Page 51 of Tracking Snow

I take another bite anyway.

The comfort presses deeper, sickly now, cloying, and my stupid brain goes straight to him.

Not even the sex.

Me standing under streetlights, holding up my hand like a complete idiot, pretending to slide my finger off at the knuckle because it was the only magic I had. A dumb little trick I threw at the most interesting being I'd ever met, hoping he might look at me and see something worth keeping.

Something special. Something more than human.

Fae lords, I'm pathetic.

"G, forty-six," the queen sings. "G as in girl, stop checking your phone. He is not dead. He is just disappointing."

I laugh too late, too sharp, and Ariel's eyes flick to me.

My gaze drifts past the stage, past the glitter curtain, toward the hallway that leads to the dressing rooms.

Bad idea.

My brain goes there anyway.

One's hand on my face. His voice calling all my jagged pieces beautiful. The taste of ozone on his tongue.

His loneliness pressing into mine until I thought maybe two hollow things could become something whole together.

Then his words after. Just a human.

I swallow the rest of the snack cake like it might force the memory down with it.

It doesn’t.

Three rounds later, Ariel wins again and laughs so hard the queen accuses her of hustling the entire club. My best friend is glowing, delighted, cheeks pink, the oversized dildo now tucked under one arm because we only brought our tiny clutches.

At least I have her. It's the two of us against the world, and that's all I need.

"Wasn't Kiki supposed to be on tonight?" Ariel asks as we head toward the bar to close our tab. "I love it when she announces Bingo because she sings a lot."

"Yeah." I sit straighter, scanning the side stage. "She always does Tuesdays." Honestly, it was a big reason why I let Ariel drag me out. I needed to thank Kiki again.

At the end of the bar, Prudence Pea is adjusting her headset with one hand and smoothing a wrinkle out of her pencil skirt with the other.

The club manager is all silk blouse, horn-rimmed glasses, and tightly pinned hair, the kind of woman who could feel one pea under twenty mattresses and file a formal complaint about it.

"Hey Prudence," I call as we approach her. Prudence is just as much a regular at Poison Apple as we are here. "Is Kiki sick?" I ask.

Prudence stills. "You haven't heard?"

"No," I say slowly. "Heard what?"

She glances toward the stage, mouth pressed thin. "Kiki hasn't been in for days. No calls. No texts. Nothing."

Cold slips beneath my glittered skin. Ariel's hand finds my wrist.

"We filed a missing person's report," Prudence adds, voice lowering. "Cops barely cared. Said a lot of people have been leaving town. Said she's probably on summer vacation, lying by a beach somewhere." Her nails tap once against the bar. "As if the Dame would ever miss a performance without notice." She rolls her eyes, but behind it is real worry.

The tiny, borrowed magic inside me flickers out.

And for once, I don't even miss it.