The living room was out, unless I wanted to risk getting chicken grease all over my costume rack. The bathroom might work, if one of us sat on the edge of the shower stall, and the other sat on—no, the bathroom was out. That really left only one option, and given the Holy Feast we’d just been celebrating—given how much I’d really enjoyed the celebration—I wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

Dominic stopped in the kitchen doorway, looking first at the tiny room, and then at me. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. I opened a cabinet, producing a pair of plates, and offered him another overly-strained smile. “This may sound a little weird, but I think we’re going to have to eat in the bedroom. That’s the only place in this apartment with enough space for us both to actually sit down and eat.”

“Is that so?” Dominic raised an eyebrow, looking very marginally amused. “Are you sure this is not the second stage of your rodent-inspired ‘Holy Feast’?”

“Yes.” I nodded so vigorously it felt like my head was at risk of coming off. “That’s a different celebration.”

Dominic blinked. “You are very, very strange,” he said, after a long pause. He reached out to take the plates from me and then stepped back out of the kitchen doorway, allowing me to lead the way to the bedroom. I scanned constantly as we walked, looking for anything that would cause me to die of embarrassment. So far, I wasn’t seeing anything. There was a quiver of arrows leaning against the hallway wall—no big deal—and I’d left a hand ax out on my dresser. Sloppy, but still not a problem. I was more worried about the important things, like dirty underpants left out on the floor.

The fates were with me; all my delicates were safely out of view in the laundry hamper. I breathed a sigh of relief, setting the sack of greasy goodness on the edge of the bed. Having the blankets dry cleaned would cost a lot less than doing the same for my costume rack. I sat down on one side of the sack of chicken, motioning for Dominic to sit down on the other side. Safely distanced by calories and cholesterol, Dominic sat, passing me a plate as he did. I smiled wanly.

“So, dinner,” I said, leaning over to open the sack. “That was very sweet of you.”

“It seemed like the least I could do, given the circumstances.” Dominic reached into the fried chicken bag, pulling out a container of mashed potatoes and setting it delicately on the bed. “I wasn’t sure what the appropriate ‘I’m sorry I took you into the sewers without proper preparation and got you beaten up by lizard-men’ gift was.”

“Brass ammunition or an anti-incubus charm,” I said automatically. Then I paused. “Er…”

“You really are the strangest woman I have ever met.” Dominic sounded almost admiring. “Now, will you please explain the talking rodents, and how their religious observations led to you accosting me in your front hallway? I’m still trying to decide whether or not to feel taken advantage of.”

“They’re Aeslin mice.” I pulled the chicken bucket out of the bag, selecting a breast and a thigh before offering it to him. “Religious observations are sort of what they do.”

“I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never actually encountered them before.” Dominic glanced speculatively toward the door back to the hall. “They’re cryptids, aren’t they? Of a somewhat more diminutive variety than those we generally find ourselves opposing?”

“I try to avoid opposing cryptids of any size, but yes, they’re a type of cryptid. A very religious-minded type of cryptid. They’ve been living with my family for generations—since before we left the Covenant.” I started peeling the skin delicately off my chicken. “One of my multiple-great-grandmothers found them, and she just couldn’t bring herself to kill them, so she brought them home.”

“Maybe that was part of what made it so easy for your family to leave,” said Dominic. I shot him a speculative look. He shrugged. “They had already deviated from the laws.”

“Maybe so, but … it still wasn’t easy.” I looked down at my chicken. It was easier than looking at him. “I’ve read the diaries. We all have. It was a big decision, both times that it happened. For my great-great-grandparents, and then again for my grandfather. I mean, it was hard on them. They were turning their backs on everything they’d ever known, because they’d decided there was something that mattered more than doing what they’d been taught to do. Hell, what they’d been raised to do. This wasn’t a choice they made on a whim. This was everything to them.”

Dominic’s hand touched my knee almost tentatively. I raised my head, looking at him warily. He met my eyes, expression grave, and said, “I understand loyalties being called into question. I may not fully understand the choices they’ve made, but … I understand what could have inspired those choices.”

“Hey. Baby steps.” I smiled a little, and took a bite of chicken. It tasted amazing, possibly because I hadn’t eaten a decent meal in days, and combat burns a lot of calories. Lucky for me, Dominic was in a similar state, or the speed with which I inhaled both pieces on my plate might have convinced him that I was some sort of cryptid. Never a good conviction to inspire in a Covenant member, unless you feel like having an ash-wood stake driven through your chest.

“I always wondered what had caused your ancestors to throw their lives away like that,” said Dominic, attention apparently going to his chicken. He didn’t look at me as he continued, “It seemed a particularly arrogant means of committing suicide.”

I didn’t say anything. I just waited.

“The teachings of the Covenant are what allowed mankind to survive, once, when competition for resources was stiffer—when sometimes we were the resources in question. Without the willingness to kill, we could never have lived long enough to develop the capacity for mercy.”

“That’s probably true,” I allowed. “I think we have that capacity now, though.”

“Do we?” Dominic looked at me. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Maybe wondering is enough.”

“Maybe so.”

We ate in silence for a few minutes after that, broken only when I asked him to pass a biscuit. Finally, Dominic set his plate (with its associated chicken-bone graveyard) aside, touching my knee with the fingers of one hand. He was less tentative this time.