Page 62

The Peruvian nightsky glitters down on us as Callie and I order dinner at an outdoor café. I’m supposed to be procuring a couple pounds of cursed gold from one of my clients here, and Callie’s supposed to be tucked away in her dorm like a good little siren, but neither of us much likes doing what we’re supposed to.

We only have a couple hours to enjoy ourselves before I need to take her back to Peel Academy. You can call me her fairy-fucking-godmother.

“So, when are we going to do that deal?” Callie asks.

The deal I’m blowing off, she means.

I lean back in my seat, one booted foot crossed over my knee as I assess her. She’s a little too eager to get involved in the seedy side of my life. “All in good time, cherub.”

Callie nods, her eyes drifting across the street; they brighten with interest. I follow her gaze, then nearly groan.

A tourist trap of a shop sits across from us, selling all sorts of brightly colored T-shirts with llamas andPeruemblazoned onto them. Stacks of blankets made from Alpaca wool sit outside the shop, right next to a series of carved gourds. A rickety stand of keychains and another of postcards border the shop like sentinels.

And Callie is all for it.

Her interest is interrupted by the waitress, who sets down a plate ofpollo a la brasaand another ofanticuchosin front of us. A moment later our drinks come, the amber liquid glistening under the streetlights.

Callie tears her gaze away from the store to take our meals in. She looks a bit reluctant.

I might’ve ordered for the both of us.

“When have I ever steered you wrong?” I say. I was the one who suggested she get thepollo a la brasaand thechicha. As far as new and unusual food goes, this is tame.

She guffaws. “Do you seriously want me to answer that?”

In response, I pick up my drink, flashing her a shadow of a smile.

Her skin flashes in response, her siren eager to surface, and then her face heats. It’s all so positively delectable.

How very much I enjoy tempting her darker side. And how very much I like witnessing her desire for me, even when I can’t and won’t act on it.

To cover up her own embarrassment, she picks up her drink and takes a large swallow of it.

A second later she nearly chokes on it.

“Alcohol?” she wheezes.

“Really, cherub, you shouldn’t be surprised by this.” It’s not the first time I’ve given her spirits.

What can I say, I’m no angel.

“What is it?” she asks, taking another tentative sip.

“Chicha.”

She huffs. “And what is ‘chicha’?”

I take a kabob from the plate in front of me, pulling off a bit of meat. “Horse piss.”

The girl actually pales.

This human! If I could, I would go back in time and slap my younger self forlamentingthis fate. Being with her is the most fun I’ve ever had.

“It’s Peruvian beer,” I say, my voice conciliatory, “and it’s decidedly not made from horse piss.”

Callie fingers her glass. “Whatisit made out of?”

“Fermented corn.”