The dress she chose for me is beautiful, and the moment I saw it, I regretted ever agreeing to come. The contacts are uncomfortable and threaten to make my eyes water. The night has just started, and I already feel tired.
“I feel like a grape,” I tell Camille. “A very expensive grape that someone’s about to drop on a marble floor.”
Camille shoots me a chastising look. “You look beautiful, Iris. Try to walk like a woman who knows it.”
“These shoes are a safety hazard. If there’s a fire, I’ll die because I can’t run in them.”
“If there’s a fire, I’ll carry you out myself,” Camille says. “I’ve done worse at weddings. Now come on. Just give it a chance. You won’t regret it. You’ll see.”
That seems unlikely, but I’m here now. The alternative is giving up before seeing this through. I am many things, but I’ve never been a quitter.
Camille guides us through the crowd, her demeanor so certain no one tries to stop her. A few succubi glare at us, but they make no comment. And then we’re standing in front of the door itself. The troll bouncer outside glances at us with beady eyes. He’s dressed in a black suit that strains against his muscles. He’d undoubtedly give Rakan a run for his money, at least in size, if not in power.
Camille gives him an easygoing grin. “Hello, Bert. How’s your mother?”
Bert thinks about the question for longer than required. “Thrilled. Her sister is still angry. The honey you supplied was delicious. The party was a hit.”
“Wonderful,” Camille shoots back. “Always happy to hear a customer is satisfied. Now… Could I trouble you to let us in tonight?”
Bert steps aside without a word. Camille squeezes my elbow and steers me through the door.
Inside, it’s loud. The bass reverberates from my heels into my whole body. The hot air, layered with perfume that has nothing human about it, stings my nostrils. Above the dance floor, strobes of blue and white wash over the moving crowd. People press shoulder to shoulder along the edges of the room, and ninety percent of them are probably wealthier than I’ll ever be.
Near the cloakroom, a tall, thin man is blinking three sets of eyes out of phase. Two goblins are making out somewhere to his right. At the side bar, I recognize a vampire from the Sunday paper. Her hand is resting on the shoulder of a young man who already seems enthralled, and she winks at me as Camille and I walk past.
The monsters at The Daily Grind were not like this. I miss Mary with a passion, along with her daily complaints about my unwatered plants.
Camille is still leading me along the edge of the floor, skirting the worst of the chaos. Without her, I’d feel completely and utterly lost. I’d be grateful if she wasn’t the reason I’m here in the first place.
And then I see him. Rakan is at one of the high tables on the raised platform along the far wall. I’d know him anywhere. By now, my body seems to instinctively react to his presence. My nerve endings come alive, and I can feel my face flame. This is an utter disaster, and there’s only one reason why it could be happening.
I turn to Camille. She has the grace to look mildly embarrassed. “I promise. I can explain.”
I can barely hear her over the sound of the music, so she drags me away into a quieter corner. “You ambushed me, Camille,” I accuse her. “You told me we were going out tonight so I could relax. Whatever this is isn’t relaxing.”
“I chose the venue with care, which is a meaningfully different thing,” Camille replies. “And if you give the djinn a chance, I’ll bet he can help you relax.”
I honestly don’t have the patience for my friend’s matchmaking. “Don’t make any bets you can’t afford to lose, Camille. Right now, the exit’s looking very inviting, and these are still your shoes.”
“Shoes are a small price to pay for your happiness,” Camille insists.
It makes zero sense, just like so many things about my friend. “How did you even know to find him here?” I ask her.
Camille shrugs. “Rakan is photographed at this club approximately every two weeks. I read the gossip pages. And Bert helped.”
Of course he did. Because Camille’s troll contacts were apparently matchmaking for me, too.
I take another look toward Rakan’s table. For the first time, I realize he isn’t alone. The man beside him is roughly the same height and considerably broader. He has deep gray-blue skin and a charcoal suit that makes him almost invisible in the dark club. “What about him?” I hiss at Camille. “Rakan’s friend.”
“He won’t care. Monsters take this sort of thing in stride, Iris. They’ve lived too long not to.”
That isn’t as reassuring as Camille seems to think it is. But Rakan is looking at us now, and if I turn back and flee, I can never show my face at The Daily Grind again.
“I’ll make you pay for this somehow. I swear it.”
Camille’s mildly apologetic look shifts into one of triumph. She grabs my arm and practically drags me toward their table. The silk shifts around my knees with each step, and I struggle not to stumble. I’ve never felt more ridiculous.
By the time we arrive at the table, I’m sure my face is far more colorful than my dress. But thankfully Camille doesn’t abandon me. “Fancy seeing you here, Mr. al-Rashid,” she greets Rakansmoothly. “And so soon after our meeting at the cafe. How fortuitous.”
