Calypso raised her chin.
“There he is.” She nodded toward the sloping path from the parking lot.
He looked different than he had at the club. With his black hair blowing lightly back from his face and the sun lending color to his cheeks, he looked younger. Almost her age. Cassandra bristled, and felt fire rush to her palms. But her power couldn’t do anything to him. The heat in her hands, the tingling, was embarrassing. She tried to make it go away, discreetly flexing her fingers.
“You look younger today,” he said. “Without the makeup and your leopard-skin dress.” He looked at the white shirt she wore and she wished she hadn’t chosen such an innocent color.
“I was thinking something similar about you,” she said. “It made me want to punch you in the face.”
He laughed. “This trip we’re taking … it’s going to be interesting.”
“You invited yourself along. I never said you could come.”
Calypso cleared her throat. “This day of sea salt puts me in mind for a fish taco. There’s a stand across the street. I’ll bring some back.” She brushed past them, her skirt gathered in one hand and her sandals hanging from her fingers.
“She has excellent ideas,” said Thanatos. “Do you like fish tacos? I can’t help getting the impression you’re not from around here.”
“We’re not going to stand around and talk about fish tacos,” Cassandra said, glaring. “Though for the record, I’ve never had one and they sound disgusting.”
“All right. Should we take a walk then, or go up that hill and get a table?” He pointed toward tables and chairs in the distance. Both options sounded too congenial, but she stalked toward the tables. As she went, she felt his eyes on every inch of her as clearly as if they were his hands. But when she snapped her head back to look, he was staring serenely out at the ocean.
Maybe I was imagining it. Or maybe he was groping me with his death brain tentacles.
That thought was dumb enough to make her stumble. He caught her by the arm and pulled her back to her feet.
“Your hand,” she said. “Get it off me.”
He shrugged and let her go, then led the way to a table and pulled out a chair for her. She almost snubbed him and pulled one out for herself, but sat down instead. Defiance had its limits. He sat across from her and began to spin a coin like a child’s top. The same fat gold coin he’d made her call the night before. His eyes followed it thoughtfully. Downcast, they lost their arrogant, mirthful squint. Downcast, they looked almost sad.
“Why do you want to come with us?” she asked.
He didn’t look up when he answered.
“Because though I’ve never had much fondness for the other gods, or them for me, I’m the god of death. If their time has come, I should be there.”
“You don’t want to save them? Sabotage me? Kill me?”
He slapped the coin down on the table and smiled. “That’s a lot of questions. But the answer to all is no.”
“Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”
“You’re forgiven. But I like you, Cassandra. Can’t decide yet if I like you better in heels and skintight leopard or like this, brown hair loose, beach clothes, eyes shooting daggers at my face.”
She swallowed. Where the hell was Calypso? The way he looked at her, it was impossible to keep color from creeping into her cheeks.
“You don’t even know me,” she said.
He shrugged.
“I will. And besides, I can tell already that you’re not like most of the girls who seek me out. All they want is to know about death.”
“You did not just make fun of suicidal girls.”
“You misunderstand. Suicidal girls don’t need me. Except for, perhaps, poor Calypso.” He raised his brow and she narrowed her eyes. “The truth is, lots of people are curious about death. They want to know it without knowing it. I can only keep it up for so long. The dance gets old.”
“So you don’t … kill them?”
His black eyes sparkled, and for the tenth time she wished she could tell whether they were dishonest or charming.
“No. I don’t kill them. Except on those rare occasions when it really is their time. I’m Thanatos, not Jeffrey Dahmer.”
“But you’re the god of death. Death embodied. Don’t you need to be killing things?”
He leaned back in his chair and laughed.
“I’m killing things right now. Things die, and are dying, all the time. Everywhere. Plants. Fish. Someone in an apartment twelve blocks from here. I don’t have to be there. I don’t have to choke the life out of them. Atropos, the Fate of death, decrees, and I am her hand, but the phrase ‘the touch of death’ is still just an expression.”