Free Moonshine by Rob Thurman Page B

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."
    "Gloriousness?" I grinned.
    "Gloriousness… eccentricities." He rocked back on his heels. "One and the same."
    "You and monogamy. There's a helluva concept. So, why didn't it happen?" Sometimes your mouth is faster than your common sense by barely a second. It's a nasty sensation. The mind does flip-flops, flailing mentally to recapture the words, but it's too late. They hit the air as garish as neon and then there's no taking them back. There's only mumbled apologies. "Sorry. I didn't think." Pompeü. Even a lazy student of history like me knew about Pompeü.
    "Don't worry. It was a long time ago." From the tight set of his jaw, long was a relative term at best. He began to walk, and I followed along beside him. "Sometimes I lie in bed and try to recall her face… the feel of her skin against mine." He paused, eyes distant, before shaking his head slightly. "I can't. I remember she had black hair that fell in long curls over her breasts. I