“So you and I are well acquainted?” Nathaniel asked, taking the offered wine.
“No,” Merrick said, sitting across from him. “We spoke once when you and Lysander had a disagreement on my roof.”
“I fought with Lysander? Over what?”
“You didn’t want Lysander killing demons you’re meant to kill.”
“Ah. Well, Lysander’s fallen. He’s nearly one of them.”
“Say that to him, and I’ll have more broken marble statues to replace.”
Nathaniel saw a flash of himself and Lysander falling from the sky and crashing into solid stone. After which Nathaniel’s left forearm bones poked through his skin like a button through a button hole, and Lysander’s golden skin was mottled purple from a dozen cracked ribs that made his chest look like a canvas splattered with paint. It had been a brutal exchange, and Merrick had silently watched with a grim expression until they finished. After, Nathaniel had flown away. Lysander had stayed.
“Is Lysander the reason the ventala are hunting me?”
Merrick shook his head. “Lysander does his own hunting. What makes you think there are ventala after you?”
Nathaniel explained.
Merrick nodded, returning to the bar to make himself another drink. Nathaniel waited, but Merrick said nothing.
“I’m having a problem with my memory.”
“I noticed. New body?”
“New body?” Nathaniel echoed, leaning forward.
Merrick drained his glass.
“What did you mean by that question?” Nathaniel asked.
“Nathaniel, we’re not friends.”
“You allowed me into your home.”
“You asked to meet; I was curious. Also, refusing hospitality to an angel courts the kind of trouble that’s best avoided.” Merrick looked him over. “I don’t know what you’re doing in the Varden if you haven’t recovered your memory.”
“Where am I supposed to be?”
Merrick shrugged. “The Italian Alps? On some untouched, unreachable mountaintop in the country where you first lived.”
“So why would I wake up in the snow near Kate’s house?” Nathaniel wondered.
Merrick smirked. “There’s a woman?”
Nathaniel frowned, not sure how much he wanted to reveal about Kate. “There are many women,” Nathaniel said absently. “They make up half the world’s population.”
“They do. The more beautiful half,” Merrick said, setting his glass on the table.
Nathaniel appraised the ventala. Merrick seemed to have an appreciation, and perhaps an understanding, of women. His insight might be valuable. “Could an attachment to a woman have pulled me so far off course?”
“I don’t know, but on the list of things that make mortal men cross oceans, women are at the top.”
“So the trouble I find myself in may be Kate’s fault,” he mused.
“That’s one way of putting it—a way that will ensure she doesn’t talk to you until you get your next body. But, hey, it’s your dead end.”
“You’re right; fault isn’t a good choice of words. She’d be insulted. Kate’s got great spirit, but she takes offense easily.”