Angsting over my monster heritage will have to wait anyway. I’ve got enough to deal with. I change the subject. “There’s a Flame Goddess?”

Flanagan points to the table outside on the deck. “Let’s sit. Eat breakfast.”

Beneath the trees and the filtering sunlight, plates of food wait for us. How did I miss the savory smell pervading the room? Bacon and coffee. Two of my favorites.

I fold my arms over my chest. “I want answers, Flanagan. I want to know what the plan is and how long you intend to keep me in these manacles.”

He motions to the table. “While we eat.”

“I also want access to information about this world I’m now in. Its history.” I’d like to know more about that Warlock character too, if he’s the only other mixed-breed Channeler to have existed.

Flanagan nods. “We have a library. I have books here you can read. You’ll have an opportunity today.”

I drop my arms. That’ll have to do for now. I feel a strange sort of exhaustion, and a chasm sits where my stomach used to be; I’m that starved. I make my way to the deck and the round wooden table. Flanagan snags a white linen shirt from the back of a chair and shrugs it on as he follows.

At the table, half a pig has been sliced and fried and stacked onto a serving platter, as well as homemade bread, scrambled eggs, and sausages. I pull up a chair and fall on the feast with single-minded enthusiasm. After stuffing a whole strip of bacon into my mouth, I munch on it while piling my plate with enough grub to feed a family. I make a dripping sandwich with two thick slices of bread and bite out a chunk. Familiar smoky sweetness and nutty depth burst against my vamp-heightened taste buds.

A cacophony of color and noise assaults my souped-up senses from the surrounding garden. The birds sing with piercing clarity. Bees buzz over the lawn like petrol engines. The feet of tiny insects sound like razors scraping sandpaper. My iron manacles clink against the china plate as loud as a fog bell. It’s incredible. I feel like I’m wearing Superman senses, but the cause is too much of a downer for me to enjoy it.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Flanagan’s every move as he sits in the chair beside me and helps himself to breakfast. My skin tingles with his close proximity. A charge between us strains the air. Even when his gaze is elsewhere, I feel the pressure of his attention. I won’t be admitting to him I remembered the cage.

He lumps his plate with a mountain of food twice the size of mine.

“That’s some appetite,” I say. “You going to eat all that?”