Kester had been clear on the plan. She and Zee were supposed to approach Hugo together. Keep a low profile, and stay in the shadows. That part was easy enough. She liked shadows. It was just the whole killing thing that made her uneasy. Hopefully it wouldn’t come down to that. She might be a mortal demon, but she wasn’t a murderer.
Someone rapped on the window, and Ursula jumped. It was Zee, clad in a belted white coat, her breath clouding around her face. Ursula opened the door, stepping into icy air that nipped at her bare legs.
“Zee.” Ursula shut the door behind her. “Thanks for meeting me here.”
The Russian stepped back, surveying Ursula’s black coat and tan heels. “You don’t look as gross as you did before.”
“Thanks.” She hugged herself. “What do you do for Kester, anyway? Are you his employee?” Or do you just do what he says because you fancy him?
“I have certain skills for which Kester pays me. That’s all you need to know. For one thing, I can get us in anywhere.” Her eye makeup shone gold in the tungsten streetlights. “This place is like my second home.” Behind her, gold-plated lettering read Club Lalique.
Ursula’s teeth chattered. “I’m freezing. Shall we get in line?” She stuffed her phone into a small clutch the color of smoke. Wyrm skin, Kester had said. Dragon hide was invisible to normal humans, which made the clutch perfect for what she had to carry into the club.
“Come with me.” Zee looped her arm through Ursula’s, leading her to the front of the line.
“Are we just going to jump the queue?” Ursula whispered. She felt like a tit cutting in front of everyone, and she could feel their angry stares burning into her.
“Of course.”
A ruddy-faced bouncer in a long heavy coat stood behind a red rope. “Good evening, Zemfira.”
Zee smiled. “Just my friend and me tonight.”
The bouncer lifted the rope, then pulled open a black door. It led into a short hallway lined with pale marble tiles, and once she was inside its warmth Ursula’s stiff shoulders began to relax. They walked through a narrow hall to a set of gold-plated doors.
Zee pushed a button, and the doors opened to reveal an elevator’s mirrored interior. They both stepped inside.
Ursula took a deep breath. Calm down. All you need to do is give Hugo the parchment, and ask him to sign. He should be perfectly reasonable about it. What Emerazel wanted with his soul was a mystery, but she supposed Kester would probably just tell her it was none of her concern.
As the elevator silently climbed fifteen stories, she glanced at a CCTV camera in the corner. This place was probably littered with cameras. A bit tricky to stay in the shadows.
At the top floor, the doors opened to reveal a vast room dripping with opulence: platinum, muted gold, and vibrant amber. It was like something out of a Russian palace before the revolution. No wonder Zee liked it here.
A few patrons clustered around a circular bar, while others lounged in cream leather booths. Above the bar, a gold column branched out like a metal tree, and crystal lights sparkled among its boughs. But the most eye-catching aspect of the room was the view: across the East River, Manhattan’s buildings jutted into the sky, a glittering, steel forest. This place was so far from Rufus’s club that it might as well have been on another planet. You’ve come a long way, Ursula.
A grey-haired man in a black sweater approached them. “May I take your coats?”
“Yes, please,” said Zee.
Zee wriggled out of her white coat, revealing a pale cocktail dress that hugged her delicate curves. A pearl necklace draped around her neck, and she gripped a small, indigo clutch that matched her shoes.
The man turned to Ursula. “Miss?”
Ursula slipped out of her coat. The black Prada dress hugged her body perfectly. Short and A-line—good for running if she needed to slip away fast. She handed over her coat.
Zee appraised her outfit. “Black. Sophisticated. Very nice.”
You’re not the only one out here who can pick out a dress. “Thanks.”
“I don’t know about you,” Zee continued, “but I’m dying for a cocktail.” She headed to the bar, nabbing the last gold-cushioned seat. Ursula had to stand awkwardly behind her.
Within moments, a blond bartender leaned across the wooden bar. “The usual, Miss Zemfira?”
“Yes, but make it two.” She turned to Ursula. “You like champagne cocktails.” It was less a question than a directive. Drink it or else.
“Sure. Whatever.” With her nerves blazing, Ursula wasn’t really in the mood for drinking, but it would help her blend in. Champagne wasn’t so alcoholic as to get her drunk, and she could slowly nurse it.
“Great.” Zee smiled. “Save my spot. I have to pee.”
After Zee hurried off, Ursula slipped into her seat, watching as the bartender put together their drinks. After dropping two sugar cubes into a pair of champagne flutes, he retrieved a bottle of Angostura. He dropped the bitters onto the cubes—deep red drops, like blood on snow. As he filled the glasses with champagne, Ursula shivered for a moment, thinking of the last hellhound, and the entrails that had decorated a tree.
The bartender slid the glasses across the rich wood.