Justin shook his head. “I’m good.” Yet, Mae was pretty sure she heard disappointment in his voice.
“For now,” called Golden Arrow as his captors led him away. “Your side hasn’t won. Not by a long shot.”
“I don’t even know what my side is,” Justin muttered.
Mae watched Golden Arrow until he left the building, and then she turned back to Justin. “Did what he said make sense? Is Callista the priestess you want?”
“Yeah.” Justin definitely looked upset. “The piece of work. It’s interesting she went into business with Nadia. She was another priestess. Different religion, but both their goddesses have a real girl-power thing going on—and silver and moon connections. If all our victims were male, I’d say maybe we were onto something.” He shrugged and stood up. “Still worth finding them. For now, I’m finding that nightlife, with or without you.”
Mae thought he was joking, but after they were settled into their Windsor hotel, Justin came knocking on her door. He’d lost the tie and simply wore a black jacket over a white button-up shirt with the collar open. Even in casual mode, he still looked polished and stylish, and of course, his hair had been repaired after the temple scuffle. After being surrounded by military men whose styling could at best be described as “efficient,” she was constantly surprised at the effect his meticulous grooming had on her. He looked her over.
“You’re wearing that out?”
“I’m not going out with you,” she said, feeling slightly affronted on behalf of her jeans and black blouse. “I told you that before.”
“Right, right. Because flawless castal princesses don’t lower themselves to the company of common plebeians. Well, rest easy, because this is business. You can’t really abandon me to the seedy streets of Windsor, can you? Maybe some vindictive followers of Apollo will come after me. Wouldn’t you feel bad about that?”
“Yeah. I’d be heartbroken.” Seeing his hopeful look, she sighed. He had a point, after all. “Fine. But I’m not changing.”
He looked as though he might protest but shrugged it off. “Something tells me for you, it won’t matter. Let’s go.”
She didn’t know how many times he’d been in Windsor, but he managed to find the shadiest, most illicit club he could. It wasn’t even an official establishment and was instead housed in what looked like an abandoned warehouse. When they stepped inside, though, she was blown away that a place like this could exist without being known to authorities.
Hundreds of bodies were packed together in relatively little space, and the room reeked of human sweat and smoke from all sorts of substances. It was almost like being in Cristobal’s club, except cleaner and more high-tech. The place was kept dark, lit only by pulsing colored lights that seemed to be timed to the loud, pounding, percussion-intensive music filling the air. People talked in clusters around the periphery of the room, while the middle was reserved for dancing, which mostly seemed to consist of a lot of erratic body thrusting and rubbing.
“Wow,” said Justin with delight, while Mae felt her body respond to the implant. He made a beeline for the bar, and she fell into step with him.
“How is it possible that someone who bemoaned his fate in Panama for four years chooses the most provincial bar I’ve ever seen in this country?” she exclaimed.
“Difference is in the clientele,” he told her. “These people are civilized.”
Glancing around, Mae wasn’t so sure. Some did seem to be from Justin’s demographic: stylish, affluent people charmed by novel vices. Others looked like the dredges of society and would’ve fit in well in Panama. The bartender, whose mouth was completely encircled in metal piercings, seemed to be a prime example.
“Black Bay bourbon. Straight,” Justin ordered. He glanced at Mae. “Can’t get that in the provinces.” He turned back to the bartender. “You got any ash?”
She suppressed a groan, wondering if her position as a soldier of the Republic meant she should be enforcing its laws.
“Oh, yeah, of course,” said the man, handing Justin a small glass of amber liquid. “It’s good, if you want to get something for your fucking grandmother. You want some serious shit, though, you go for the gates of paradise.”
Justin scoffed. “You don’t have that here.” The bartender reached down and held up a small plastic dropper, earning an exclamation of, “Fuck me. Hook me up.”