“Care for a beer?” Zeb asked.
“No, I do not want a beer. Where the fuck am I? I thought you were taking me to Horror. If this is Horror, man, have we vangels been misled!”
“No, this isn’t Horror. It’s my secret Caribbean hidey-hole.”
He looked around, and sure enough, he could see through the windows on the one side onto a deck that overlooked the turquoise blue of a Caribbean sea. The dwelling appeared to be a banana leaf–roofed bungalow. On one wall of the large room was a flat-screen TV, and on the other, paintings that looked like they belonged in a museum. Behind them, through a wide archway, was a kitchen with red granite countertops and high-end stainless steel appliances.
“Hidey-hole?” was the only thing Cnut could think of to say, so gobsmacked was he by this side of Zeb. “What are you, like, ten years old?”
“No, more like two thousand plus years, a lot older than you, my friend. As evidenced by my being able to overpower you so easily.” He snapped his fingers and pinged Cnut on the back of the head as he rose lithely from his recliner and walked behind Cnut, heading toward a back door. “There are fishing rods in the hall closet. Why don’t you see if you can catch us something to eat for dinner, and I’ll go get some stuff from the garden?”
Cnut got up and followed him, stunned to see the demon pick up a basket and hoe and head up a small incline toward a fenced-in garden. The island appeared to be small, but all of it was lush with tropical plants, and the garden itself thrived with all kinds of healthy plants. Among items he put in the basket were tomatoes, peppers, green beans, peas, carrots, radishes, several varieties of lettuce. There were also some lemon and orange trees.
“A gardener? You? I thought you were a Roman soldier at one time,” Cnut said, leaning against a fence post, eating a small tomato right off the vine. It was delicious.
Zeb shrugged. “For my sins, I was. But I also owned a small vineyard. Being a vintner is like a glorified farmer. You should see my grapes.” He pointed to some trellises where there were, indeed, huge purple and green grapes, not yet ripe. “Most of the stuff I grow just rots. I can’t eat it all, and it’s not like I can be carrying it back to Jasper as a gift. He would want to know where I got it. Besides, he’s not much for vegetables and fruit.”
More like blood and guts. “Do you always garden in Wise Man clothing? You must be hot.”
Zeb glanced down, surprised. Instantly, he changed. Bare-chested, with Hawaiian print board shorts and flip-flops. “You should change, too.”
Cnut was hot, still wearing the Viking garments intended for a Norse winter feast, not a tropical temperature.
“I think there’s a Speedo in my bedroom closet.”
“Not a chance. I’d rather go naked.”
“Please don’t.”
A short time later, wearing a pair of cargo shorts and athletic shoes he’d found in the spare bedroom, Cnut made his way down the mountain path with a fishing pole to the narrow strip of beach. He returned an hour later carrying a good-size red snapper that he’d already cleaned by the water.
By early evening, he was sitting at the counter enjoying a meal with Zeb. The fish had been grilled outside on a charcoal barbecue with sliced lemons and onions inserted in the artistic slashes of its flesh. Along with it, they had a fresh salad tossed with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, some parboiled rice, a thawed baguette, and a cheesecake for dessert. And beer, of course.
“You know, Cnut, the first thing Jasper would do when he has you in his clutches is ascertain your weaknesses and fears. In your case, gluttony would be a biggie. Homing in on that, he would fatten you up, but lots worse than last time you were alive. I’m thinking he wouldn’t stop until you were, say, eight hundred pounds. Then he would diet you down ’til you were skeletal. Meanwhile, homing in on your other gluttonous appetites, he would probably have you injected with super sex hormones so that you were inclined to fuck day and night. Then would begin the actual physical torture, like, oh, skinning you alive, or plucking out your eyeballs, or—”
“Enough! I get the picture,” Cnut said. And he did. Too well! “So, Zeb, what’s this all about? Are you turning me over to Jasper, or not?”
“I don’t know.”
Well, that was promising. “What’s the problem?”
“It’s a tough decision. I really had my heart set on becoming a vangel someday. I’ve even been taking lessons on how to be a Viking.” He smiled at Cnut. A rather sad smile that didn’t reach his brown eyes that had, yes, incredibly long lashes.