After an unnecessarily obtuse meeting where they looked over weather projections, maps, and a few bestiaries that mentioned Limb Stealers, they finally had a plan.

  Jasque never dropped his mask. His responses to their conversation seemed more fake the more annoyed she became with him. It was like he had lifted lines straight out of a sitcom instead of looking at how people actually interacted.

  Either way, she was happy when it was done. As the final map was repacked into its cardboard tube, she mentally clocked out and left work.

  "Shilloh—," Jasque began.

  "Whatever happened to the catering you mentioned?" she said to Wade.

  "Oh, I meant we could go out and grab something since we're in town."

  She tried to fake a smile. "I should have realized. What are you and Jasque going to get?"

  "Unfortunately," Jasque smiled, "I have another pressing engagement. Otherwise, I would attend." The dead-eyed man looked at Wade expectantly.

  "I— I actually was thinking of some comfort food. Though he was speaking to her, his eyes never left Jasque.

  "Comfort food," the other man asked, his voice going strangely soft.

  "Perfect! I know just the place. Let's go. Right now." She grabbed the steely-eyed bane's arm and all but dragged him out of the horribly uncomfortable atmosphere.

  "So," he said, as they left a very silent and awkward elevator and moved towards her car, "where are we going?"

  "Carbs."

  He asked more questions, but Shilloh could feel a set of black eyes drilling into her back like a coroner staring at a diseased heart.

  It wasn't until they were both in her car that she felt the knot in her shoulders start to relax.

  "Mind if I look?" Wade said, pointing at the black CD holder strapped to the passenger-side visor.

  "Yeah, sure, knock yourself out."

  He started pulling each CD out of its little pocket and examining them. Almost immediately, the big Were gasped.

  "What?" she asked." Did one of them melt?" It had been hell to get a car with a working CD player and collect all of those.

  "No, I just never pegged you for the sort to have a copy of the Wicked soundtrack right next to Red Hot Chili Peppers and Kevin Fowler."

  "You know Kevin Fowler?"

  "Hell yeah, I do. Back when I was younger, the acronym for Don't Touch My Willie was part of all my online users names. I love that song."

  "That…" she paused, trying to think of a polite way to say that she had trouble imagining him as a fun-loving teenager, spoiled in a city where he could play video games, "is not what I would have guessed for you."

  "Yeah," he chuckled, still reading all the songs printed on my 'Best of Queen' double disc set. "Usually, I'm more an instruments guy than a lyrics guy. But it is hard to hear a song like that or Mississippi Squirrel Revival and not have it stick with you."

  That did it. Her jaw literally dropped.

  "Ray Stevens?"

