Yes, bad idea.
But right now, I am so tired of letting people shove me around. My mother. My stepfather. The Mafia.
Nothing that has happened up to this moment has really been because of a choice I made.
The handcuffs.
The Yakuza.
The assassination attempt against me.
Going to Tokyo, faking my deathnone of it was my choice.
But coming down here . . . choosing to be a part of Veah’s plan . . . for the first time, I can finally say I’ve done something because I wanted to. Because my heart was in it.
This is something I am willing to die for.
So being here, tonightI am standing up for myself. And I’m not going to let some conceited asshole shove me around. Not when I feel confident.
Hello ? I snap. Are you okay, or ?
(Again, terrible idea. I was in the middle of the fucking Mafia’s secret circle.)
The dark fury smooths away from the boy’s face, as easily as butter. If we were anywhere but an underground club on the holy ground of a church in Japan, I would have imagined him as shy. A little mysterious. He looks like the kind of person who embodies dark academia, with that long trenchcoat and his charming, wicked smile.
I can even picture him in a library, surrounded by thick leather books, bent over the ancient pages of a dead language.
He’s not so much handsome, I think, as beautiful.
He is still just looking at me.
Lookinglike he is devouring.
I should probably be scared.
His hazel eyes are bright. All that anger is gone. He only looks pleased nowpleased and eager, as though he has been waiting for me all night long.
Hello ? You shoved me into a wall ?
You . . . are magnificent, dear, says the boy.
I think we’ve attracted an audience. The people in the queue are watching us, curious and fascinated and horrified.
Seriously ? I’m magnificent ?
The boy pries my hand off of his sleeve. But he doesn’t shove me away, he brings it upwards. Brushing his lips over my knuckles. Did it hurt ? he whispers.
Did what hurt ?
Falling from heaven ?
I snatch my hand back. No, but it hurt when you shoved me into a goddamn wall ! Who are you ?
I am Bastian Aubert, says the boy. And you must be . . .
None of your business ?
. . . Aphrodite herself.
I am suddenly struck with a realization. The line into this stupid VIP club has to be at least an hour long. At this point, I have two options.
The girl who I recognize . . . or Bastian Aubert, Asshole Extraordinaire.
The memory of that girl’s sharp, glinting gaze . . . no. Not her.
That leaves me with . . .
Bastian, I repeat.
His rosy lips curve. He offers me a hand. Shall we ?
He is nodding to the bouncer, and I have a feeling we will be let through without a second thought. Whatever is waiting for me in that club . . . whatever Okami is hiding . . . I have to get to the bottom of this.
I have to get in there.
So I take his offered hand and I mutter, We shall.
I see you’ve met Bastian.
I am leaning over the shiny countertop of the bar. Twirling the glass stem of an empty drink. It has been almost an hour.
There are no secret lairs. There are no mad scientists.
No bags of crystal meth. No evil murderous villains, cackling in the dark.
Across the room of the club, through the haze of pink smoke, I see the asshole who brought me in. He is slender and tall, and not even twenty years old. I still have no idea who he is, so I turn to the boy who spoke, curious.
I’m Elliot, the boy offers. I’m assuming you’re with Bastian, right ?
How’d you know ?
If you weren’t now, you would be soon. Whatever Bastian wants, he gets. Simple. And he loves gingers.
Gingers ? I hiss.
Especially curvy ones. An ass like that is pretty rare here in Japan. If Bastian hadn’t staked a claim, you’d probably be getting offers from men all night.
Excuse me ?
Elliot raises both hands. He is holding a wine glass in his left, and on his right . . . That is a really strange tattoo.
It reminds me of one of some of the ink patterns Veah has.
Coincidence, I remind myself.
I’m gay, Elliot explains. And . . . besides, it’d be really hard not to notice.
Well, looks like we have something in common.
You check out your ass ?
No ! I hiss. The other part.
Oh, Elliot says, grinning. He is so friendly I can’t help but relax a little. You’re gay.
I take a sip of my new drink. Something strawberry-flavoured. So how do you know Bastian ?
But Elliot is cut off, just as he opens his mouth.
There is some kind of commotion happening in the booth where Bastian is sitting. Shouts. Anger. Panicflaring.
What’s going on ? I whisper, setting down my drink.
When I look back, Elliot is gone.
Okay, that was definitely not strange. At all.
For a moment, my heart clenches. I really wish Veah were here. But I still have her gun, and I have a mission. Maybe this will help.
There is a blura tangle of fists.
Everyone in the booth has emptied out, except a single girl. The one I recognized from earlier.
Watch this, Bastian whispers, his breath against my ear.