I shrug. “I’m pretty sure waitstaff hate that, but okay.”

“But the entire time you’re talking, I want you to see her serving you a cheeseburger.”

“This is a breakfast menu,” I say, waving it.

“Doesn’t matter. If she suggests anything that isn’t a cheeseburger, compliment her and ask again,” he says, giving me a pointed look as the waitress comes back with an expectant smile, pad in hand.

“All set, hon?” I’m not a fan of endearments, but there’s something about the hon that makes her seem friendly enough to not spit in my coffee for my doing what Luka asked.

“What do you recommend?” I say cheerfully.

“Our stuffed French toast is really good.”

“Wow, you have a great smile,” I say, peering at her.

“Well thank you!” She laughs. “You just made my day.”

“So what do you recommend?”

And I realize as I’m asking it, that I am starving. And that the thought of French toast—or pretty much anything—is literally making my mouth water.

“Stuffed French toast for sure.” She beams.

“Well then . . . stuffed French toast it is,” I say, smiling not at her but Luka.

Luka mumbles something about the same, and she leaves.

“You have to be able to do this,” he hisses.

“Listen, Yoda—”

“You can do this.”

“See, that’s the problem. I can’t.”

“Look—” He points. “See that guy yawning? Over there?”

I glance over and feel my own mouth stretch open in response.

“Exactly,” he says, leaning across the table. “He yawns, and then so do you. It’s the same thing.”

“Yawns are contagious. And I haven’t slept in days.”

“Thoughts are contagious. What happens when you see a pizza commercial? What are you hungry for the rest of the day?”

“Sushi.”

“Thick, cheesy pizza. Normal people do this all the time. You just do it better. Whether it’s pizza or hot donuts. Or a greasy burger.”

I drop my hands on the table. “We’re talking about getting people to do things. Not eat them. I don’t need a burger. I need a passport, and right now I can’t get anything but breakfast food!”

“Listen to me, Audra.” He points toward the counter. “Unless that waitress is a hunter who secretly knows how to strangle someone with their own shirt, it will work.”

I feel the blood leave my face.

He leans back. “Sorry.”

“Can you really do that? Strangle someone with their own shirt?”

“I don’t know.”

“No, really. Can you?”

“I guess. If I had to.”

“Have you ever ‘had to’?”

“Audra—”

“Have you? How many people did you kill before I came along? What about my mother?” Something is boiling up in me that I didn’t see coming, but suddenly my hands are shaking. “Is that what happened before she ended up in the Danube?”

“No,” he says. “No! One hunter. One mark. You were mine.”