Page 18 of Tracking Snow

The girl with electric ice eyes who smells like tart apples and makes my dick twitch with want.

I meet the guy’s wide, sightless eyes that still hold just a bit of fear in death. As if he is still remembering the last thing I said to him.

I threatened him with Seven’s power.

I didn’t mean it though.

We would never use that power.

Never again.

Chapter 6

A Crack in Rap

SNOW

"Is she on drugs?" Rap asks from where she’s seated at the half-empty bar.

I ignore my boss, polishing the martini glass and thinking about him. The Seven.

"She’s in love," Ariel supplies, pouring the right mixers into the cocktail shaker to make our signature cocktail of the night. It’s still early and slow.

Rap will disappear later as the dance floor begins to crowd, and the tufted red leather couches fill up. The warmly backlit liquor bottles rise on the shelves behind me, reaching toward the skylight that allows sun to pour down on our tree during the day.

Smack dab in the middle of the bar is a real fairy tree that grows straight from the floor and sets Poison Apple apart from so many other vibey bars with its dripping branches of green leaves and twinkle lights.

In an hour, things will get wild, and Ariel and I will make our grand re-entrance on the bar top to dazzle the patrons.

"Well, if she polishes that martini glass anymore, she’s going to rub the damn thing out of existence," Rap complains. She snaps her fingers in front of my face, but I simply let out a dreamy sigh.

"Hey, Snow. Does Ariel have that right? You got a hard-on for some guy?"

Ever the blunt one, my boss. Her mohawk is banana-blonde again, fuchsia threaded through it this week. The dark eye makeup ringing her eyes makes the green of them glow, and her lean arms are carved from years of hauling kegs two at a time. My boss could win any fight in this room, and she's the coolest person I've ever met.

I blink at her, putting the martini glass away. "I’m so hard for him."

Rap can’t help the laugh that bursts free, but she attempts to suppress it anyway. It comes out a muffled snorting sound, while Ariel snickers.

"Okay, well, what’s his name?" Rap finally asks.

"Their name is The Seven," I let out with a dreamy sigh again.

Rap shoots Ariel a side-eye even as Isabelle walks in and slides onto her usual stool at the bar. Our most beloved regular and honorary Lost Girl just finished closing her romance bookstore, Chapter Three.

In a floral summer dress that skims her generous curves just right, the soft print makes her come off equal parts bookish and put together. Her brown hair falls smooth around her shoulders, her bangs sitting perfectly in place, completely unaffected by the humidity.

She’s polished and pretty in the effortless way she always is, which feels rude considering she gave birth less than six months ago and still somehow appears rested. She probably hasn’t, but motherhood looks exceptionally good on our resident smut dealer.

At Isabelle’s side is Jessie, the employee she hired two months ago, practically swallowed up by the tote bag of books hanging from one narrow shoulder.

The girl is tiny, all soft brown waves with subtle warm highlights, black-framed glasses, and blue eyes that flash stormy behind her emerald green lenses. Freckles dust her fair skin. Tonight she’s in a blue V-neck dress with lace at the cups that is dynamite on her, making her eyes pop.

Jessie taps her retractable cane against the floor as she walks in behind Isabelle, favoring one leg just enough for me to notice. Flare day, then.

The first time Jessie showed up with the cane, I asked approximately nine invasive questions in under a minute.

Jessie, being Jessie, answered all of them with saintly patience.