“Why?”
“Are you serious?”
After our voices crashed together, Violet laughed—real and unguarded at our stumbling—and her face lit up in a way that caught me unprepared.
My heart clenched, any earlier tension melting like the first thaw after an endless winter.
I gestured towards her with mock formality. “Ladies first.”
Her eyes locked with mine, that familiar spark of challenge flashing green and gold, before she mimicked my exaggerated gesture back at me. “Please, age before beauty.”
The comeback forced a smile across my face. I nearly laughed at the eerie accuracy of what she had unintentionally said.If you only knew just how much older I was.I grabbed a fry and chewed with deliberate slowness, holding her gaze, making a show of taking my time. “If you insist.”
But beneath our verbal dance, my body had shifted to high alert. The proprietor. Damien.
I narrowed my eyes on the petite blonde across from us. “Why does he want to meet?”
Jules shrugged, her shoulders shifting beneath the soft pink sweater she wore—meant to hide the lingerie beneath, though on Jules it only made her stand out more. “He did not explain why, aside from wanting to show you two Second Circle.”
Violet leaned forward, elbows on the table, energy sparking off her like static electricity. Her eagerness was palpable. “Second Circle?”
Fuck. Second Circle was where I had met my demon, followed by my ill-fated quest for the book. I definitely did not want Violet venturing there alone.
My response overlapped with Violet’s question: “I do not think that is wise.” As she asked, “Is that the underground club I see people disappear into?”
Jules shook her head with a small laugh, more to herself than us. “Easy, you two.” She paused, her expression shifting to wry amusement. “Meeting needs and desires is the proprietor’s particular skill, after all. Second Circle is where desire is made manifest.”
Despite Violet’s excited squeal, the way Jules said those words left me feeling like there was more she could not—or would not—say. Before I could press her, she pushed back her chair. The legs scraped against the diner’s tiled floor, the sound making my teeth clench and muscles tense.
“It’s getting late, and I need to head back.” She stood, gathering her purse. “See you for tonight’s shift?”
I looked at my unfinished burger, felt a moment of frustrated hunger, then wiped my hands on my napkin and rose. “I will escort you back.”
I need to question Jules about Damien without Violet around. I want to know as much as I can about him before we meet.
Violet’s offended look was immediate, her mouth twisting in a pout that almost made me laugh. “You are going to leave me here alone?”
“Yes.” I headed towards the door with Jules.
“What if somebody kidnaps me while you are flirting with Jules?” She called after me.
When I turned back, I was not surprised to see rebellion flashing in her eyes.As predictable as sunrise, her temper.
I gave Violet a firm look—stay—and headed outside with Jules.
The diner sat only a block from Oubliette, nestled on the far side of the shopping district. Chic in its retro design, all chrome and vinyl and neon signage promising burgers and shakes. I felt confident leaving Violet alone as long as she stayed within those walls, among witnesses.
Jules walked beside me, her silence heavy, her thoughts clearly tangled around Damien’s message. The night stretched wide and empty above us, moonless—the kind of black that predators favored. The promise of fall teased the lingering residue of summer as a breeze whispered between buildings. It was colder than previous nights, autumn finally claiming its territory.
“Did your friend make it home safely?” I asked, keeping my voice soft.
Jules tensed, clearly taken aback. “Yes, after a long night of hedonism, she finally crawled back home.”
I chuckled at the image. “Back to her master’s domain, you mean?”
“Prejudice does not look well on you, Rowan.” She hugged herself against the chill, her arms wrapping tight around her middle.
My skin crawled with caution, hairs rising on the back of my neck the way they did when danger lurked close. The leather of my jacket creaked as we walked. I counted the soft, rapid flutter of Jules’s heartbeat beside me—one hundred twenty beats per minute, far too fast for a casual stroll. Her pulse had spiked when she spoke of Damien earlier and had not settled since. The rhythm was quick and irregular, a frightened bird trapped in her chest. The scent of her cotton-candy perfume mingled with the sharp tang of sweat beneath it, fear’s signature fragrance.
