itself has been dead for centuries, but one of her direct descendants should fulfill that requirement.”
Aaron gestured with the screwdriver. “I suppose it would. She was a damned good bitch, though. But my bird, man—where’s my Vanellus?”
“You call your bird Vanellus?” I couldn’t help but ask.
He gave me an impatient look. “That’s her name. Vanellus vanellus, or northern lapwing.”
There was a faint murmur behind me, I half turned, catching my mother’s eye as she mouthed that she’d be right back. She and Mom Two melted into the crowd, leaving me to debate whether or not I should follow them, but I assumed anyone who was a threat would be right here.
“I’m afraid I couldn’t locate the bird,” Gregory was saying when I turned back. “But we will make every effort to find her. I’ll put the full resources of the Watch—assuming I’m still employed by them after they find out about my time here—into finding out what happened to your bird and locating her or her descendants.”
“I don’t want her descendants,” Aaron snarled. “I want my bird.”
At his raised voice, Constance twirled around, one of her hands in the process of stroking Ethan’s head. Holly hissed something quite rude and strode over to them. Constance, her gaze locked on Aaron’s, asked shrilly, “Did you say something about a bird? What bird?”
“My bird, my beloved Vanellus who you drove away, you she-devil!” Aaron stabbed the screwdriver into the air at her and she recoiled and backed up a step, bumping into Holly, who promptly shoved her forward. Ethan bore the look of a man being harangued by a sharp, pointy bit of foliage in human form.
“Aha!” Aaron continued, narrowing his eyes as Constance and her cats tripped lightly forward. “You didn’t know I knew the truth about that, did you? Why do you think I divorced you all those hundreds of years ago?”
Constance’s long, gorgeous hair moved in the breeze, making her appear larger than she was. “We are still married—” she started to say through clenched teeth, but she was interrupted by Aaron shouting at the top of his lungs. “Get out of my sight before I banish you and all of your kinsmen once and for all! I have important work to do, and no one is going to stop me! The Piranha must be fed!”
Several pennies dropped at that moment, enough that it had me staring in stupefaction at Constance, who was hissing and shying away to the side. “She’s a cat?”
Gregory looked nonplussed. “Evidently so. It would explain her perpetual guard of honor.”
“And a lot of other things.” Quickly, in a low voice, I told him about my discussion with the apothecary.
“So Constance got rid of the bird before she was queen,” Gregory said in a thoughtful tone. “Interesting. Do you know, I have an idea about that—”
“Hello, all,” said a voice with a heavy Australian accent. “Am I late for the party? Astrid, luv, mind fetching me a cocktail? I’m as parched as a skin flake in the middle of the Great Victoria Desert. Aaron, you bastard, long time no see. Constance, you’re looking rather rumpled, but still beautiful. Ethan, you great bushranger! How is Diego doing? I can’t say how much I’ve enjoyed your recent Facebook posts about your upcoming book. I do hope you’ve worked out your problem with the angsty teen poetry.”
We all turned to look in surprise at the man who had emerged from the mass of soldiers. He was a bit taller than Gregory, had lovely chocolate brown hair that curled back from his brow and swooped down to his collar and a pair of the blackest eyes I’ve ever seen. He smiled engagingly at me and Gregory.
“Sir!” Astrid bustled toward him, shooting me a smug glance as she passed us. “I’m so glad you got my message. I’m having a bit of difficulty with that job I mentioned, and I thought that you might wish to take charge of the situation yourself.”
“Oh, great,” I said sotto voce. “Death is here. Just what was needed to add one last touch of surreal to what is an already Salvador Dalí sort of day.”
“It’s De Ath, actually,” Death said, taking my hand and brushing his lips across my knuckles.
Beside me Gregory stiffened.
“I find it’s less intimidating that way. Crikey, that’s a look. This sheila yours, then?” Death—or rather, De Ath—asked Gregory.
The latter took my hand and rubbed his thumb over the spot that had been kissed. “Yes.”
“All right, all right, no need to spit the dummy, mate.”
De Ath turned when Aaron, done tightening his screws, noticed him. He didn’t look happy with what he saw. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I banish you?”
“One hundred and fourteen years ago, to be exact, right after I took over the job from the last bloke,” De Ath said with a sunny smile. “I was summoned back by one of my secretaries.”
“Reclamation agent!” Astrid said furiously, smacking him on the arm. “I told you that we are now called reclamation agents!”
“How come he can enter Anwyn if he’s been banished?” I asked Gregory in a whisper. “And why is Death so charming and handsome and nice?”
“I’m not sure, but I suspect that we’ll find out, and do you really think he is handsome?”
“Yes, in a Hugh Jackman sort of way. I think it’s mostly the accent. And the hair. And he has nice—” I stopped when Gregory shot me a mean look, giggling quietly to myself.
“My lady! I have the Nightingale for you.” Seith pushed his way through the crowd, aided, no doubt, by the sword, despite its being sheathed.
“What?” Holly, who was evidently still engaged in chewing out Ethan for something or other, spun around so fast her hair smacked him in the face. He took the opportunity of her being distracted to move quickly over to where De Ath stood, the two men instantly falling into conversation. “You still have that sword? Give it back. You shouldn’t have been given it in the first place.”
I grabbed the sword that Seith held out before she could stomp over to take it. “Ethan said I could use it, so I don’t see that it has anything to do with you.”
“Ethan!” She wasn’t happy to see that he’d moved, her eyes narrowing as she marched over to him. “Tell that woman to give back your mother’s sword.”
“Sir,” Astrid said at the same time, plucking at De Ath’s sleeve. “That’s the woman there, the one who’s been giving me so much trouble. You should take care of her first before you enjoy a reunion with Lord Ethan.”
“I’m busy,” Ethan told Holly in a lofty tone that had her face turning dark red with fury. “Bother me not.”
“That Astrid is nothing but a troublemaker,” I muttered under my breath. “Gregory, what are we going to do about this? The best I can think of is to fight our way out, and I hate to do that with my mothers around. They tend to get into trouble, and as you heard, Death already has it in for them.”