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A warm ray of sunlight shone against the diamonds, sending sunspots dancing across the counter. “I’m so happy for you.”

Audrey’s face fell as she seemed to take in the slight slump to Iris’ shoulders. “I’m worried about you.”

“Me? Nah. I’m fine.” Iris waved away her concern, a genuine smile still spread across her cheeks. “You deserve this, Audrey.”

Her friend pressed her lips together as she wiggled her ring finger, clearly trying not to look too pleased with herself. She took another sip of coffee, her expression thoughtful. “I think you should talk to Gabriel.”

Iris nodded, her hand tightening around her own paper cup. A conversation with Gabriel, a real conversation where she insisted on the truth, had to come eventually. But she wasn’t going to let her worry mar Audrey’s happiness.

“I know,” she said, still tracing her finger down the table’s jagged scar.

4

Afragrant rush of popcorn-scented air filled Gabriel’s senses as he and Iris stepped inside the spirited pub and wound over to their usual table by the wood stove. At barely six p.m. on a Friday night, the place was already abuzz with a cacophony of voices. To their right, Cody—the pub’s owner and open mic leader—was busy setting up microphones and testing the sound system with his small team of helpers. People of all ages spilled from every corner of the room, from the bar to the low tables set against the frosted windows.

It had been an unusually cold week, and that night was no exception. Gabriel removed his gloves and placed them in his pocket, suppressing a shiver. He leaned into the warmth of the fire.

They tried to arrive early to every open mic night so they could always nab this particular table, which was less conspicuous than spots closer to the stage area or the bar. Nestled next to a towering bookcase, it offered them a bit of quiet in the hubbub.

Iris shrugged off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair, resting her mandolin case against the shelf. Gabriel watched as she chewed on the edge of her thumbnail, looking ill at ease. He hated that he was to blame for the haunted look in her usually kind brown eyes.

“Soda?” he asked her, searching for anything to break the tense silence that had settled between them like heavy dust.

Iris offered up a small smile. “Sure. Thanks.”

Scraping back his chair, Gabriel approached the drink fridge by the bar. He took his time perusing the selection of house brewed beers and cream sodas before sliding open the refrigerator door.

A reflection caught his attention in the glass and Gabriel’s heart sank like an anchor in the Hudson.

He grasped two bottles, his grip tight enough to shatter them into deadly shards. Keeping his attention on their table, he walked over to Iris and placed an orange cream soda in front of her, settling back into his chair with a look of feigned frivolity.

Clearly, Iris knew him too well.

“Gabriel, what is it?” She reached across the table, but Gabriel kept his hands curled around his bottle. He spun it in slow circles, silently cursing the gods for his current predicament.

Before he could conjure up a reply, Cody cleared his throat into the microphone, which responded with a high-pitched squeal. He bent down to twist a knob on the sound system, a strand of limp hair falling over his crows-feet-etched eyes. Straightening up, he announced the open mic and asked performers to please sign up on his list at the front.

A short line formed by the stage, and Iris stood to join them. The moment she was gone, Gabriel shot out of his seat and walked purposefully to the table behind the drink fridge.

“Hello.” Gabriel observed the stranger with narrowed eyes as he took the seat across from him without invitation. “Nice to see you again.” The corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitched, revealing his true feelings. At that moment, there was no one he would have rather seen less.

The Similar’s hand clenched where it rested on his opposite arm, betraying his unease. He was dressed in a black sweater today, seeming to have dispensed with the huge brown coat he’d worn the last time they’d met.

Judging by looks alone, this Similar was young, handsome in an unassuming, unthreatening way, and posed about as much danger as the orange soda Gabriel had purchased not five minutes ago.

But Gabriel had learned that a person’s outward appearance was often deceiving and had consequently come to rely on more sophisticated means of discernment. His sense of perception was akin to an impeccably tuned violin in the hands of an expert musician. There was little hidden in a soul he couldn’t see.

“What brings you here tonight, my friend?” Gabriel’s tone was light, but warning flashed in his focused gaze. “What’s your name?”

The young man looked up at him, and Gabriel was once again startled by the sight of his nearly translucent eyes. “Thomas.”

Gabriel cocked his head to the side. “What is your name, really?”

The stranger hesitated, shifting in his chair.

A metaphor bloomed to life in Gabriel’s mind. It was as though the man before him wore a heavy cloak weighed down with rocks like secrets. This was a cloak that wanted to see fire and ash, wanted to burn, wanted to set its secrets free.

“Blair,” the stranger replied at last.