“Drink up,” she suggested, clinking her teddy bear mug to mine. “Before you puke your guts out.”
I rolled my eyes, but I threw back the champagne and directly poured myself another. My head still throbbed painfully. A little hair of the dog wouldn’t hurt. Lourdes satacross from me, kicking her feet up on the bench seat. Both of us wore rented bowling shoes, but neither of us bothered with a ball. It wasn’t like we were going to play.
“Why do we have to meet here?” Lourdes sidestepped how obviously hungover I was to talk about something else. Avoidance was practically her middle name. We never talked about the things that mattered. Only the ones that didn’t. Maybe life was easier that way. “We’ve got all the money in the world. Why can’t we get a nice steak at The Rack, or even see the girls at The Odyssey? At least that place has class.”
I shrugged and even the tiniest movement of my shoulders felt like it might send me into the spins again. Immortality like mine was a terrible joke. I couldn’t get sick or die, but I still got hungover. One of St. Irys, the Trickster’s, greatest jokes, though folks naturally attributed it to St. Amarante. “Neutral ground. You know the drill. Consulate rules.”
Lourdes shook her head. “Next month we’re meeting at the Automat. The food here is wretched.”
She said the same thing every month, and every month we met at the ThunderBowl, same as always. Same time, same day, same bullshit. And we’d keep doing it for-fucking-ever. Literally.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Lux Medios drawled as she appeared out of nowhere, long cherry-red hair grazing my shoulder as she kissed my cheek, her Saints-charms tinkling like bells around her wrist. It took me a moment to realize she was talking about the food, not my inner monologue of doom. “Good to see you, honey. Sorry about the bad luck with Lara.”
So they’d heard about that already. It hadn’t even been twelve hours. I gritted my teeth. The last thing I needed was their pity—and Ares Necroline was going to find a way to use this against me somehow. The scary motherfucker nearly always had something up his sleeve, and he’d had it out for me for decades.
As though thinking of the necromancer called him forth, heappeared behind Lux. Today, he was a head shorter than her, but that was only because Lux’s platforms added at least six inches to her already staggering height. They were a lesson in contrasts, Lux’s muscular frame draped in a lush ice blue velvet track suit that brought out the warmth of her light brown skin, while Ares Necroline, pale as death and tattooed to high heaven, wore a gray three-piece suit that looked like it came straight off the set of a gangster flick. The leader of the Cognoscenti was over-the-top luxury mixed with something vaguely metaphysical, while the Necroline asshole was a nightmare waiting to happen.
Both came to sit around the pink molded-plastic table—Ares sat directly across from me, an irritating smirk playing on his perfectly sculpted lips as he draped his long, muscular body on the bench seat. It was maddening that someone I disliked so much was packaged in such a delectable way, but Saint Irys loved to tease me.
Lux pulled a champagne flute out of her handbag, cut from pink crystal that matched the walls. Of course, she’d brought her own champagne flute. Why wouldn’t she? No one took these meetings seriously.
I was a joke to them. Every month we met was painful.
“Fill me up, Daddy,” Lux purred at Ares.
He obliged with a smile, though he did not drink himself. I snatched the bottle from his grip and filled my mug again.
“I was sorry to hear Lara refused your offer of sanctuary,” Ares said, his voice low, as though he were keeping a secret for me.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” I snarled, unable to keep my temper leashed.
One eyebrow arched at me. The man had no right to have such alluring eyebrows. “How does someone wholooksas elegant as you manage to be so… What’s the word I’m looking for, Lux?”
Lux rolled her brown eyes, the expression made more exaggerated by the false lashes she wore. Today’s had bright blue glitter dusted over them, and I envied her ability to get them glued on just right. Any time I tried falsies, I got them stuck all over my eyelids and looked utterly deranged. “Divine. Ember always looks divine.”
Ares rolled his eyes. “I thought we weren’t going to coddle her.”
“Just look at her.” Lux chucked me under the chin. She smelled incredible, her perfume some mix of earthy woods and rich amber. “She’s pathetic. Her eyes are puffy and red. She probably cried herself to sleep, but she still looks like one of those drugged out models we all wanted to be like twenty years ago. I said what I meant—Ember Verona isdivine.”
“Gods above and below,” Lourdes swore, throwing her hands in the air, her gold rings sparkling in the hot-pink neon lights. “Can we just get to business? I’d like to get out of here before dinner.”
It was barely noon. There was no chance of us being here another ten minutes now that everyone was here. They never bothered reporting in anymore. When Lara broke up the Maere, Orphium’s Trinity stopped respecting my authority. None of these parapsych bosses gave two shits about what I thought, what I wanted, or what I did with my time.
I was a glorified messenger girl, a Consulate stooge. Nothing more. My head pounded.
Each of them took out an envelope of cash and passed it to me. Tithes to the Consulate were due, and I was in charge of the drop. It was the only reason I showed up here every month. I secreted the envelopes away in my bag and leaned back, snuggling into my oversized leather jacket. The red lining was silky and felt good against my skin. “That’s done. Can we go?”
Lourdes glared at me. “The point is to share relevant information with one another, is it not?”
I shrugged.Nowshe wanted to do what we were supposedto?Fishy, fishy, fishy. I shook my head. It was because Lara was back. The brat wasn’t evenhere, and Lourdes wanted to act better to impress her. They’d had a thing once, maybe Lourdes wanted to revive it. Or maybe she just respected Lara more than me. Couldn’t blame her there.
Finally, I sighed—she was right, after all. This was how we’d always survived. Parapsych abilities weren’t exactly illegal anymore, but they certainly weren’t accepted. We were in murky territory with the Authority, serving a purpose for many of the Corps, as our abilities gave our capitalist overlords an edge. But as far as society at large was concerned, we were not to be trusted, and our people often remained outsiders. It’s why we needed the Consulate, vicious as it could be. Our world ran on secrets, and I was supposed to be keeping the three of them, and their dynasties, in line.
I just didn’t feel like it today.
I hadn’t felt like it in nearly twenty years, but that was the curse of immortal life. The curse all of us bore. The years came and went, mortals going about their mundane lives around us, while we lived in opulent shadow—only important when they needed a miracle.
The only miracle I needed today was a nap. My eyes weren’t red from crying, but I had been up all night pacing—and drinking. I was ready to go home, sleep my hangover off and start again tomorrow.
