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The nod Raphael got had a much brighter smile than she’d given me. That smile shouldn’t have irritated me. It was just… she was smiling at a vampire. And she had no idea.

“I’m not that hungry,” I snapped when she finally left.

“Your growling stomach says otherwise,” came the easy reply. “It’s… irritating to listen to. Consider quieting your hunger a personal favor to me.”

“Watching you screw with the barmaid’s mind ruined my appetite.”

He arched a brow. “Would you have preferred I snapped her neck before she could scream? I could still do that, if you’re so distressed. She’d be missed, eventually, but we could leave before anyone realizes.”

My horrified expression was answer enough.

“That’s what I thought. It’s harmless. In this case, anyway.”

“It’s unnatural,” I hissed.

He chuckled. “As if witches have any right to complain about what’s natural.”

I wasn’t a witch, but I felt like I should defend my countrymen all the same. “Witch magic is a gift from the gods.”

“Who’s to say mine isn’t as well?”

The barmaid came back, a spring in her step as she set several platters down on the table: a thick, creamy soup that smelled of herbs I hadn’t seen since I was a child; a hefty chicken leg, surrounded by roasted potatoes and colorful vegetables; and a hefty slice of pie. My eyes fixed on it. The sugar of the crust sparkled in the dark light. To my mortification, my stomach did growl at the sight.

Raphael smirked. He didn’t need to say anything to make his point.

“Anything else I can get you?” Once again, her attention was turned to Raphael, because of course it was.

“Nothing. We’re to be left alone for the rest of the evening, unless I call you over.” His red eyes lifted once more, and that same blank expression came over her face as she nodded. “My companion wants all my attention on her after all.”

I ignored the last teasing comment. My gaze was directed at my soup while the barmaid walked away. I fingered the small deck of cards in my pockets. “Have you done that to me?”

“I’ve certainly tried.” There was an unusual tinge of annoyance in Raphael’s tone. “Don’t look so shocked I’m admitting it. Whatever else I maybe, I’m not a liar.”

“What do you meantried?”

“I mean,” he drawled, “it seems my thrall doesn’t work on you.”

I looked up at him.

“But we were in Grey—” I bit my tongue to stop speaking. Just what I needed, to give him the idea. Puzzles were a problem for me. I always wanted to solve them, even if I was better off keeping my mouth shut.

His red eyes glowed as he looked at me. “Tell me about the nice boy you met, Samara.”

He was being childish. Perhaps it was better than something more nefarious to prove his point, but I ground my teeth all the same. Still, no vampire thrall compelled me to tell Raphael a word about Thomas, which was good, because I wasn’t sure what I would have been compelled to share. What he looked like? Or the fact he’d invited me off to the woods?

“See?” He shrugged. “Doesn’t work.”

“Is that common?” I asked. Maybe he was weak for a vampire. Because I certainly wasn’t strong for a human—I hadn’t even used the card yet. I didn’t want to waste the temporary effects, not while we were still days from Apante.

His expression shuttered. “Your soup is getting cold.”

So he wouldn’t lie—if I was to take the vampire at his word—but he was in no rush to answer my questions.

Still, in a weird way, he’d answered the most pressing question—how the thrall worked and if he could use it onme. Why tip his hand? Because I was easier to travel with if I wasn’t scared of his mind manipulation? But then, why not answer my other questions?

His pointed look at the soup had me lifting the spoon to my lips, as compelled as any thrall.

My questions fell away as creamy soup met my lips. By the third hell, it was so rich it was almost overpowering. Delicate layers of herbs rolled over my tongue in a symphony of flavor. Rosemary, thyme, garlic. I hadn’t tasted any of them in years. Rat soup was seasoned with sweat and spit. I shut my eyes, swallowing the soup down with a slight groan.