The Last Housewife (26)

Jamie pulled me close enough to hear over the music. “I think I know why we’re supposed to change.”

I knew I should protest, maybe even leave, climb my way out of the Mansion. But the panic from earlier was leaking out of me. In its place, a night-blooming flower unfurled its petals, spreading a warm, easy nectar that made my limbs languid.

I leaned even closer to Jamie. “I think the pill was ecstasy. Or some sort of relaxant.”

He nodded. “I’m feeling it, too. Are you sure you want to keep going?”

I nodded. “Laurel came here. I’m sure of it.” I was Alice, and Laurel was my rabbit. I would chase her into any wonderland, no matter how dark. I pushed Jamie’s chest. “Get changed.”

I said nothing when he emerged from the bathroom in slim black boxers, but I didn’t look away from his stomach, muscles taut as he walked, or the sharp, elegant lines of his clavicle, bones slashing into his broad shoulders like brushstrokes. The night-blooming flower’s magic was strong, lending me boldness. It told me there was no reason to be shy, so I leaned against the bar and watched him.

But when Jamie drew close, his eyes cut away, like he was embarrassed to see me in a bra and panties, or too honorable to look. “Where should we start?” he asked.

A stranger walked up to the bar beside me and, unlike Jamie, gave me a close look. He was older, with a thick middle and an even thicker mane of salt-and-pepper hair. “I’ve never seen you before,” he said, eyes lingering on my chest. “What’s your poison?”

“I’m not drinking.” Not when a mysterious pill was snaking through my body.

“You with him?” The man nodded at Jamie. “Because I don’t do doubles.”

“No. But—”

He took a step closer. “Then let’s talk. I’m a giver, not a taker. Just tell me what you’d like done, and what it’ll cost me.” He spoke the words with the unhurried cadence of someone uttering something perfectly normal.

What would have been alarm before the midnight pill was now only a muted spark of curiosity. “What I’d like done?”

Beside me, Jamie stiffened.

The man’s smile was easy. “Of course. I’ll do anything. Name your price.”

I looked around the cave cathedral, at the close-pressed bodies on the dance floor and in the baths, all that flesh lit by flickering candlelight. Tongue-Cut Sparrow was a marketplace.

I turned back to the man and placed a hand on Jamie’s arm. “Actually, I am with him.”

“Right.” I could hear the dismissal in his voice as he turned back to the bar. “Whatever you say, vanilla.”

I leaned in. “Have you been coming here long?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“I’m pretty sure there was a woman who used to come here, shorter than me, about five six, with light-blond hair and dark eyes. Pretty, real pale and soft-spoken. Her name was Laurel Hargrove. Is there any chance you remember someone like her?”

“Honey.” The man’s voice dripped with condescension. “There’s no chance I’d remember a single girl. And we don’t use names here.”

The bartender slid a drink in front of the man, even though in all the time he’d been at the bar, he hadn’t ordered one. “Some advice, because you’re obviously new: Don’t ask questions. You won’t like what happens.”

Jamie tensed. I tightened my grip on his arm until the man slipped away into a dark corner. Jamie glanced at the bartender. “Come on. Somewhere more private.”

I followed him across the dance floor, the sea of writhing bodies opening and surrounding us. Limbs brushed me—strong legs and soft arms and round breasts—trailing pleasure over my skin. The dark, charming voice that lived inside my head whispered, It feels good, doesn’t it? Open yourself. Take it. Jamie laced his fingers through mine, and I closed my eyes, getting lost, letting the bass take control of my heartbeat.

But Jamie tugged me forward, forcing me to put one foot in front of the other.

We broke free of the dance floor, and cool, musty air kissed my skin. Jamie didn’t let go of my hand until we’d made it to one of the baths in the corner. He sank into the turquoise water and let it swallow him whole, reemerging with rivulets running down his face. I slipped in after him. The water was intoxicatingly warm, like silk against my skin. I’d hoped it would calm me, wash away the sensations, but it only made them worse.

I groaned, closing my eyes, and leaned my head against the edge of the bath. “Jamie, I can’t think straight.”

I heard rustling and opened my eyes to find him moving closer, away from a man who’d slipped into the tub after us. Jamie sank down so we were eye level and drew so close it must’ve looked, from far away, like we were embracing.

“Is this okay?” He spoke in a low voice. “For privacy.”

I nodded, and he placed his arms on either side of me, like a cage. You like cages, the dark voice whispered. You’re always walking into them.

“The pill,” I said. “It’s seriously messing me up.”

“I know.” Jamie’s pupils were dilated. “Me too. We have to push past it. Find the sane voice in the fog.”

“I don’t think I have one,” I said, and he smiled like I was joking.