“I came to New York when I was eighteen with nothing but a fake ID and a suitcase. Been singing in jazz clubs ever since, trying to make it.” I laugh, but there’s no bitterness in it. “I was convinced I was one good break away from making it. One recorddeal, one famous musician hearing me sing, one magical moment that would change everything.”
“And instead?”
“Instead I learned that sometimes the universe has different plans.” I touch the compass necklace through my dress. “Dad used to say that life isn’t about getting what you want, it’s about figuring out what you actually need.”
Duffy softens. “What do you think you need now?”
Before I can answer, she reaches across the bar and touches my hand gently. Her fingers are warm, calloused from years of handling bottles and cleaning glasses.
“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “most people who end up in Grimlock are looking for a place where they can stop pretending to be something they’re not. A place where their darker impulses are understood, not judged.” She studies my face. “You have that look—like you’re tired of hiding who you really are.”
I pull my hand back, surprised by how accurately she’s read me. “Is it that obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s been there.” Duffy’s smile turns knowing. “I like that about you. This town needs more people who are ready to embrace their true nature.”
The compliment settles warm in my chest, but then reality kicks in. Duffy’s being so understanding about all this—about Blue, about people embracing their “true nature.” She makes it sound normal, even healthy.
And that should probably worry me more than it does.
“Duffy,” I say, taking another sip for courage, “what do you actually know about Blue? I mean, besides those wife rumors you mentioned.”
Duffy pauses, her hand stilling on the glass she’s been wiping. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything real. He’s so contradictory—in some ways he’s completely open, tells me exactly what he’s thinking. But then there are these walls, these things he won’t talk about. What did he do before he came to Grimlock?”
Duffy sets down the glass and looks uncomfortable. “I don’t know... it’s his story to tell, you know?”
“Come on,” I press. “I’m not asking for state secrets. I just wantto understand how a man ends up living alone in a freaking castle. That’s not normal, even by Grimlock standards.”
She laughs despite herself. “Fair point. You want to know how Blue afforded that mansion?” Duffy glances around the empty bar, then leans closer. “Word is he inherited a fortune from some European arms dealer who died under mysterious circumstances. Blue was working for him when it happened.” Duffy wipes down the same spot on the bar twice. “But here’s the thing about Blue... He never keeps the money for himself. Half the businesses in Grimlock exist because Blue quietly funded them. The bakery, this place. He bought the building and lets me and my sisters run it rent-free.”
That’s not what I expected to hear. “Why would he do that?”
“Because Grimlock is his project. His attempt at... redemption, maybe? Building a community where people like him can exist without pretending to be something they’re not. The man’s trying to buy his way into heaven, one small business at a time.”
Something about the way she talks about Blue—with understanding rather than judgment—makes me feel like I can trust her. And maybe it’s the gin, or maybe it’s the way she’s been so matter-of-fact about everything, but I find myself wanting to tell her the truth.
“Can I tell you something?” I ask, glancing around to make sure we’re still alone.
“I’m a bartender. Secrets are part of the job description.”
I take a breath. “There are people who need to die. People who killed my father five years ago and got away with it.” The words come out harder than I intended. “They’re called the Crow, and they’re the reason I’ve been running, hiding, pretending to be someone I’m not.”
Duffy’s expression shifts immediately. “The Crow.” She says it like she’s tasting something bitter. “Our charming neighbors across the Witchwood. Yeah, I know exactly who they are.”
“I want them dead. I’ve wanted them dead for years. I have dreams about it, fantasies about making them pay.” I take a shaky breath. “But here’s the problem—I see blood and I completely lose it. Throw up, pass out, the whole pathetic show. So wanting revenge and actually getting it are two very different things.”
“Ah.” Duffy nods knowingly. “You need a method that keeps your hands clean.”
“Wren mentioned you might be able to help with that.”
Duffy’s demeanor shifts, becoming more guarded. She crosses her arms and studies me carefully. “Did she now? And what exactly makes you think I’d help some newcomer settle a blood feud with our neighbors?”
“I’m not some newcomer,” I say, heat rising in my voice. “I’m staying with Blue. And the Crow killed my father.”
“Lot of people have grudges against the Crow. Doesn’t mean I hand out party favors to anyone who asks.” Duffy’s eyes narrow. “What’s your connection to Blue, really? Because if you’re just some girl he’s keeping around for entertainment, this conversation ends now.”
The dismissive tone makes my jaw clench. “Blue knew my father. They were... friends. Close friends. My father asked Blue to protect me before he died.”
