“I hate you.”
“Of course you do.” He chuckled as he stood. “I’ll get out of your way and let you prepare. I’d appreciate it if you could leave immediately.”
“Certainly, Your Grace,” I said, and moved to hug him before showing him to the door.
“Open roads and kind fires, Toby,” he said, returning the hug.
“Open roads,” I replied, and closed the door behind him before downing the rest of my coffee in one convulsive gulp.
Sending Quentin with me? What the hell were they thinking? This was already going to be half baby-sitting assignment, half diplomatic mission—the fact that I was coming from one of the Duchies flanking Tamed Lightning made the politics unavoidable. Now they were adding literal baby-sitting to the job. That didn’t make me happy. After all, if Sylvester thought I was the best one to handle things, it was probably also going to be at least half natural disaster.
How nice.
THREE
MINDFUL OF SYLVESTER’S REQUEST for an immediate departure, I shoved clothes into a duffel bag, tossed my bag of toiletries on top, and called it good. The cats had migrated into the bedroom, curling up atop Tybalt’s jacket. I dislodged them and shrugged the jacket on, ignoring their protests. I didn’t want to leave it in the apartment for him to casually come back for.
Stacy didn’t answer when I called the house. I left a quick message asking her to come by and feed Spike and the cats until I got back. I glossed over how long my absence was likely to be. The last thing I needed was for her to start calling Sylvester, demanding to know whether he was trying to get me killed. I couldn’t blame her for reacting that way. After all, the last time I went on a job for him, I got turned into a fish and spent fourteen years swimming around a pond in Golden Gate Park. Still. That sort of thing doesn’t happen twice, and I didn’t want her to worry.