Brave the Tempest (Cassandra Palmer #9) - Karen Chance Page 0,216

seeds he was holding was already straining at the seams. I looked back at him hopefully. He made it work.

And then, of course, it was just a matter of picking out the right potato salad, which took a while because, again, they had maybe twenty kinds.

I finally settled for one with tiny whole potatoes in a vinaigrette, and Pritkin got the same—and nothing else.

“You aren’t hungry?” I asked him.

“I’m going to eat half of yours.”

I actually pulled the tray away. “You are not!”

“If you eat all that, you won’t want dessert.”

I glanced at the nearest case of mouthwatering goodies. Including glazed fruit tarts piled so high that I had no idea how you’d eat them. Or wobbly little jellies in a rainbow of colors that quivered whenever the case was opened. Or an array of French creations in gold cups that almost looked too pretty to eat.

Almost.

And some cream puffs that I swear were the size of my head.

Damn, I needed one of those!

“A third of my sandwich,” I said grudgingly, and Pritkin laughed.

The guy behind the counter started for some reason, like somebody had pinched him, and stared at him in shock. “Put it on my tab, would you, Bertie?”

The man nodded, and Pritkin and I moved away, him taking the tray because it had gotten heavy with food and the two beers in glass steins we’d also ordered. “You know him?” I asked, glancing back to where the man was still staring after us, looking like he wanted to cross himself.

“I was assigned to London for a while, doing training for the Corps. The center is just around the corner.”

Guessed that explained why there were so many war mages in here. Most of whom were also staring at us as we walked past. “They know you?”

“I trained half of them.”

“Yet they’re not coming over to say hello?”

Pritkin snorted. “No.”

We found a table. It was in another big white room full of them, which ramped up the greenhouse effect by also including scattered pots of herbs. It was connected to the food hall, but without any doors. They just sort of flowed together. There were some French doors on the opposite wall, flung open to show a round sort of hub, this one with a shiny wood floor. Multiple rooms appeared to branch off it—the apothecary stuff, I guessed—with lots of shoppers coming and going.

“After my—after Ruth died, I went looking for my father,” Pritkin said. “When I came back, I was . . . upset. Some of them encountered me before I calmed down.”

“Oh.”

Probably explained why several of them had moved to keep us in sight and thrown their coats back to free up their weapons. Pritkin ignored them and put the tray down, filling the table with our humongous sandwich. It was a true monster, now that I got a good look at it. But damn, was it good!

I ate half, I don’t know how. But I was ravenously hungry and stuffed it in. I even managed some of the potato salad. But my cream puff—

Damn, there was just no way.

“We’ll get takeaway,” Pritkin promised.

I brightened.

“Cassie—” he began. And then cut off, scowling.

I looked about in confusion and noticed one of the war mages approaching the table. Another one appeared to be trying to stop him, but he looked determined. I blinked at him.

He was tall, with a bulldog face that hadn’t completely gone jowly, but only because its owner hadn’t yet run to fat. But he looked like he was headed that way. Like he looked to be spoiling for a fight.

“You should be careful with him,” he blurted out before he’d even reached our table.

“Excuse me?” I answered, because he’d been talking to me, although he was staring down Pritkin. Who hadn’t moved, although that didn’t mean anything. Something the other mages seemed to know, because more were converging on us.

“The last woman he was with up and disappeared,” the man said, still not looking at me. “Never seen again. Wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”

“Kind of you,” I said dryly. “Now go away.”

That finally got me a glance, at least.

“I’m going to have to check you for curses,” he said, and raised a hand—

Only to have Pritkin grab his wrist before anyone could blink.

“You don’t touch her.”

“I told you so!” the man said, his voice slightly higher. “Didn’t I tell you? He’s got her under a compulsion!”

“So they can come here to eat?” Another—slightly smarter—mage asked. “You’re making a scene, Harry—”

“Not as much