“Can I talk to you, Sam?” Holly asked.
It was a relatively quiet night for The Pride, so Sam didn’t worry about taking up a table by himself to do some work. He’d been scribbling down a list of names, trying to figure out who might make the best replacement for Luke. It was a daunting task—he needed to get it right if he was going to fix things at the hexworks.
No, he needed to get it perfect. And perfection had always been beyond his grasp.
He stuffed the list in his pocket. “Please—I need a distraction.”
“You and me both, pal.” She plopped down ungracefully with a martini in hand. It cascaded through a rainbow of colors, little fizzy sparks popping around the olive. “But unfortunately, I need advice more.”
Sam winced. “Trust me, you don’t want my advice. But I’m happy to be a sounding board.”
She glanced around, then leaned forward. “Did Alistair tell you about the meeting today?”
“Just that there was one, so Wanda could tell everyone what happened. Why?”
“I tried to suggest we cut bait and go somewhere else to try again. Away from Chicago.”
“Somewhere like LA,” he guessed.
She squirmed a little in her seat. “Well, I didn’t say so in as many words. Not that Wanda gave me a chance—she thinks she’s invested too much time and energy in this place to give it up. I guess they all do.”
He let out a sigh. “Yeah. That makes sense.”
“I’m going to try and talk sense into her. And you should come to LA with us. The movies need hexmen to create effects. Did you see DeMille’s latest? The papers said he needed a whole team of hexworkers to do the scene where the actors turn into spirits and go to the afterlife. Plus they’re always hiring familiars, like for the shark fight in that one.” She put her hand on Sam’s. “We could get away from all of this.”
For a moment, it almost seemed possible. Leave Chicago behind for the sun-drenched land of California, rub elbows with movie stars, create hexes that would dazzle instead of harm.
“Sullivan isn’t going to just let me go,” he said, coming back to reality with a dull thud. “The rest of you, sure.”
“Maybe you could make a deal with him?” she suggested hopefully.
“I don’t know.” What could he possibly offer a man like Sullivan? “Besides, there are people counting on me. I made a mistake with Luke, almost got Glenda in trouble, and…well, I need to fix things here before I even think of LA.”
She looked sad. “Right. Well, good luck with that.”
“Holly—”
“I get it, Sam. I do.” She finished off her martini in one gulp. “I’m going to get another drink.”
“Please, don’t be upset. I think you should go, I really do. And Wanda and the others, too.”
Her wan smile did nothing to relieve the air of sorrow around her. “All of you have your head in the noose,” she said, turning toward the bar. “But not a damn one of you will consider pulling it out until it’s too late.”
He watched her go, his heart in the vicinity of his feet. If only it were as easy as she made it sound.
Alistair emerged from the back, spotted Sam, and came over. “I’m sick of staring at the ledgers,” he said. “And we haven’t had any time to ourselves lately. Want to go see a movie?”
The silver screen would at least take his mind off his troubles. And as Alistair had said, they hadn’t had enough time as a couple recently.
He stood and reached for Alistair’s hand. “I’d love to.”
The movie they ended up seeing was Christine of the Hungry Heart, about a woman who had terrible taste in men. After, they had a late dinner at a twenty-four-hour restaurant around the corner.
Midnight was in their rear-view mirror when Alistair followed Sam into their house. He shucked off his coat and suppressed a yawn.
“You can go to bed, if you want,” Sam said. “I’m not tired yet.”
“Something’s bothering you.” It wasn’t much of a guess, given how worried Sam had looked when Alistair approached him in The Pride earlier.
