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the two people I held dearest: the one Iā€™d been ā€œcursedā€ to spend my life with, and the one I hoped Iā€™d get the chance to spend my life with. If I lost either, itā€™d kill me.

Fifteen

Finch

While Raffe and Kadar prepped for their Arabian Nights adventure, I had other fish to fry. A big, ugly trout by the name of Erebus. Or was I the trout, dangling on his hook? Either way, heā€™d texted and given me another unexpected reason to get suited and booted. I hated to say it, but it almost sounded like a date. A pushy one, at that:

Dear Flinch,

Your presence is required at Gatsbyā€™s Speakeasy at two oā€™clock. I assume you can locate the a dress with your cellular deviceā€™s mop function? Dress well, or as well as you are capable. I would prefer it if you did not look out of place. Do not be late. I will be waiting under the name Mr. Erebus.

Best regards,

Erebus.

I didnā€™t want him to think I was too obedient, so Iā€™d gone for the same silky monstrosity Iā€™d worn at Ignatiusā€™s and my trusty pair of black jeans. Gatsbyā€™s Speakeasy was a snazzy joint on the pricey side of San Diego, famed for its fishbowl-sized gin cocktails and wealthy clientele. Theyā€™d no doubt sniff out my measly bank account from a mile away. But at least this shirt screamed money, and plenty of it.

Weirdly, Gatsbyā€™s was as human and magicless as Astrid, not exactly the vibe Iā€™d expect Erebus to go for. Maybe he had developed a taste for the finer things in human life, though I imagined heā€™d had to use a blanket spell on the staff and clientele to draw any unwanted attention away from his distinctly unnatural appearance. Even in ā€˜humanā€™ form, he didnā€™t exactly look human. But at least this wasnā€™t a shady alleyway in some eerie industrial park. Small mercies.

I pulled up in a cab and stepped out, letting the cabbie go, since itā€™d be easy to get another from here. If Erebus kept calling me like this, heā€™d end up with a hefty invoice for all my travel expenses.

The exterior didnā€™t look like muchā€”a drab brick building with a tiny sign above the door spelling out the name. If you didnā€™t know it was here, youā€™d walk right past it. Very in-keeping with the speakeasy aesthetic. Well, if you ignored the burly bouncers on standby. I broadened my shoulders, puffed out my chest, and strode right up to the door. Iā€™d prepared a speech and everything, but the bouncers nodded and let me through.

Your loss. It wouldā€™ve been Oscar-winning.

My jaw dropped as I entered the bar. The interior was a world away from the unassuming outside. Red velvet curtains, dark wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, and circular tables with hooded lampshades casting a saucy glow on everything. I pictured old-timey chaps wooing their chapettes over sidecars or whispering furtively about their next heist. Even in my fancy shirt, I felt woefully underdressed. The bartenders were in tuxedos while the hostesses sauntered about in sparkling flapper dresses. A little sexist, sure, but I didnā€™t run the place.

ā€œGood afternoon, sir.ā€ One of the penguin-suited hosts greeted me. ā€œDo you have a reservation?ā€

I started to answer when a figure at the main bar caught my attention. She sat directly in the center, her legs crossed elegantly over a twisting barstool, her body turning slightly to the side as though offering a better look. Long blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in loose curls while a white, sequined dress pooled downward. ā€œMesmerizingā€ didnā€™t cut the mustard. And she clearly knew I was watching.

She glanced over her shoulder in a majestic display of choreography, and a pair of twinkling, pale yellow eyes stared into mine. This bar might not have been magical, but those eyes were unlike anything Iā€™d ever seen before. And that shrieked magical.

Noā€¦ it canā€™t be. I physically flinched at the sight of her. Probably not the effect she wanted. But her movements, fluid and dancer-like, and the glitzy white dress, reminded me so much of Katherine in Imogeneā€™s guise. Panic struck me like a thunderbolt of bad memories, and it brought a storm of paranoia with it. What if Katherine was still alive? Iā€™d used her image to trick Davin in the Jubilee mine, but what if that had been a sick irony? What if sheā€™d tricked us into believing she was gone, while sheā€™d bided her time? What if Erebus had double-crossed me in Elysium and somehow spared Katherine? What if this woman was her? And what if Iā€™d walked right into her trap?

ā€œSir?ā€ the host prompted, but I barely heard him.

Snap out of it, idiot! Sheā€™s dead. You killed her. You watched her die. Common sense kicked in. Erebus had hated my mother as much as anyone. Heā€™d been chomping at the bit to end her when he took over my body to make it happen. Iā€™d felt his excitement. There was no way heā€™d given her a hall pass out of her demise.

ā€œSir? Do you have a reservation?ā€ The host sounded impatient.

The mesmerizing stranger smiled and raised a champagne glass to me before stepping from her barstool and heading for a doorway in the back wall. She paused for a moment and sipped from her glass, beckoning for me to follow.

ā€œIā€™mā€¦ with her.ā€ I gestured to the beautiful woman. It was as though someone had taken over my voice-box. I felt compelled to say it. A magnetism drew me to her. I knew it was magic of some kind, but I was helpless to do anything but obey her call.

The hostā€™s mouth fell open. ā€œYou?ā€

ā€œYes, me,ā€ I replied coolly. Way to give a guy a complex.

ā€œVery good, sir.ā€ The host stepped aside, giving me free rein to go after the curious minx. I mean, where was the harm in following a mysterious, insanely hot woman through unknown territory? Thinking of it that way didnā€™t make it

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