Page 70 of Gates of Tartarus

“What! You almost gave me a heart attack, and you’re worried that you haven’t done enough damage? I could have died!”

“You seem to be intent on making that into a real possibility. Woman, for a PhD, you’re showing an astounding lack of common sense! Kronos attacked Cole and Reed last weekend, and you just decide to go out for a stroll? On your own?”

I open, then shut my mouth, unsure of where to go from there. I try another tack and hiss, “Oh, so I’m stupid, am I? Yeah, can’t trust awomanto take care of herself. I have to have a big, strongmanaround, err, to, uh…”

Kavi briefly raises his eyes to the ceiling. “Maela, were you or were you not kidnapped three weeks ago?”

“Pass.”

“And is Kronos interested in me, Jorge, or Emlyn, or are they interested in you?”

“Pass.”

He sighs and runs his fingers through the long, black strands of hair brushing his jaw. “So, knowing all of this, you decide to have a day out, on your own? And you expect us to applaud your intelligence?”

I scuff the toe of my boot on the floor, saying nothing.

His voice softens. “Maela, we know you’re capable. But maybe, right now is not the time to test yourself or prove a point? People are disappearing off the streets and ending up dead. So can you give us a break and indulge our need to keep you safe?”

I look up and nod. If he’s going to use both logic and sweetness, I can hardly refuse.

“Now, where were you going?”

“Not sure it’s your thing,” I say in a small voice.

“Try me.”

So we go to the Victoria and Albert Museum, and I spend a happy morning drooling over the antique jewelry and vintage clothes. The Schiaparelli evening dress makes me dream of cocktails and long-stemmed red roses, and I indulge in a lovely little fantasy of dancing with Kavi at the Ritz, before dragging him over to the costume collection. They’ve got the artist formerly known as Prince’s shoes, and a tuxedo worn by Fred Astaire, and a quite frankly hideous, white-velvet jumpsuit worn by Mick Jagger, but as he wore it while singing Jumpin’ Jack Flash, I’ll forgive him. I think seriously about doing the natural history museum in the afternoon but decide I’m cultured out, so we head to the Hummingbird Bakery, just down the road.

Happily, the bakery, housed in a small, white, balustraded building, isn’t too busy, although there is a short line. While Kavi waits patiently, I run up to the counter to try to peer past people’s shoulders at the trays of cupcakes, my stomach rumbling. Everything looks good, and I’m hungry. Hmm. Cookies and Cream? Salted Caramel? Or – ooh – Chocolate Hazelnut?

I rejoin Kavi in the queue. “Made a decision?” he asks.

I nod: “Yes. Chocolate Hazelnut. No – Salted Caramel.”

“Sure?” He tips his head at me, smiling, and I sigh in satisfaction that this wonderfully caressible titan wants to date me.

“Sure,” I repeat. “What are you having?”

“I thought I’d go for the Carrot Cake.”

I make a moue as we shuffle forward. “Really? You don’t want something a bit more… exciting? The Black Bottom is chocolate sponge with acheesecakecenter. You don’t want to try that?”

He shakes his head. “Not today. I’m in the mood for something more straightforward to go with a cup of tea.”

“Huh. Well, o-kay,” I concede on a semiquaver.

We finally reach the front, and the girl behind the counter looks at me expectantly. “Hello. What can I get for you today?”

I open my mouth: “I’ll have –” Now I don’t know what I want. “The Salted Caramel?”

“And for you, sir?”

“No, wait,” I interject. “I’ll have the Chocolate Hazelnut.”

She smiles politely, “OK,” and turns to Kavi again.

“Umm – on second thought – maybe…” I’m in an agony of indecision. The one cupcake has caramel; the other chocolate. Why separate them? It’s cruel.