Page 11 of Wells

"Well, it's a city. Most people know Peoria, Illinois. There's also a Peoria, Arizona, which is my particular muse. I told him I was from there, and now that's what he calls me."

"How in the world did you come up with Peoria, Arizona? Who has ever even heard of that?"

"I went to a school with a girl from there. I don't know, it just popped in my head. Sounded like a good place to say where I was from. You know, I've got to make conversation. Sure as shit not going to tell him I'm from New Orleans. If he is some deranged, obsessed serial killer, he could find me."

"Cera." He tilts his head, voice softening enough to cut through my defenses. "You've got the wig, the contacts, the VPN, a fake name. The man's never seen your face. Did you really need Peoria, Arizona, on top of all that? I think you're covered, boo."

I uncross my legs under the table and stretch them out.

"You can never be too disguised. Plus, I didn't plan it and never thought he'd latch onto it. It's fun, anyway. I like it better than Masked Maiden, even though that's still my handle."

Locke's grin fades, and then he nods once. "Fair. Where is he from?"

"He wouldn't say. Told me he lives at midnight, so naturally that's what I call him."

Locke studies me, then picks up his juice again. "So tell me about the money. You know I have to know."

I shift the cup between my hands and pick at the edge of the label with my thumbnail. "Let's just say he pays me what twenty others combined would."

He stops mid-sip and sets the juice down. "For what? Exclusive rights to the masked show?"

"Something like that. Enough that I can breathe while I keep looking for a real job that apparently doesn't exist."

"Cera." He leans in, his voice dropping. "How much?”

I keep picking at the label, determined to remove it entirely as if it were never there. "Fifteen hundred a week."

He sits back and whistles low under his breath. "Damn. You don't even need to get a job."

"It's a relief, that's for sure. But yes, I do need a real job. He could disappear at any moment. Hell, he could have a wife for all I know. I can't depend on that income forever."

"How long has this been going on?"

"We're going on five weeks now of exclusivity."

"Okay. It's official. Midnight is obsessed."

"He's not." The denial comes out faster than I want it to, so I slow down and pick my words. "It's a business arrangement. He wanted exclusivity. I agreed. That's it."

Locke watches me, and I keep my eyes on the cup. He taps his finger on his cup, his eyes burning a hole through me.

"I'm so curious that he won't show you his face."

"Like I said, probably a wife or some other reason he doesn't want me to know who he is. Hell, maybe he's like a political person, or someone known."

"Could be a kink, or something more nefarious. Maybe it's best you told him you're from Peoria, Arizona."

"It's not what you think."

"What do I think?"

"That he's some creep."

Locke shakes his head and sets the cup down again.

"You sound awfully protective of him, Peoria."

I pick up the little pieces of damp, balled-up paper I've made. The tips of my fingers are sticky. "I'm not protective of him! Stop being weird."