Another reason why this whole magic racket is wrong—because of sorcerers like her, and once upon a time sorcerers like me: sorcerers who get used, turned around, and forced right into the line of fire.
As the crowd moves toward the VIP lounge, Joan edges beside me and whispers, “Go up the fire escape to my room when this is done. Wait for me. Gunn’s giving everyone a cele-bratory shot of shine—they’ll be in the lounge for at least an hour, I’m sure.” She flashes me a heady smile. She’s clearly emboldened by what she’s done, empowered, not ashamed. She’s exactly where I was a year ago: being manipulated, handled, tricked into thinking she’s invincible. Before I can think through it, I give her a discreet little nod. She breaks away and goes back to Gunn’s side.
As the stagehands lead Colletto and his men to the VIP lounge, Gunn lingers and surveys our troupe. “You all did spectacularly. But I won’t lie: there’re going to be long, tough days ahead. I expect you all at eight a.m. tomorrow, ready to live and breathe brewing shine until Thursday, to ensure that our first shipment’s on time. So enjoy your night.” Then he drops his voice, addresses Joan. “I’m sure Colletto wants to meet you.”
Joan nods, but as she trails him, she throws a glance at me behind her shoulder.
I can’t meet her on her fire escape. I can’t have Joan, even if I want her. This is about far more than her and me—
But as she turns down the hall, these thoughts are strong-armed by a greater truth: this can’t be the last time I watch her walk away.
“So that’s what she’s been hiding,” Rose says as soon as Gunn, Colletto, and their respective teams of thugs turn down the hall toward the VIP lounge.
“Stock warned us so many times about her.” Tommy shakes his head. “We saw it that night in the house of magic manipulations, remember? Something evil was going on up there.”
Rose nods as she plays with her dark, knotty hair. “Stock thought she was working for the devil.”
“Did you know Joan was in on this?” Ral demands of Grace.
But I’m half listening at best, inside my own head. Joan’s in deeper than she realizes. Maybe her allegiance to her family and Gunn’s promises have turned her around so much, she’s got no sense of which way’s up. Maybe I can stop her, reason with her, before it’s too late for her, without compromising my score.
“Alex,” Grace says, and when I look at her, I can tell this isn’t the first time she’s said my name. “Did you know about any of this?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say sadly, “Joan tricked us all.” I clear my throat. “Excuse me, I think I’m going to leave while I can, get some rest.”
Grace gives me a sympathetic smile as the rest of the troupe devolves back into their whispers and accusations.
I burst through the double doors, hit the shock-cold January air. Part of me is fully aware that I should keep walking right out to M Street, find a phone and call Frain, tell him the deal particulars that are as good as done, and not look back. You know what Joan’s room means. You shouldn’t get mixed up with her like that. It will complicate things even further—
But the other part of me is already climbing up her fire escape.
DANCE
JOAN
I burst through my bedroom door, electric, ecstatic. I pulled it off. I used my magic to trick shine into lasting forever, in front of some of the most dangerous gangsters in DC. I cemented my place as a partner in the largest shine venture in history. I ensured that Ruby and Ben aren’t going to worry about money or a roof over their heads for the rest of their lives.
The future is bright, the future is running red with magic, and the now—
The now is Alex Danfrey on my fire escape.
He’s sitting outside, enclosed by one of his own manipulations, warm as he sits there in the January air, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. I run to my window, thrust it open, and back up to let him inside. He climbs over my bed and stands right in front of me.
And just looking at him, arms crossed, furrowed brow over that perfect face, it dulls all my jitters and relief into a hungry ache. Fate has spun this boy into my orbit and given me something I never would have dreamed of. And regardless of whether I deserve him or not, I’m not going to let him go.
“It’s done,” I say, relieved. “Thank God it’s done.”
Before I can stop myself, I wind my hands up his shoulders, to his neck, into his hair, and then I pull him into me.
Alex kisses me back, but it’s hesitant, unsure—“Joan,” he mumbles, “wait . . . stop.” He pulls away. And then he won’t meet my eyes.
It feels like I’ve been sucker punched. “What, what’s wrong? Have you changed your mind about me . . . about us?”