Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
He turned to her, avoided looking directly at her, and said, “Gotta go check out the flights, see what’s available. Nothing ’til tomorrow, probably. And get a hotel room.”
“We’re not sleeping on the boat?”
He shook his head. “Too unprotected. It’s unlikely that anyone can trace you to it, since we killed the boars and haven’t seen anyone else, but if the gods do show up, we want a room that’s hidden.”
“Hidden?”
“Yeah. There are a couple of magically protected hotel rooms in town that are operated by the local witches’ guild. Pricey, but worth it. As long as we’re in there, any god who shows up in Bruxa’s Eye won’t be able to find us.”
“Okay. Good.”
She was silent for a moment, and he realized that they hadn’t spoken about her plans for a replacement or if she still wanted to meet Druantia.
But now they had to address it.
“So,” he said, feeling like an ass. “What do you want to do about Druantia?”
Her surprised gaze jerked up to meet his. “I still want to meet her. Of course. Maybe there’s something else that can be done.”
Cam dragged a hand over his face, hoping to wipe away any trace of the grimness he felt. There was nothing else that could be done, but he didn’t want to tell her and take away the hope. He nodded, knowing he was delaying an inevitable problem but unable to help himself.
“Right, then. Let’s head into town.”
She nodded and followed him off the boat. He prayed that there were two rooms available in town. He needed some fucking space to get his head screwed on right.
They joined the bustling crowd on the docks, Mytheans of all shapes and sizes. In mortal cities, they would all look like mortals, even though they were something a bit more.
But here in the jungle, in a city that was specifically built by Mytheans for themselves, you could find all kinds. Demons, shifters who looked more feral than human even in their human form, witches who still favored crone-chic—as his friend Harp called it—and looked like they came from the bad end of a fairy tale.
It took about five minutes to get from the bustling waterfront to the middle of town. The last of the day’s heat pounded onto the street as they walked along the wooden boardwalk that harkened back to the days of the Wild West. Better the ancient boardwalk than the mud that caked the streets of Havre.
“In here.” He nodded at a two-story wooden building that was as dilapidated as the rest in town.
The interior was nicer, though only slightly. The small room with wooden floors and a single window had a wizened old Bruxa sitting behind the counter on the far wall. Black robes and pointed hat. Broom leaning against the counter.
The corner of Cam’s lips twitched. Witches could change their appearance at will, and this one had chosen crone-chic.
He approached. “Hello. We’re looking for two rooms for tonight.”
“One room only,” answered the Bruxa, her eyes narrowed on him.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“Take it or leave it.”
“Are there no others in town?” Ana asked her.
So the idea of sharing a room bothered her too? Though in her case, it was because she didn’t want him back. Which he shouldn’t care about. He raked a hand through his hair. This day was getting better and better.
“Only one in town,” Crone-chic said. A fat black cat leapt onto the desk in front of her, eyeing him out of its one good eye. It had another, but that one didn’t look up to the task of giving the stink-eye.
“I know, Kitty, he is good-looking,” Crone-chic said to the cat. But the cat just turned and stuck a leg in the air to get down to cleaning its business. At least one person in the room thought he was all right.
“We’ll take it.” He handed over a bundle of Brazilian notes. Crone-chic inspected them an
d then gave him a toothy grin that was more grin than tooth.