“We’ll never survive,” said Buttercup.
“Nonsense,” her beloved assured her. “You’re only saying that because no one ever has.”
“How much do you really buy into this stuff?” Paris asked.
I blinked. “What, the Fire Swamp? Well, clearly you can survive—”
“No, stupid, this stuff.” He waved a hand at the surface of the card table, with its cups of dye and eggs in various states of color change.
“Dyeing eggs?”
He rolled his eyes as if I were quite thick indeed. Which, to be fair, I was, if you measured around the navel area. “Easter. Jesus. Religion. The great beyond.”
“Oh, that. Well, yeah, I’m pretty ‘into’ it. Have been all my life. I, uh, take it you’re not?”
He pulled the bicolored egg out of the yellow dye, peered closely at it, dipped it back in. “Shadows generally follow the reli
