“Forget what I said about the cards,” Ginny sighed. “That’s what the ritual is really about.”
Roksana sniffed inelegantly. “I’m getting drunk tonight and so are you.”
“My only experience with alcohol is my stepmother. Oh! And two recent beers. What if I’m a terrible drunk who ruins everybody’s night by dancing on tables and tossing my cookies?”
“That sounds like a party to me, but we’re not going out out. Not this time.” She flicked her wrist. “I’ll steal a bottle of vodka from the liquor store and we’ll do girls night in. I’ll even watch one of your old movies.”
“It sounds like there’s a reason you want me indoors.”
“Don’t read into my actions,” Roksana grumbled. “It’s very rude.”
Ginny faced forward, taking in the scene at the front of the room. The women stood in front of the casket, locked in an embrace. Did they have regrets? Maybe a phone call they’d ignored from Kristof or an argument over politics that resulted in weeks of silence? She often wondered what people would do with the gift of foresight. How would they change things if they knew ahead of time what the future would bring?
She knew.
She’d sat in that very chair and watched a parade of regrets, day in and day out, for most of her life. She had no excuse for sitting back and watching life happen around her. For far too long, that’s what she’d been doing. After the sudden death of her father, she might have created patterns that distracted her from the grief, but those patterns had become a way of hiding. They didn’t open her up to new experiences. Ones that would allow her to feel new things.
Starting now, Ginny was taking control of her own destiny. She didn’t want to act in ways that were expected. No more safe patterns and coping mechanisms.
Ginny cleared her throat delicately. “I’m going out out.”
“I had a feeling you were going to say that.” Roksana drummed her fingers on her knee. “I could tie you to a chair.”
“You won’t, though. Not on my birthday.”
“Are you one of these disgusting people who call it a birthday week, Ginny? I can’t get down with that.”
“No, I’m not,” Ginny said on a quiet laugh. “But I’ve got no other leverage with which to bargain for one night of fun and freedom. I’m not immortal. I don’t have your incredible skill—”
“Say more.”
“At the moment, all I have is the date on a calendar.”
And the desire to draw a certain someone out of the woodwork, even if it did include dancing on a table. Not that she had any plans to say such a thing out loud. Her plan struck her as kind of uninspired, but what was she to do with no power and no way to reach Jonas?
Furthermore, it was her twenty-fifth birthday and maybe that was reason enough to go a little wild. Growing up, her birthdays had consisted of an ice-cream cake in the break room of a morgue while her father warbled out a well-intentioned yet extremely off key version of Happy Birthday.
For the first time in…well, ever…she had a friend with whom to party. If Roksana was there because Ginny was still in danger for some reason, Ginny had full confidence that Roksana wouldn’t let anything happen to her a second time. They might even have fun.
“You are putting me in a tough position, Ginny,” Roksana said, pushing to her feet. “But we will go out. If only because I’ve become a dumb dumb who neglects alcohol and dancing because a bloodsucker asks it of me.” Her lip curled. “They should all have been slaughtered by now.”
Ginny nodded firmly. “Tomorrow.”
“Yes, tomorrow. Tonight we fuck shit up.” The slayer wagged a finger at Ginny’s attire, mischief trickling into her expression. “But first, we find you something a little more exciting to wear. You look like a goth Bo Peep.”
Clutching her jacket closed to hide her cleavage, Ginny jogged to keep pace with Roksana on the sidewalk. Around them, the sky was streaked with purple and orange, a beautiful twilight sky that seemed to cast a glow over the apartment buildings and food shops that lined Mermaid Avenue. The scent of curry and jerk seasoning carried on the night breeze from the corner Caribbean restaurant, reminding Ginny that between wrapping up Kristof’s viewing, showering, blow-drying her hair and modeling outfits for Roksana, she’d neglected to eat dinner.
“Where are we going?”
“A place you won’t find on Yelp.” A man passing by did a double take at Roksana and she bared her teeth at him. “You’d think he’s never seen someone in a red latex jumpsuit before.”
Ginny wished they were still home so she could adjust the borrowed thong underwear currently trying to climb into a place it was not welcome. “Is that jumpsuit more or less uncomfortable than what I’m wearing?”
Roksana didn’t seem to hear her. She was busy scanning the street and rooftops—for what? Ginny didn’t know. And her friend wasn’t spilling. “Listen to me, Ginny. If I tell you to do something tonight, obey me without question. If you can do that, we’ll maybe, possibly, have an enjoyable time. Do we have a deal?”
“I’m hearing you loud and clear.”
“Fabulous.” She hooked an elbow through Ginny’s and took a sharp right, sending them down a narrow street lined with closed garages and a shallow gully of sewer water running down the middle. “I find I’m feeling guilty for calling you goth Bo Peep earlier. Please say something insulting to me, so I can move on.”
“Oh no, I don’t want to—”
“I insist.”
Ginny inflated one of her cheeks and let the air out slowly. “You’re alarmingly violent?”
“I asked for an insult. Not a commendation.” Roksana sucked her tongue. “Never mind, we’re almost there. Quick rundown, the owner is an ex-boyfriend and he still thinks there is a shot. There is not. Do not mention Jonas, Elias or Tucker. Say nothing of vampires whatsoever or you’ll get us both killed.”
“Should we just go to a Fridays?”
“This is a slayer bar.” Something unsettled traipsed across her face. “We’re safest here. Unless—”
“Unless I mention our primary reason for knowing one another. Got it.”
“Sassy. I like it.” She guided Ginny between two garages and down a set of steep stairs. “Those clothes are already doing their job.”
They stopped outside a metal door at the very bottom of the staircase. It was a regular old door no one would look twice at. One might assume it led to a place to which only the electrical company had access. Not one sound could be heard on the other side. In fact, Ginny was getting ready to ask Roksana if they were in the right place when the metal creaked open—and blasting hip hop music nearly rendered her deaf.
On reflex, Ginny covered both of her ears, so she could only partially hear the exchange between Roksana and the bald, tawny-skinned man in a white leather vest who stood in front of them, the top of his head brushing the doorframe.
“Knew you’d be back,” he shouted, giving the slayer an appreciative once-over. “I don’t see the flamethrower you stole last time we hung out.”