I snigger and shake my head.
“I don’t get it,” Pierre says, his open mouth suspended as he glances from Una to me.
“She was a cheesy lookalike, and not even a good one. Blonde hair, blue eyes, big tits, but that’s where the similarity ended,” Una explains.
Pierre laughs, sticking a straw into his glass before offering me one.
“Thanks.” Leaning over the table, I pluck the straw from his hand. As I do, the cuff of my jacket skims the edge of my glass, sending it toppling over the table.
“Fuck.” Catching the glass, I avert a major spillage, but my sleeve is soaking.
“I have tissues.” Una stands, fumbling about in her skull-shaped bag before telling me she doesn’t have any after all.
“Don’t worry. I’ll go to the ladies.” I slip off my chair and head towards the washrooms.
I hadn’t thought the lighting could be any worse in this place, but as I near the rear of the bar, the lampshades give off a cardinal hue that makes the room feel like it’s draped in blood. Tables are replaced with booths, their occupants devoured by the depths of black leather upholstery and muted conversations.
The washroom is as opulent as the rest of the bar, with large gilded mirrors and red-and-black cubicles. I don’t waste any time rinsing my sleeve under tepid water and then drying it the best I can under the noisy hand dryer.
Heading back to our table, I pass the booths, and a female voice startles me.
“It’s you.”
I’m stopped in my tracks as Jacinta emerges from a booth, blocking my path.
Fuck.
If our last meeting is anything to go by, this is not a friendly hello.
“Jacinta.” It comes out as a whisper.
“You don’t need to worry; I will deal with her.”
Valdemar’s words rattle through my head. But whatever he’s done or said—if anything—can’t help me here and now.
“This is the woman who was visiting Valdemar.” She jabs a finger at me as she speaks to the darkened booth. I can’t see who she’s talking to until a long leg emerges from the gloom, pulling a body into the swathe of red.
“Sit down, Jacinta,” a male voice says.
Jacinta suddenly seems like a pussy cat as I’m met with the coldest stare I’ve ever seen. He’s tall and thin, his grey shirt and dark jeans hugging his slender frame. His black hair is closely cropped, making his head appear as if it’s too large for his body, and his full lips do nothing to soften the brutality of hisglare. Even against his dark skin, there’s no mistaking the raven tattooed on the back of his left hand.
“And you are?” His face doesn’t flinch as the words leave his mouth with an undertone that’s used to getting answers whether people want to give them or not.
“No one you know.”
My dad always said my cockiness would get me into trouble one day, and I’m wondering if today is that day as the Raven Hand narrows his eyes, sizing me up before laughing in my face.
Following his instructions, Jacinta has disappeared back into the depths of the booth, so now it’s just me and the Raven Hand.
“There’s more than one way for me to find out your name, lady,” he says.
“How about you tell me yours first?” I goad.
He licks his lips, a glint in his eye, and for a moment, I wonder if I have a death wish.
He quirks his eyebrow. “You don’t know who I am?”
From all the research I’ve done, I know he’s Jupiter Prospero, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s infamous enough to be a household name.
