“In?” I echoed. “In on what?” I mean, he might be able to sell it in other places with eldritch populations, but that was a niche market, to say the least.

“In,” Lee repeated. “I want in, Daisy. To Little Niflheim.” I stared at him. “Look.” He leaned forward. “I create fantasy worlds, okay? That’s what I do. Whether it’s a first-person shooter set in Afghanistan or a World of Warcraft knockoff doesn’t matter. It’s a fantasy. But meanwhile, there’s an actual mythological underworld with an actual fucking goddess right under my fucking feet!” He bared his teeth in a fierce smile that made him look more skull-like than ever. “I want to see it. I want in.”

I stalled for time. “I see.”

“Can you do that?” Lee slouched back against the booth, his eyes intent in their deep sockets. “Because I’ll give you everything you want for one glimpse of Hel.”

Ironic phrasing, that.

“Okay,” I said slowly, thinking. “We’ll try it.” It occurred to me that I really should get Hel’s permission before moving forward with the project anyway. “But I can’t make any promises. And even if it works out, I don’t guarantee you’ll enjoy the experience.”

“I don’t care if I enjoy it,” Lee said. “I just want to have it.”

I shrugged. “Fair enough. I live in the rear apartment over Mrs. Browne’s bakery. Come by just before sunset tonight.”

He activated his tablet, fingers skittering over the screen. “The sun sets at eight thirteen. I’ll be there at ten after.”

“See you then.” I tossed a five on the table to cover the cost of my coffee and Danish, plus tip. Say what you will of the Sit’n Sip, but the prices are reasonable. “Is there a number where I can call you if something comes up?”

Lee glanced up at me. “You can reach me the same way you did before.”

“Okay,” I said. “Is there, um, any reason you’re acting so squirrelly about your contact info?”

He gave me another Skeletor smile. “Corporate espionage. I don’t want my enemies to know how or where to find me.”

“Ohh-kay.” I was getting the impression Lee was a bit paranoid. “Call me crazy, but isn’t communicating by Facebook pretty much the least private, least secure method you could choose?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “Which is why no one would ever think to look for me there.”

I guess he had a point.

I left the Sit’n Sip and drove back to my apartment. By the time I got home, I had a voice mail from the Fabulous Casimir saying that the coven had agreed to convene at seven o’clock Saturday night. He rattled off his home address and told me to bring Sinclair there for a meet and greet.