is also a felony, and that would become a critical part of the flame game should it be proven to be the case.”
“Why? Because people don’t tend to like when mere men attempt to become gods, or that there is a high chance of the ambrosia taking him out along with an entire city block out when he goes?”
“Mostly the general acceptance he would be taken out along with an entire city block. People don’t like when assholes are willing to kill them for the sake of power.”
“I agree with that. Can we make a plan other than don’t destroy evidence, call people at the appropriate times, make sure our furry prince and princesses are content, and eliminate all threats to our children?”
“A plan for accomplishing those things would be nice.”
“Quinn, look at who you’re talking to here. Have I ever made a plan that actually survived to its conclusion?”
“You did pretty well with those phoenixes, although I would appreciate if you did not do that again. Phoenixes are really bad for my blood pressure. Your plan to run away from home went off pretty well, too. You made it to your destination and acquired what you set out to acquire.”
“A full night of sleep is vastly underrated, Quinn. However, I would be content enough with maybe only two or three nights of those a week. It turns out I don’t sleep all that well when you’re not around, and that sucked.”
“I will do my best to make sure your sleeping needs are met.”
As I could interpret that in one of two ways, I eyed him.
He smirked.
Evil, evil, delicious gorgon-incubus doohickey. “You’re a bad, bad man, Sam.”
“I try.”
Sixteen
I need you to zing me, Quinn.
While I kept a close eye on our pets, Quinn went to the bathroom. Avalanche growled over her scraps of moose meat, minced so she could eat it without any difficulty. Sunny devoured her bones with startling efficiency, and Blizzard spent as much time playing with his bones as he did chewing on them.
By the time my husband returned, with his smuggest smile in place, I’d been completely bewitched by our animals.
“They’re so cute,” I informed him, pointing at Sunny. “She is a most fierce huntress of bones. Did we get her enough?”
He checked under the table. “That’s a good amount for her to have, and we’re getting plenty for the road, so don’t worry. Your puppy won’t starve. I see your other puppy is making a mess.”
“He’s really good at that. It’s his special power, along with howling complaints should we dawdle and he needs to go out.”
“He’s surprisingly quiet for a husky and far less opinionated than I believed. The dumpster life must have toned him down.”
“He’s the perfect dumpster puppy, and he was only a little rabid when I rescued him. I still don’t understand why anyone would dump a puppy like that. If I hadn’t pulled him out of the dumpster, he would have suffocated in that bag.”
“Before you get too emotional, he is fine, he’s enjoying his bone, he’s quite possibly tied with Sunny for being the perfect puppy, and he’s going to have a great life, because he has you to care for him.”
I found praise a lot harder to cope with than one of his burns. “I need you to zing me, Quinn.”
“Was that too much reinforcement of why you’re a good woman?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll think of something appropriate. A good zinger has to be properly set up and deployed for maximum enjoyment. That plus it’s more fun if you’re not expecting it. The shock on your face is almost as delightful as your enjoyment of a good zinger. You’ll survive until the right moment comes.”
“You’re mean.”
“Yes, I am so mean. I’m forcing you to practice your coping strategies when someone says something nice to you. I am the cruelest husband.”
“Liar, liar, pants on fire.”
“Please don’t light my pants on fire. I know I’m tempting, but we’re in a restaurant.”
I giggled. “I’m not that bad!”
“Really?”
“I thought you were waiting to zing me.”
“That wasn’t a zing. It was a verbal caress and a warm-up for an actual zing, which will happen at a time of my choosing.”
I loved my evil, evil gorgon-incubus doohickey. “So, about that coffee.”
My husband showed me his phone, which revealed a text conversation with his angelic grandfather confirming I could enjoy coffee for at least a few more months, although I would be cut off five months into my pregnancy, as nobody needed a hormonal, caffeine-fueled cindercorn taking over