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To think this face has been around since the Renaissance. I have to wonder if he was the subject of any artists. Maybe he was an artist himself. I have so many questions, but thankfully this is day one of the road trip and we have a long way to go.

Yeah, and if this was day one, how much worse is it going to get? a voice pops up in my head.

“Max?” I ask gently, wondering if he’s fallen asleep.

“Mmmm,” he says. Then he opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, stretching his neck back before he looks at me. “Sorry. My mind totally went blank there.”

I lift up my hand with his in it. “Did this do it?”

He shrugs lightly. “Maybe.” Then he gives me a close-mouthed smile, eyes looking bright. “You hungry?”

“Starving,” I tell him, letting go of his hand and getting to my feet. “Let me quickly get changed so I don’t have demon dust on me.”

I grab a few things out of my suitcase while he says, “Demon dust. Now if I was a musician, I reckon that could be an album title.”

I pull out my favorite Ulla Johnson paperbag jeans and a small white sweater. I’d be very upset if I run into any more demons tonight. “Aren’t you a musician? You were in a band with Dex, in college, right? You played bass.”

“I play instruments, but I don’t consider myself a musician.”

“Just a man of many talents, huh?” I say, heading to the bathroom.

“You could say I’ve accumulated a lot of them over the years. I have one hell of a resume.”

I’m about to make a remark about him having supernatural babysitter on his resume, though in our case I’m not sure who is helping who here. If anything, I feel like we’re equals, which was definitely not the case with Jacob or Jay. It probably has a lot to do with the fact that Max physically needs me, and I need him too.

I quickly shove on my clean clothes, tossing the rest into the bathtub, then slip on a pair of boots, grabbing my wallet on a chain. Thank god I didn’t get any demon dust on this, I think I’d actually cry.

We leave the room and get into the car, the restaurant only a couple of minutes up the road. It’s not too busy when we arrive, and the hostess seems to think we’re on a date, so she gives us a nice table in the corner by the window.

I sit down and look around, hoping no demon seniors appear and that Max’s eyes stay emerald green.

We order the best bottle of red wine and filet mignon, though I tell Max the next time we eat I’m paying because this manipulating business has me feeling just a little bit guilty.

That said, we totally enjoy the dinner, especially the wine. We end up getting two bottles, with Max drinking most of the second one. He’s in a mood, and by the end of the night, he’s all broody and quiet and shit.

Which means he’s not really in the right frame of mind to do his mind tricks on the waitress, which means that I end up paying for it. Thankfully, it’s a pretty cheap roadside steakhouse, so my bank account isn’t getting hit too badly.

Then Max grabs the rest of the wine and we head out to the car and I’m putting him in the passenger side—no way I’m letting him drive.

“You sure you can drive stick?” he manages to say, slumped in his seat.

“Don’t worry about me,” I tell him, starting the engine. “If my cousins Tony and Matt are good for anything, it’s for letting me drive their manual truck around my uncle’s property.”

The car purrs beneath my hands. Oh baby. There is no way I can go back to the mini after this. I make a mental note to get Max to let me drive again this trip.

I get us to the hotel in one piece, though it was totally tempting to just let it rip down the highway, all the way into California. Then I have to get Max out of the car and to the room.

Luckily, it’s fairly late and there’s no one in the parking lot. I take the half-finished bottle of wine from him in case he drops it, and then with his arm over my shoulder, I guide him to the room. He’s so drunk, he’s stumbling, almost all his weight on me. He wasn’t kidding when he said Hell made him a lightweight.

I get him in the room and over to the bed, where he falls down on it face first. I sigh, putting the wine on the side table, saving the rest for myself.

“Okay, drunky,” I say to him. “You can’t just pass out like that.”