“The kitchen is where the food is.”

“Guess there’s some things boys never grow out of. Here.” Manny set a glass in front of him.

Daemon looked at the glass, then looked at her.

“It’s milk,” she added.

“I did recognize it,” he said dryly.

“Good. Then drink it.” She folded her arms and tapped her foot. “No milk, no nutcakes.”

“You always were a martinet,” Daemon muttered. He picked up the glass, grimaced, and drank it down. He handed her the glass, giving her his best boyish smile. “Now may I have a nutcake?”

Manny laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.” She put the kettle on for tea and began transferring the nutcakes to a platter. “What brings you here?”

“I came to see you.” Daemon crossed his legs and steepled his fingers, resting them lightly on his chin.

She glanced up, gasped, and then busily rearranged the cakes.

Puzzled by the stunned look on her face, Daemon watched her rearrange everything twice. Searching for a neutral topic, he said, “The place looks good. Keeping it up isn’t too much work for you?”

“The young people in the village help out,” Manny said mildly.

Daemon frowned. “Aren’t there sufficient funds for a handyman and cleaning woman?”

“Sure there are, but why would I want some other grown woman clumping about my house, telling me how to polish my furniture?” She grinned slyly. “Besides, the girls are willing to help with the heavy work in exchange for pocket money, a few of my special recipes, and a chance to flirt with the boys without their parents standing around watching them. And the boys are willing to help with the outside work in exchange for pocket money, food, and an excuse to strip off their shirts and show their muscles to the girls.”

Daemon’s laughter filled the kitchen. “Manny, you’ve become the village matchmaker.”

Manny smiled smugly. “Jo’s working on a cradle right now for one of the young couples.”

“I hope there was a wedding beforehand.”

“Of course,” Manny said indignantly. She thumped the platter of nutcakes in front of him. “Shame on you, teasing an old woman.”

“Do I still get nutcakes?” he asked contritely.

She ruffled his hair in answer and took the kettle off the stove.

Daemon stared into space. So many questions, and no answers.

“You’re troubled,” Manny said, filling the tea ball.

Daemon shook himself. “I’m looking for information that may be hard to find. A friend told me to beware of the Priest.”

Manny slipped the tea ball into the pot to steep. “Huh. Anyone with a lick of sense takes care around the Priest.”

Daemon stared at her. She knew the Priest. Were the answers really this close? “Manny, sit down for a moment.”

Manny ignored him and hurriedly slid the cups onto the table, keeping out of his reach. “The tea’s ready now. I’ll call Jo—”

“Who is the Priest?”

“—he’ll be glad to see you.”

Daemon uncoiled from the chair, clamped one hand around her wrist, and pulled her into the other chair. Manny stared at his hand, at the ring finger that wore no Jeweled ring, at the long, black-tinted nails.