"How do you know that Goodfellow even plays poker?"

I commented in disbelief, "You're shitting me, right?"

"In retrospect, not the most astute question, I admit," Niko sighed. "Well, he is an excellent fighter… when he wants to be. Since you seem to be under the impression Georgina is still in diapers, why don't you and Robin meet Promise and I for dinner? We can discuss all of this then."

"And after?" I grinned.

"You and Robin go home, before dessert, politely minding your own business." And from the iron in his voice, I knew that was probably exactly the way it would be.

"Do I play poker? He really asked if I played poker? Hermes save me." Robin was on his seventh glass of wine and was still sober as a judge, the non-Southern variety. After thousands of years of good living, his tolerance was legendary, though the waiters at the dim sum place we'd stopped at in Chinatown were clearly taking bets on when he'd pass out. Of course everything about Goodfellow was legendary, as he would tell anyone who cared to listen. Repeatedly. "I invented poker. It was about two thousand b.c, and naturally it wasn't called poker then. What a crass name. I called it…"

I let the words wash over me, the background noise of the never-ceasing surf, and gave Niko a grin. He seemed less entertained by the situation, which naturally made me enjoy it all the more. What Promise thought I wasn't sure. She sat to Niko's right, a serene presence in a sleek sheath of dark violet silk. Black pearls with a peacock sheen looped around her ivory neck and her striped hair was swept up into an intricate coil. She looked like a queen, but the glitter in her eyes was anything but queenly. It was sharply annoyed, down and dirty. She and Goodfellow had crossed paths only rarely, and their interactions were prickly at best, Niko being the juicy bone of contention between them. A front-row seat to the sniping was better than cable any day of the week. Still, if nothing else, Robin and Promise had a mutual respect… of sorts, at least enough of one to keep them from killing each other. For now.

I crossed my fingers under the table, then reached for my own glass of wine. It was still my first. Dear old Mom had been an alcoholic, along with her other even less pleasant vices. Niko didn't drink at all and I drank only in moderation. Tempting fate had never been much of a hobby for either of us. Still, a little something for jangled nerves was called for. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting George to show up again. My defenses were getting less and less effective all the time, and, damn it, I thought that she was more than well aware of the fact.

"So, up for it, Loman?" I asked after one more suspicious glance around the room. "Wanna pull the tail of this mutt?"

"No tail pulling," Niko corrected instantly. "This is reconnaissance work, not a stick-poking exercise for your personal entertainment."

"Spoilsport," I grumbled, and shoved my untouched salad to one side. Rabbit food, no, thanks. "Robin?"

"It sounds diverting." He finished his glass and waved a peremptory hand at the waiter, who promptly scampered for another bottle, bowing and scraping the entire way. I didn't know if it was the cut of Goodfellow's suit or the fact that he seemed to ooze dollar signs, but the waitstaff hung on his every gesture. Promise received the same attention. Niko and me, they tended to study with cautious curiosity. We didn't quite belong. In many ways a puck and a vampire fit into the mundane world better than we did. Maybe it was the clothes, I thought ruefully as I took a look at the tie I'd borrowed from the maître d'.

"Gambling, drinking, furry women," Robin continued with an arched and sly eyebrow. "Furry men. What's not to like? Count me in. We'll play your little game and come out a few thousand to the good on top of the fee. And, by the way, my fee is fifty percent."

"Fifty?" Promise repeated with an outrage that was all the more evident for the simmering restraint in her smooth voice. "Twenty-five thousand and for what, pray? For you to drink, flirt, and steal money from the unwary?"

"It's nice to meet someone with an identical life philosophy, isn't it?" Robin raised his newly filled glass to her in salute.

I quickly reached for a roll and took a large bite. It wouldn't be the smartest thing to give myself away with a shit-eating grin. I had no idea how Promise's five husbands had shuffled off this mortal coil, but I did know I wasn't looking to find out. Niko was making his serene way through his salad. It was impossible for him to be oblivious to the conversation, but that didn't stop him from pretending.

Chewing and swallowing the bread, I said softly, "Bwok, bwok."

The precisely placed sharp kick to the side of my knee had the nerve there tingling as Niko calmly took another bite of his salad. His movement hadn't even rippled the water in the glittering crystal glasses on the table. As I hissed in pain and rubbed my knee, I noticed Promise's and Robin's attention had turned from each other to me. Not the happiest turn of events for yours truly. "Surely it wouldn't be such an injustice to slide a portion of his split my way," Goodfellow drawled.

On that, Promise agreed with Robin, not the disputed fifty percent, but one hundred. "No injustice at all," she murmured as she rang a painted nail on the rim of her wineglass.

I gave my knee one last massage and scowled. "As always, everyone's against me," Deciding a change of subject was my only hope, I demanded, "Where the hell's the real food?" A long time coming, apparently, as the waiter ignored me as thoroughly as he'd slobbered to do Goodfellow's bidding. I might be a dark and brooding figure of mystery, albeit in a bad tie, but apparently the dark and brooding don't have a history of tipping well.

After putting me in my place, Robin and Promise eventually came to a figure that they were both satisfied with. Not that it stopped the squabbling between them. Only a well-placed sword and stake were likely to do that. Aside from Niko, the two of them had little in common… beyond the supernatural thing. Goodfellow was vainer than hell and showy as a peacock, bragged to infinity, and talked even beyond that. He was a walking, talking, screwing party and he was coming to a town near you. Promise was in all those things the exact opposite. She was calm tranquillity, an enigma in silk. She rarely spoke, and when she did it was never about herself. Everything I knew of her was from direct observation and the grapevine. I had the feeling, though, she might be a little more forthcoming with my brother. There was something in their shared glances… You only had to see it to know.

Robin saw it too. He didn't want to, but he did. And when we left Niko and Promise, before dessert as commanded, I caught him looking back wistfully. Affection toward someone other than Niko didn't come easily to me. Still, I raised a hand and awkwardly gave Goodfellow's shoulder a squeeze. Envy shifted from melancholy to rueful resignation and he shrugged. "They're a good match. Dull and duller."

I knew all about sour grapes myself. "Too dull to live," I agreed. "Besides, only the undead could deal with Nik's snoring."

We'd reached the street and he exhaled, then looked up at nonexistent stars. "I was to be married once, did you know?"

Surprisingly enough, no, I didn't know. That was a story he hadn't told me before, a miracle in and of itself. Add the combination of Robin and marriage to it and my mind reeled. "Really? You? No shit?"

"Really." The corners of his mouth tugged upwards. "Me. I shitteth you not. It was in Pompeü. Cyrilla." There was a thread in his voice, one of softness and reverence I wouldn't have guessed he had in him. Or maybe I simply thought he wouldn't let anyone see it in him. "She had a way of tolerating my gloriousness that brings you and your brother to mind."