Then I see Ares with another girl on the dance floor.
It feels like someone’s poured freezing water over my body. My throat tightens as I watch them together. She’s pretty, but she doesn’t look like his type. Still, he isn’t pulling away when her hands roam across his chest.
A bitter taste fills my mouth.
I’d suspected that Ares had come here tonight with a specificgoal in mind, something related to the vision, but what if he’s actually just herefor fun?To dance and hook up with strangers and get drunk off his face?
“Hey.” Some guy my age sidles up to me. Muscular, tanned, handsome in a predictable way. He’s blocking my view of Ares. “Have we met before?”
I start to tell him no, I’m not interested, but then he steps forward and Ares looks over at just the right time. Our gazes meet. I can’t clearly see his expression, but all that matters is that he’s looking.
The guy says something into my ear right as the bass drops, something I’m assuming is meant to be seductive but just sounds likeradishes.
“What?” I ask.
He tries again, straining his voice over the music. “Ravishing! You look absolutely ravishing! Like one of those—” He waves his hands about, his face scrunching in concentration. “Artworks,”he concludes decisively, looking very proud of himself for thinking of it. “Those artworks you might find in one of those... museums!”
“Thank you?”
Encouraged, he plods on with vigor. “And your hair! Your hair is marvelous hair. It’s so very curly and shiny and—”
“Let’s just dance,” I suggest, to spare the both of us, circling my arms around his neck as I move my hips.
It’s only because Ares is watching that I let the stranger kiss me, sloppy in a way that reminds me of how dogs lick their owners’ chins. I keep my eyes open, my attention sliding right past the boy whose mouth is currently smushed against mine,his lashes fluttering with one-sided pleasure. My gaze locks with Ares’s across the dance floor.
An electric shock zips up my spine. I deliberately arch my back, encouraging the boy to come closer, which he’s all too happy to do. I don’t look away from Ares, and it doesn’t matter that we’re dancing yards away from each other, that someone else’s hands are on my waist. It’s as if we’re the only ones here.
But then Ares seems to spot someone else on the other end of the club. He quickly untangles himself from the girl and begins to push his way forward, his movements hurried. As I push off my overeager dance partner, I follow the direction of his gaze and my heart stops.
It’s the man with the scar on his face. My mom’s old classmate.
The man from the vision.
Suddenly I get the strangest feeling of stepping outside my body, of seeing the three of us, me and Ares and the man, all connected in inexplicable ways, as moving pieces on a timeline. What happens from here, how these pieces fit and clash, will have unthinkable ripple effects on the future.
But if both Ares and the man are present at the fire in the vision, then the man could be an accomplice of his. Maybe, I realize with a lurch of horror,tonightis meant to be the night where they plan it out together. I have to stop Ares from reaching him. Need to distract him, somehow—
An idea springs into my mind.
Acting drunk is a subtle, sophisticated art that, like any other art, requires practice and dedication. It’s difficult to get right. You either risk overdoing it, slurring your words too much andtripping all over the place and completely embarrassing yourself, or not doing it with enough conviction, in which case you might as well not do it at all.
The first time I’d ever gotten drunk, it had been a deliberate choice, just to see what I was like. I’d made sure I was in a safe, controlled setting—at home, with nobody else around, god forbid I made a fool of myself with any eyewitnesses. I’d broken out an old bottle of my mom’s pinot grigio from the cabinet, poured too much of it into a Swarovski toasting flute, plopped onto the couch, and downed it like it was grape soda.
I recorded myself the whole time, and when I sobered up, I played it back, watching it closely like an audition tape for a dream role.
So I know exactly how to act now, pretending to drink from the little red cups the nightclub waitresses are offering, stumbling across the dance floor to Ares.
“Hello,” I slur, blocking his way. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
Ares’s eyes flicker from me to the man at the back of the club. “I don’t have time to talk—”
“What, you’re leaving already?” I pretend to take another long swig from the cup, even though my lips are pressed tight, allowing only a thin trickle of wine down my throat. “But I just got here.”
“That has nothing to do with me,” he says, his jaw hard. “Aren’t you already here with someone?”
Right on cue, the guy from earlier finds his way to me. His large hand grips my waist roughly, pulling me to his side. Ares’s eyes narrow.
“What are you doing?” the guy says. “Let’s keep dancing.”
