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The first hint of nausea began to rise in my stomach.

“So... why should I restore your memory of the portals?” Grandmaddox said, slopping bisque into our bowls with uncanny accuracy for a blind woman. “That’s why you’re here, I assume.”

I studied the woman, chewing on the inside of my cheek. Add clairvoyance to her list of affinities. As if she sensed me looking, her eyes drifted over me, giving me the willies. Without thinking, I draped my arm across Lana’s seatback.

That, too, she noticed.

“My backup portal’s in France,” said Lana. “But I don’t know why they even gave me that one, I’ve never flown before... so I’m stranded.”

France, huh?

I made a mental note of it.

The bisque wasn’t bad, actually. A bit on the salty side. But when I spooned jambalaya onto my plate, my stomach did another squeeze.

Cooked into the stew alongside andouille sausages were bits and pieces of bugs. Scowling, I freed a shrimp from the clutches of a spiders’ legs and bit into it. Except for the funny aftertaste, it tasted okay.

Just needed to wash it down with some wine.

I filled up from the jug on the table and tossed back a mouthful of what tasted like bloody vinegar.

I barely managed to spit it back into the glass without gagging.

“Mmm,” I pursed my lips, grimacing as I looked around for something to wash the taste out of my mouth.

“Water’s in the pitcher by the sink, dear,” said Grandmaddox, reading my mind. “Mind you, the tap’s broken.”

The pitcher she mentioned contained half a gallon of brownish, foul-smelling swamp bilge, its foamy surface crawling with water bugs.

Fuck that.

I grabbed a cup from a nearby cupboard, dumped out the husks of dead silverfish, and held it under the faucet. The handle thunked and squeaked, but all that came out were flakes of rust.

“Is this a fucking joke?” I said.

“How about you listen next time instead of being a dumbshit,” said Grandmaddox. “I told you it was broken.”

“Hey, demon,” I unholstered my Glock and pointed it at her face, “how many fingers am I holding up?”

Lana jumped between us. “Asher,no!”

“He’ll be happy to shoot you too, dear,” Grandmaddox said calmly.

Lana’s eyes pleaded with me. “Don’t,” she warned. “Just... behave. Please.”

Reluctantly, I holstered the weapon and returned to my seat, eyeing the woman as I did so.

“Grandmaddox, we need your help finding the portal in Mexico,” Lana said, trying to get back on track.

“What makes you think there’s a portal in Mexico?”

“Well, Jame thinks—”

“Ah, becauseJamethinks there’s a portal in Mexico,” the demon interrupted. “So you’re on a first name basis with him, Lana?” The question dripped all kinds of judgment. Those nebulous eyes of hers swung in my direction, judging me too

“So you’re half-and-half, huh?” I said. “Who’s side you on, then?”

Ignoring me, Grandmaddox stood abruptly. “More bisque, dears?” As she reached for the pot, she bumped the table. One of her glass eyes popped out and splashed into the jambalaya. “Oh, that’s embarrassing.” She fished it out, hastily wiped it on the tablecloth, and pressed it back into her eye socket.