Chapter 8
The back alley behind The Onyx Room was dark, smelling of stale beer and rain.
Aine slipped out the rear exit, pulling her coat tight.
Julian was leaning against his car. Behind him, lining the brick wall, were twenty massive floral arrangements. It looked like a funeral parlor.
People were stopping to take pictures.
"Do you like it?" Julian asked, beaming. "Celebrating the new headliner."
Aine grimaced. "Sierrah just got fired. This feels... cruel."
"Out with the old," he shrugged.
He really didn't care.
A black town car idled across the street. Augustine.
Julian opened his arms for a hug. "Come here."
"I'm tired, Julian. I just want to go home."
"I'll drive you."
"I called a cab."
Suddenly, three figures burst out from behind a dumpster. They were screaming.
"Homewrecker!"
"Snake!"
Eggs flew through the air.
Julian ducked. He covered his head.
One egg hit Aine's shoulder. Another hit her skirt. The smell of sulfur exploded.
"You ruined Sierrah!" one of them yelled. It was a teenage girl, rabid with fandom.
Julian just stood there, looking at his car, making sure it didn't get hit.
Aine didn't cower. She reached into her purse.
She pulled out a canister of military-grade pepper spray.
She didn't hesitate. She sprayed a wide arc.
The attackers screamed, clutching their eyes. They fell to their knees, coughing.
Security finally ran out the door.
Julian looked up, blinking. "Whoa."
Aine stood there, egg dripping down her coat, holding the canister like a gun.
Across the street, inside the town car, Augustine watched. He tapped the steering wheel.
"She doesn't need a knight," he whispered.
The guards dragged the crying fans away.
Julian walked over to Aine. "Are you okay? My God, my suit almost got ruined."
Aine looked at him. She looked at the egg on her coat.
"Go home, Julian," she said.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Sure."
He got in his car and drove off.
Aine walked over to Augustine's car. She tapped on the glass.
The window rolled down.
"Nice show," he said.
"Got a light?"
He handed her a silver Zippo.
Aine took off her coat. She threw it into the metal trash can next to them. She flicked the lighter and dropped it in.
The coat caught fire instantly. The flames illuminated her face.
"I don't like owing people," Aine said. "Even for a coat."
Augustine watched the fire reflect in Aine's eyes. He looked at her-really looked at her-for the first time. Not as an asset. Not as a problem. But as a woman.
"Keep the lighter," he said.
Aine turned and walked toward the subway.
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