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Fey couldn’t help it. She laughed, shaking her head.
“Do I even want to know what you’re doing out here, in the middle of the Demon district?” Lilith asked, her voice teasing.
Goddess Park sat closest at the intersection of the Demon and Shifter districts, and the streets surrounding it were mostly factories and food stores, spotted with a few low-income housing complexes. There wasn’t much around the area if you were looking for things to do.
“This is my favorite part of the city,” Fey told her. She gestured at the statue before them. “This is the first place I came to when I moved here.”
Lilith frowned up at the statue, licking sugar from her lips.
“We had a traditional Goddess statue in our home when I was growing up,” Fey said. “You know the one? She’s on her knees, palms uplifted. Subservient.”
Lilith nodded.
“I hated it. She looked so small, so… powerless, kneeling there like that. It wasn’t until I saw this—saw her shown like this—that I finally felt like I saw her. Like I saw the Goddess I felt inside me, the one that I could resonate with.”
Lilith smiled. “Yeah,” she said. “I get that.” She licked a trickle of strawberry ice cream that was melting down her cone, racing toward her fingers.
Fey shrugged. “I like to come here when I want to feel close to Her. When I have to do something I don’t want to do.”
“And what is it that you don’t want to do?” Lilith asked, teasing.
Fey sighed heavily and stood up to leave.
“I have to go make a deal with the devil,” she told Lilith, turning to walk away. “See you at the palace later, okay? And if I’m not back by morning… send Joy out to save me.”
Fey hoped Mr. Alastair Salvatore was the forgiving type…
But she doubted it.
It was barely 8 pm by the time Fey arrived at The Last Drop, and the club was almost unrecognizable from the last time she’d been there. It wasn’t busy yet, and the few people already there were content to sit at the bar or in various booths along the walls, sipping at their drinks and chatting. The dance floor was empty, and Fey was pleasantly surprised to find that the music and lighting were more reflective of an upscale bar, rather than a popular dance club. They must turn up the sound and turn down the lights once the place starts to fill up.
The bartender watched her approach with curious green eyes. The sleeves of his T-shirt were rolled up and stretched over his thick biceps. With his messy brown hair and five o’clock shadow, he looked more like a model than a bartender.
“What’s your poison?” he asked in a purring voice, giving her a crooked grin when she sat on an empty stool in front of him.
“Vodka seltzer,” Fey ordered. He nodded, and when he set the drink in front of her a few moments later, Fey’s eyebrows shot up. Calling it a vodka seltzer was a lie. The drink he set in front of her was a full glass of vodka, with only the barest whisper of mixer, and it smelled strong enough to strip paint. Fey appreciated that in a drink, even if she didn’t plan on drinking it tonight. It was just for show, after all—a prop.
The bartender smiled wider at her raised eyebrow, revealing a twin set of dimples in his cheeks. And a sharp set of incisors. “You look like a girl who can appreciate a strong drink,” he explained.
She smiled back in response and slipped a full silver mark across the bar in appreciation, bringing the drink to her lips and feigning taking a sip. The bartender watched her, and when she set the glass down on the bar, his eyes lingered on it, narrowing slightly.
“We don’t get a lot of Witches in here,” he told her, gaze moving from her drink to her face. He leaned on the bar, watching her.
Fey raised an eyebrow. “Are we going to have a problem?” she asked, letting the barest hint of a threat darken her voice.
The Shifter just smiled lazily, flashing sharp teeth in the process. “Oh no,” he assured her. “No problem at all. Just curious if the Crown sent you to take one of us out of here in handcuffs.” His smile grew, turning slightly feral. “And if you’re looking for volunteers.”
His voice held enough sexual purr that Fey’s toes curled slightly. Fuck, was every male here nothing but walking sex appeal? No wonder this place was so popular.
“Why do I get the feeling you flirt with every woman who walks in here?” she asked, teasing.
The bartender laughed. “No, no—I definitely have a type.” He leaned a little closer to her, and Fey couldn’t help the slight blush that rose to her cheeks. He drummed his fingers on the wood of the bar top, and she noted that his fingers ended in claws. Sharp. Dangerous.
“Actually,” Fey said, trying to ground herself. It would be too easy to get distracted, too easy to give in and finish her drink, to leave without doing what she came here to do. She feigned another sip from her glass. “I’m here to see the owner. Do you know if he’s in tonight, or when he might?—”
CRASH.
The sound of a door slamming above was loud enough to shake the floor, and the bottles on the bar wall rattled. Fey winced. Well, that answered her question.