  "Yes!" he swung around with one of those one hundred percent real smiles that changed his face.

  ~~~

  Originally, Shilloh wanted to see how much food she could expense to the Banes. But Wade's taste in music tempered her anger, so she decided not to bankrupt him.

  They went to a cheap place that was delicious and a crime against cardiovascular health. Most of the food was fried, butter-heavy, and held lots of indefinable, old Southern grandma magic. It was so good that if they said one of the dishes was her deep-fried right shoe, she'd order it and offer them the left shoe, too.

  "Okay," the small cartographer said, reaching for her homemade lemonade. "I'll accept that only picking four people for the theoretical Mount Rushmore of music would be hard. But this one is easy."

  The restaurant was small, with wooden seats worn smooth, clean tables, and lots of knickknacks and road signs on the walls. It had the sort of kitsch that few people wanted in their homes, but it was perfect for letting your eyes wander while waiting for food.

  Wade grimaced, leaned back, and crossed his arms, "Easy? There are just too many ways you could measure it."

  "No, there aren't! I don't want to know who contributed more to music or who was more innovative, considering the industry at the time. I just want to know who you think is better, Frank Sinatra or Freddie Mercury."

  "You know, maybe your wild talent is hating music. Knowing your favorites should be easy."

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  Shilloh subtly stifled a smile as Wade reddened, hemmed, and hawed and went through a harrowing internal struggle trying to pick the best artist. He looked younger and more approachable like this, like the little brother of the cold-eyed, professional killer whose name she had mispronounced when they first met.

  She found herself smiling wider than usual, laughing about things that weren't that funny. More than once, she had even ended up with her hand on his wrist after one of those laughs.

  It would have been telling had she not been incredibly busy not letting herself think about it.

  Talking to him about music had turned out to be great fun. It was almost the perfect mirror to their conversation in the woods.

  She knew some about music and had opinions about it, but this was very clearly A Thing for Wade Raslow. So she spent more time listening than speaking, but she never felt talked down to or bored.

  That may have been because Shilloh tried to find the questions that most made Wade want to pull out his hair.

  "So," he summarized," it's really an apples-to-oranges kind of thing."

  "Exactly, and I'm asking if you like oranges more than apples."

  "Well, it depends on if I'm craving apples that day."

  "Over the course of a year, which one do you crave more often than the other?"

  He stared at her. At this point, Nick would have glared and cursed. Wade doubled down in a way that was almost painfully earnest.

  "No, I'm not explaining well, this is where the metaphor breaks down. A song is more than one thing. Sometimes, I want soothing music, sometimes, I need to be motivated to move, sometimes, I'm in a guitar mood, and other times, I want the memories I associate with a specific song. There are so many ways to measure musical talent and so many different things you can find in any one song. It's like favorite books. I can tell you series that are best for being homesick or ones that I think are great because they teach you something. But there can only ever be many categories with many standouts, not a single ultimate winner."

  "You're a reader?"

  "Yeah, not like a serious one, but my Dad liked Sci-fi. It became a thing for me and my sister."

  "Yeah. I think I remember you talking about that before." She tried to imagine him as a kid. It was easier now than it had been earlier. "I mostly read fantasy myself."

  Wade's eyes sparked, and he leaned in.

  They lost even more time talking about books and debated the completionist mindset.

  Shilloh firmly believed in giving up a story before reaching the end if it had stopped being fun to read. Wade balked at the idea and talked about all the non-fiction books he hated reading but thought about all the time because he had pushed through to the end.

  "But that's not the goal," she disagreed, stabbing her fork at a fried cheese bite with extra force. "You can read to learn and study, but that's not reading-reading."

  "Oh, excuse me," he said, holding back a smile, "I'm just a poor pleb who was born prettier than he was smart. Forgive me for liking how learning from books makes me feel."

  The cartographer shook her head and smiled. She did not like people talking down to themselves, but she caught the eye of their waitress before she could chart a polite response.

  "Excuse me, could I please get the bill?"

  The young woman's eyes flickered to Wade, "Together or separate?"

  "Separate."

  "Sure," she smiled, stepping away only to return immediately with a water pitcher. She sloshed mostly ice into Shilloh's cup but really took her time talking to Wade.

  "Sorry, Sir, but before you left, I meant to ask if you knew any good places to eat? I'm trying to go out and see more of the town."

  Wade nodded, made firm eye contact, and gave her directions to a diner he said was open late and a hidden gem, especially for people who liked country fried stakes or fruit pies.

  "Thank you so much," she smiled, leaning forward to display both cleavage and far too much gratitude. She acted like he had fixed her car rather than suggest a spot to eat.

  Madison, their waitress, was pretty. In fact, she was very clearly the prettiest waitress in the restaurant. Probably the most attractive woman in the building and unbecomingly aware of it. She had thick blond hair, too-tight shorts, and a body that meant she had probably never paid for a drink in her life. All of that had given her a hell of a lot of confidence.

  Unfortunately, no one had told Wade how hot she was.

  "No problem. I hope you like it." And he turned right back to face Shilloh, sparing Madison not a single iota of his attention.

  It took every ounce of discipline in Shilloh's body not to laugh. The poor girl didn't know what to do. Maybe Wade's real wild talent was not noticing flirting. Madison's mouth was caught half open, and she looked like a person uncertain about whether they had moved enough for an automatic door to open. There was a minuscule rock back and forth, trying to see if it would be noticed and not knowing what to do if she wasn't. This must have been a first.

  But Wade's whole focus was on Shilloh, not with intensity or finality. He just seemed to have forgotten about the waitress after answering her question.

  Something sharp-fanged uncoiled in the dryad's soul and purred. She leaned forward and smiled at Wade so hard that anyone with two eyes could tell how pointedly she was not looking at Madison.

  "Did you enjoy yourself?"

  "Yeah, this place was good. Thank you, Shilloh.

  "You know what, Wade, thank you. I had actually planned on being home by now and reading. But I think I needed this."

  He grinned, and Madison walked off, looking puzzled. Poor girl, Shilloh thought; she had fifty-fifty odds and picked the wrong customer to flirt with.

  That part of her that was grinning at the poor woman briefly wondered if there was an alley behind the store. Maybe one where Madison would come out to drop off a trash bag and see Wade pinning her to a wall with a kiss.

  Shilloh shut that thought down quickly.

  She had only glanced to the side for a second, but when she turned back, storm-grey eyes were locked directly and unwaveringly on hers—at least, they were for a second. Then Wade realized what he was doing and looked down. The professional monster killer used condensation from his drink to doodle on the table.

  "Seriously," he murmured," thank you. I think I needed a break, too."

  "Stressful week?"

  He shrugged, "There's always a new challenge. But I should be grateful. Having enough heads up to implement a fix and get stressed is a blessing. A week's easy sleep is cheap to pay for preventing something bad."

  For a second, she considered being polite and agreeable, but you know what, fuck it. Plus, it's not like she would spend a bunch of time with Wade after this.

  "This may come off harsh, but I gotta say something. If anyone else had said that, I would think it was a beautiful way of reframing and being grateful."

  His eyebrows raised a hint of challenge in his eyes. "But when I say it?"

  The look of challenge skipped past her brain and landed perilously close to her still-simmering anger. Without thought, she spit out her words, more focused on holding his stare than finding gentle phrasing. "It's like watching a sad puppy kick itself for misbehaving."

  Then she realized what she had just said.

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