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“What do you think you’re doing?” Tess’s voice called as I started toward the door of the studio. There was a shadow standing just outside. I was going to go ahead and pretend I didn’t feel a little flutter of anticipation in my chest at the idea of it being Silas. Of him waiting for me to walk me home again.

“Um… going home?”

“Home?” Tess yelped.

“Home?” Margo shrilled.

Both women looked equally horrified.

It was right about then that I remembered I’d agreed to go out with them. Namely so they could forget about their book and the stalled progress of it. When all I wanted to do was go home and lean into the steam I was running on.

“Okay. I might have forgotten about going out,” I admitted.

“Which explains the outfit,” Margo said. Her gaze slid over my clothes with barely contained disapproval. “Don’t get me wrong. It has a certain sexy librarian flair to it. But that’s not going to work where we’re going.”

I honestly didn’t even remember what I’d agreed to. It could be anything from cryptid speed dating, a summoning circle potluck, ouija board tournament, to an actual exorcism.

Or something as tame as a wine and paint night.

You never really knew with these two.

“Spectral, remember?” Tess prompted.

Right.

Spectral.

“Right, um, and Spectral is…”

“A club,” Tess explained.

“A paranormal club,” Margo clarified.

“Why can’t I wear this?” I asked as we moved as a group outside.

“Because it’s not hot enough. Right, sexy vamp?” Tess asked.

“Something about your tone suggests I should not be agreeing with you without further explanation.”

“Maggie’s outfit,” Tess supplied.

“It’s perfectly suitable.”

Tess rolled her eyes.

“See? Even the five-thousand-year-old vampire thinks it’s not gonna cut it.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“I’m not five-thousand years old,” Silas objected.

“Look, if we waste time going home and digging through my closet—which we all know is going to take an hour and be followed with fussing with my hair and makeup—I’m going to be too tired to actually have any fun at the club. Just this once, let me be the dowdy friend who is just there to soak up the vibes, not attempt to be the life of the party.”

“You’re not dowdy,” Silas said.

“Says the guy who probably thinks hoop skirts are still in fashion,” Margo shot back. “Newsflash, diet Dracula, but we are way past the age of ankle flashing. We are showing off full-on thighs these days.”

Margo was, too.