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The phone changes hands one more time.

"Thank you," Dean says. Quietly, so the others won't hear. "It matters to her. More than she'll say."

"Then make sure she gets here. Dress and all."

"We will."

"And Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever followed you home. Is it still following you?"

The silence goes on long enough that I hear a coffee maker gurgling somewhere in the background.

"Not anymore," he says. He hangs up.

I put the receiver back on its hook and stand there for a second.

Lenart has gone back to his tablet.

"Six," I say.

"I heard."

"Is that a lot? For one woman?"

He scrolls down the screen, finally, and doesn't look at me.

"Ms. Iverson," he says, "I wouldn't have the faintest idea."

Kit is on the other end of the bar, and Theo has station three, and we've finally got a rhythm going, the three of us, where nobody has to say anything. I pass Kit the bitters before she reaches. She slides me a clean shaker without looking. It's the best part of bartending, when a rush clicks and the whole well moves like one animal.

I don't think about the drawer. I don't think about the tape.

Merek's on the floor tonight, working the room the way he does, a hand on a shoulder, a name, a joke, and every so often I catch the glow of his ember lines through the crowd. Tav went down to the lounge an hour ago with a toolbox, because somebody's wedding party broke a chandelier. Lenart's at a table near the stairs with two members of the council, which means he's having one of his dinners. William is wherever William is. Somewhere high, probably, watching.

"Excuse me," somebody says, close and warm. "Bartender."

He's gorgeous. That's the first thing, and I notice it. Dark curls, a jaw you could cut limes on, an open collar, and a smile. He's leaning on the bar like he owns the stool.

"What can I get you?"

"Surprise me."

I hate surprise me. Every bartender hates surprise me. I pour him an old fashioned, because it's fast and it's hard to complain about, and slide it across.

He doesn't pick it up. He looks at me instead.

"You're new," he says.

"I'm busy."

"I'm Calloway."

"That's nice. Eighteen dollars."

He laughs, low, and then he does a thing with his voice.