The Raven's Spiral was a confection of black gingerbread, like a wedding cake for the dead. Signs along the sides hinted at dark arts performed inside, and the doorway was hidden in a niche so deep that it was velvety black, and the doorknob was shaped like a silver skull for those who missed the point. High up in the darkness above the door was a single spark of light where a stick of sandalwood incense burned.

Quin paused in the doorway with his hand upon the knob. He was a dramatic splash of color against the blackness: a slender, dark-haired boy in a peacock-blue robe. The golden thread around the edges of the embroidered peacock feathers glittered as though someone had puffed a cloud of sparks into the darkness. The golden belt was a girdle of fire. The mixture of light and dark was made for the robe, and Quin knew it, so he stood still until a group of tourists had passed so that they could benefit from it.

Then he swung open the door and walked into a gaggle of pixies.

He yelped and ducked, flailing to get one of the pixies out of his hair. "What in hell?" He jerked his hair free and skittered to the side, then glared at the pixies. They swung on their pink ribbons and smiled back. "Vin! What are a mess of fairy dolls doing hanging in the door?"

"They're there because eight people so far today have walked into them just like you, gone Ack! just like you, and then gone, 'Oooh, pixies!' and bought one." Vin leaned over the counter to take in Quin's robe. "Well, aren't you the fanciest imitation of a bird's ass ever. To what do we owe the honor of this visit?"

Quin straightened and tossed his hair back with dignity. "I'm here for a book."

"On prenatal health, or on fashion advice for the ambitious pagan?"

"On sex gods," Quin said. "Of course. Do your patrons usually stare like that?"

"Only the teenagers," Vin said. "The older ones just take photos with their cell phones when you're not looking. Besides, they're giggling. That's a good sign."

"I can hear that," Quin said. He turned and gave the girls an aggrieved look. They stifled their giggles and pretended to be fascinated by the crystal display, but when he turned back to Vin, there was an explosion of giggles behind him. "Vin, make them stop!"

"That's the right kind of giggling," Vin said. "It means they want your feathery blue ass. Get used to it, sex gods hear it a lot. Unless you're rethinking needing that book..."

"Just show it to me," Quin muttered. Vin led him through the explosion of pink and glitter that was the interior of the Raven's Spiral--slowly, so he wouldn't catch his robe on anything. Quin noted that the path seemed to be more circuitous than it absolutely needed to be, and it passed a couple of customers two or three times. "Vin..."

"Getting there," Vin said. "Why'd you wear that, anyway?"

"Practice," Quin said. "Deities do not wear baggy jeans and hoodies with Latin quotations on them."

"And you picked that in particular because..."

"It was the only thing in Mother's closet that didn't have a princess waistline," Quin said. "Stop rolling your eyes, you slattern, you're only jealous because I got to it first."

"The good citizens and tourists of downtown Salem, what did they think?"

"There are man-trollops out there wearing entire dead cows," Quin said with dignity. "If they are allowed to wear those getups--in the middle of an Indian summer--then they can keep their eyes to themselves when I wear something not half as stupid. Vin, that's a book on dating!"

"You might want to start slow," Vin said. "Learn about basic human mating rituals, get used to this whole 'girl' thing--"

"I have no time to start slow!" Quin cried. "Vin, I'm seventeen. If I don't reach divinity soon, I'm going to start deteriorating."

"You're right. We nineteen-year-olds, we're in terrible shape. Our butts go all flat and flabby--"

"Hey!"

"--And our boobs hang down to our waists. Look at this! Do you call this perky?"

Quin covered his face, red to the ears. "Stop that! I don't want to know!"

"This is not perky! Look, they hardly bounce any more. Okay, so I'm laced into a corset, but you can still see that they're not what they used to be. I used to be able to bounce a quarter off these babies, and now I can barely manage a dime--"

"Stop! Stop!"

"Poor Monica here, she's 21. You better believe she's on a downward spiral. Hey, Monica, get over here and show my baby brother--"

"Enough!" Quin squawked. He retreated into a stand of flower crowns and postcards. "I don't need to know that, you disgusting wench!"

"Quin, you're the most prudish wanna-be sex god I know," Vin said. "Maybe you should try being the throbbing pagan library god."