“Oh.” Deepening his scowl, Jeff looked up. “How do you know all that?”

Rafael grew quiet as he remembered the night he’d met the Norse goddess and she had tempted him well. That had definitely been one hell of a day.… “Freya’s the goddess who hand selects warriors for Valhalla. Or in the case of myself, she wanted to take me off with her to her own hall and add me to her harem.”

Jeff gaped. “And you chose to fight for Artemis instead, what kind of stupid are you?”

There were times when the kid could be eerily astute. “Yeah, well, in retrospect it was a bad bargain on my part. But at the time, Artemis was offering me vengeance on my enemies it seemed so much more appealing than being Freya’s love slave … which gets back to Freya being Artemis in your story.”

“But you just said she’s not Artemis and she comes after warriors, too. So it could happen. She could make a bargain like the one I wrote about in my story.”

And icicles could grow on the sun. Freya collected warriors, she didn’t send them back to the mortal plane to fight Daimons/vampires. Artemis did that. But not willing to argue the point anymore when it was obvious Jeff didn’t see it, Rafael moved on to the next similarity. “And what about this? Ralph—Jesus, boy, couldn’t you come up with something better than a bodily function to name me—was a Caribbean pirate, son of an Ethiopian slave and Brazilian merchant.…” He glanced down to read the description. “At six six, Ralph was one to intimidate anyone who saw him. With his shaved head that was tattooed with African tribal symbols given to him by a shaman he’d met in his travels, he walked the earth as if he owned it. But more than that, the black tattoos blended at times with his dark brown flesh, making the two of them seem indistinguishable from each other as if he bore some kind of alien skin.”

Unable to read another word of the description that was so eerily close to himself that it made him want to choke his Squire, Rafael let out a disgusted breath. “While I’m both flattered and highly offended, I can assure you, this won’t win you a Hugo or Nebula nomination.”

Jeff pulled the magazine out of his hands again in a high-handed manner. “I resent that. It’s a great story. And you don’t exactly have those tattoos, either, now do you?”