“Zere weapons?”
“Not the everyday stuff. The special ones.”
She frowned. “What special ones?”
I glanced around again. “It’s only a theory, but I saw a weapon, a staff, that . . . Look, the gods fought all kinds of wars when they were here, right? With each other, with demonic monsters, even with humans. The legends all say so.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “Oui?”
“Well, if you have a war, you have weapons. And if you read the old stories, they’re mentioned pretty regularly: Artemis’ bow, Thor’s hammer, Zeus’ thunderbolt—”
“But zee gods, zey are gone now.” She looked over at the Graeae, who had just dealt with Augustine the same way they had with his clothing—by sticking him onto one of their backs. That left his long legs flailing around in the air, and his mouth yelling obscenities that, thankfully, were not in English. She sighed. “Most of zem.”
“Yes, they’re gone. But their weapons might not be.”
“I don’t undairstand.”
I switched the ICEE to a new hand, so I could gesture around. “When the gods were kicked off earth, it happened fast. Like really fast. If it hadn’t, they would have been able to throw off the spell banishing them, or kill the one who had cast it. Right?”
Françoise nodded. She knew as much about what my mother had done as I did, since she’d been there when I found out. “Oui, c’est ça, mais—”
“Françoise, they were banished almost immediately.”
“Oui?”
“So maybe they didn’t have time to pack.”
She blinked at me, the hats suddenly forgotten. “Zen zere weapons . . . you sink zey might ’ave left zem ’ere?”
“I think they might have left them in Faerie,” I corrected. “It was a fey lord that I saw running around with one. And since we’re facing the return of a god . . .”
“Eet would be nice to ’ave one of zere own weapons to fight heem with.”
I nodded. “Look, I know it was a long time ago. But time runs differently there, and the fey live a lot longer than we do. And if something was left . . . well, they would keep it, wouldn’t they? Prize it, even? They always seem to be fighting—”
“Zey are always fighting zee Dark Fey,” she corrected. “And zey do not need godly weapons for zat. Still . . .”
“Still?”
Her forehead wrinkled some more. “I did not know much of zere language when I first arrived, and I was just a slave. And zey do not tell stories to slaves. But zee man who bought me, he liked to claim zat he was descended from zee gods.”
“Did you believe him?” Because it didn’t look like it.
She scowled. “Non, I do not believe. I do not theenk he was descended from any god, unless eet was from Zeus’ cochon.”
“Cochon?”
“Ees peeg.”
It took me a second.
“His pig?”
“Oui.” Françoise nodded decisively. “As I say, peeg.”
I smiled. “And what did Zeus’ pig tell you?”
“Eet ees not what he say, but what he ’ave. A banner that his father carried into battle. A great battle, when zee fey say, zee gods fought beside zem. But zee gods, they whair already gone by zen. . . .”
“But maybe some of their power wasn’t.”
She nodded.
“Did you hear of any unusual weapons while you were there, even rumors? I need to know if any still exist, and if so where they are now. And who has them.”
She shook her head. “I was not looking for a way to fight, but to flee. But I could ask zee Dark Fey.”
“The ones here at the hotel?”
“Oui. Zey do not like to talk about zee past, but eef I tell zem eet is for you . . .”
“Would that help?”
She looked surprised. “You treat zem with respect. And you helped zem—zey do not forget zat. Few ’ave ever bozered.”
“Then ask them about the battle, and the staff. It was called the Staff of the Winds. For a while, it was the personal weapon of the Blarestri king.”
“Zee Sky Lords,” Françoise said, her eyes widening slightly, the way everyone’s seemed to when they talked about the leading group of Light Fey.
“That’s what I was told. I don’t know for certain that the staff was a leftover godly weapon, but if it wasn’t, it should have been. And where there’s one, there might be more. I need to know if they’ve heard—”
“I want a picture,” a childish voice interrupted, and I looked up to see that the little ballerina had reappeared at my side.
“Not right now, sweetie.”
“No. Now!”
I sighed. “I told you, I don’t work here.”
“But you’re the corpse bride,” she insisted, “and I wanna—”
“I’m not—”
“You’re the corpse bride and I want a picture! Mommy, make her give me a picture!”
“It—it’s just a picture,” the mother said, walking over while still staring at the commotion. It had gotten worse, with the Graeae piling their newly purloined clothes on top of Augustine. I wasn’t sure if that was because they were running out of room, or to shut him up, but if the latter, it wasn’t working.
“Look, lady—”
“Just pose for a picture, would you?”
“No,” I said, suddenly pissed. “I will not.”
“Why? It would only take a minute.”
“So does telling your child no.”
And, okay, I’d finally been irritating enough to get her full attention. She turned around. “What does that mean?”
“It means that maybe giving your kid everything she wants—”
“Don’t tell me how to raise my child.”
“—isn’t the best tactic for bringing up a well-adjusted—”
“Well-adjusted?” Her eyes took in my dusty, blue-lipped, shoeless form. “What would you know about well-adjusted?”
“More than you!”
“Just pose for the picture!”
“No! I am not the freaking corpse bride! My name is Cassie Palmer and I don’t—”
But I didn’t get a chance to say what I didn’t do. Because a booming voice suddenly broke out, loud enough to shake the walls. “CASSIE PALMER. CASSIE PALMER. CASSIE PALMER IS IN AUGUSTINE’S.”
What the hell?
Chapter Five
“What?” Augustine’s perfectly coifed head poked up out of a pile of clothes. “What is that?”
“No!” The irate mother stared around, and then abruptly became a lot more irate. “Goddamn it, no!”
She bolted for the counter with the cash register, which also contained the gift-wrap station. And started throwing fancy cards, spools of ribbon, and luxurious wrapping paper around, looking for something that I guess she didn’t find, because she kept doing it. And while that wouldn’t have been a great idea anywhere, it was especially bad here, because Augustine didn’t use normal paper.
Augustine didn’t use normal anything.
As was demonstrated when a roll of shiny blue and silver foil rolled across the worktop and fell off the edge.
“You put that back!” Augustine demanded. “You put that back right now!”
But it was too late. The paper hit the floor, and immediately began folding itself into a long string of origami animals. Which tore off the roll and started sprinting through the maze of tasteful racks and tidy tables. Which suddenly weren’t so tidy anymore, with paper tigers leaping on them, and paper elephants ramming them, and paper monkeys climbing them.
And gleefully throwing the perfectly folded wares at each other. And at us. And at the floor.
It looked like they were still stuck on last season’s circus theme, which the formerly elegant shop was really starting to resemble.
And then a swarm of something flew in the open front doors.
“CASSIE PALMER.”
“CASSIE PALMER.”