“As I’m sure you can already tell, Gwen is an oracle.” Hugh’s frown had deepened, and his stance widened. “We’ve known each other for over twenty years, ever since I participated in her verification panel at Delphi Academy.”
“Gwen…” The SERC chair peered at her more closely, clearly searching her memory. When she finally put the pieces together, she abruptly straightened and gaped at Hugh in open shock. “Gwendolen Wexloff?”
“Yes,” Hugh confirmed nonchalantly, as if her name weren’t infamous in SERC circles.
“And you’ve been in touch all that time?” Josiah Goodling regarded his protégé with avuncular concern. “I had no idea.”
“No. We didn’t stay in contact afterward.” Hugh’s temporary burst of confidence visibly faded, and he shifted his weight. “But we, uh, reencountered each other a few weeks ago at…” His gaze lowered to the tips of his heeled boots. “At, um, karaoke?”
Oh, no. That was…that was very bad.
Understandably, Goodling’s concern had turned to outright befuddlement. “At…karaoke?You?”
“How fascinating.” Tanielle Beech’s eyes had narrowed on her younger colleague. “Which bar were you visiting?”
There was no possible way Councilor Hugh Blacke, Esquire, would trek into the Containment Zone for karaoke night at Hole in the Wall, the Zone’s macabrely named dive bar.
“That place in Georgetown,” Gwen hastily interjected, before Hugh either gave up and confessed everything or spun another, evenmoreimplausible tale. “You, uh…you know the one. Withall the…” What would a bougie karaoke bar in Georgetown even look like? “With all the velvet. And the carved wood. And the cocktails with, um…”
What was the fanciest possible drink component? Absinthe?
No. She wanted to increase the believability of their cover story, not ape a cabaret dancer on the verge of insanity in belle epoque Paris.
“Elderflower?” Should she have said gold leaf instead? Too late now. Besides, she clearly wasn’t the sort of oracle who could afford to sprinkle inert precious metals over her alcohol. “Yes. Elderflower.”
It was the best she could do.
“Elderflower,” the SERC chair repeated slowly, looking even more dubious.
“I was there for a friend’s bachelorette party and recognized Hugh up on stage.” Gwen warmed to her tale, imagining a spotlit Hugh at the microphone, rumpled and a little sloppy from one too many elderflower drinks, holding court with his electric performance. “He sang ‘Kiss,’ of course. That’s why he’s dressed like Prince. He knows I can’t resist those tight pants.”
That part, at least, was true, although she mentally played the bugle for his lost crop top.
“Hmmm.” Councilor Beech folded long, slim arms over her chest. “Is that correct, Blacke?”
“Uh…” Hugh swallowed. “I—”
“Pray don’t encourage the demon, Beech.” Max Boucher, arrogant vamp that he was, rolled his eyes as he swept theatrically into the clearing. “If I hear the story of these two fated lovers’ reunion even once more, sheer boredom may force me to tear out his throat.”
Gwen slumped over her bowl of popcorn, weak with relief. “Hey, Max.”
“Maxime Boucher!” Beech regarded the long-lost vampire with evident astonishment. “I thought I’d never see you again this side of the veil!”
“Frankly, I’dhopednever to see you again,” Josiah Goodling muttered, his genial expression souring.
Gwen imagined any good, rule-abiding demon would find Max a trial. If forced to spend more than five minutes with the vampire, Hugh would probably frown hard enough to do himself permanent injury.
“Boucher.” Hugh inclined his head in acknowledgment. “A pleasure, as always.”
A nice touch, thatas always. To Gwen’s best knowledge, Hugh and Max hadn’t seen each other in decades, if they’d ever actually met before.
“If only I could say the same.” Max eyed Hugh’s studded black jacket, rendering judgment with a displeased sniff. “If you must dress like Prince, Blacke, at leastattemptto do so with panache. Even in leather, you’re somehow exuding all the raw sexual magnetism of a mid-level HR manager giving a lackluster performance review.”
Well, that wasn’t fair. Gwen had very personally, very intimately experienced the raw sexual magnetism of Hugh’s outfit. She wrinkled her nose at Max, who winked back at her.
Unfair or not, the insult had effectively distracted Beech and Goodling. The SERC chair was chuckling at the insult to Hugh, while the elder demon tutted disapprovingly at Max. Neither had resumed picking apart the far-fetched tale of Gwen’s romance with their fellow councilor.
“WhenIwear black leather…” Max indicated his own stylish hooded jacket. “Females weep in thwarted lust. Males swoon. Nonbinary onlookers rend their clothing in helpless need.”
