Miriam stared up at her, finding herself uncharacteristically speechless. Not only was Georgie as irritatingly tall, graceful, and strong as she had ever been, her tousled hair and blouse were infuriatingly charming--and that was on top of Miriam’s memory of the show only minutes ago scribbling demonic contours over her edges. Her eyes darted to Georgie’s crown, pale strands that were in places swept about as if pushed by horns jutting out of her skin; her gaze lingered at the hem of Georgie’s short skit as if some extra appendage might slither out. But it was looking into Georgie’s flashing, lavender eyes when she was truly caught: their shine had never looked quite so otherworldly as it did then, with Georgie watching her so expectantly.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes’,” Georgie teased.

“You’re—” Miriam caught herself, remembering Darby’s warning just in time. She swallowed her volume back and pushed to her feet to put them closer together. Not smart--the proximity set her cheeks to burning. She suddenly couldn’t stop thinking of Georgie sliding up behind her soloist, reaching across her body—

“Gremory,” she said. She had meant to speak the name as an accusation, but it came out mostly breath.

Georgie’s smile sharpened at the edges; it sent a shiver up Miriam’s spine. “Come dance with me, Miri.”

Miriam barely had time to register the words before Georgie was tugging her out onto the dance floor. One gesture from her and the band started back up, another and her soloist began encouraging others along the stage to come join in. Miriam sputtered in embarrassment and started to pull back, but then Georgie’s arm snaked around her waist and her body gave up of its own accord. She knew she would never be as graceful as Georgie’s normal partner, but the memory of that dance fueled her with eagerness and curiosity she had no defense against--she let Georgie take her hand and lead her in an approximation of a waltz.

“What’s your secret really, Miri?” Georgie purred. “What is it about magic that excites you so much?”

As always each movement of hers was absurdly effortless; Miriam feared her clumsy feet would never be able to keep up, and yet it was as if a current had been drawn between them which guided her limbs into the proper steps. That by itself felt like magic. Miriam stared straight back into Georgie’s impossible eyes and was convinced, within her every fiber, that it was a supernatural energy spurring her pulse so quickly through her veins. Nevermind that it had been a long damn time since she’d been pressed so close to another woman like this! Unconsciously she licked her lips. “I want to know,” she replied. “It’s that simple.”

“Nothing about magic is simple,” Georgie retorted with a quiet huff. She spun them about so that Miriam would have to hold more tightly onto her, which she did. “Most people wouldn’t be willing to go toe to toe with a man like Tripepi over a silly book.”

“I’m not most people.” Miriam tightened her grip on Georgie’s hand and shoulder, and when Gerogie tried to lead  them in the next step, she pushed just enough of her weight into it to divert them a little. Seeing Georgie’s brow arc in surprise felt like victory that tingled in places it shouldn’t have. “Magic is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ll do whatever it takes.”  

“Is that so?” Georgie reasserted her lead; her hand pressing firmly into the small of Miriam’s back reminded Miriam much too well of beautiful Emerald L’Belle swooning beneath her lover’s monstrous paws, and she swallowed. “The other day it was angels, now you think you want demons?”

“All magic is basically the same anyway,” said Miriam confidently. “Both can make familiars, both can bless someone when they’re born.”

Georgie laughed, her voice silvery and stirring. “Is that so?”

She twisted them about abruptly so she could nod toward her soloist partner, who was dancing with one of the two men in ballgowns Miriam remembered from her first visit. “Her name’s Andromeda,” said Georgie. “She was ‘blessed’ by a demon when she was born. That’s why she can sing so well.”

Miriam quivered enviously. “That’s so unfair.”

“Unfair?” Georgie snorted. “‘You’ll be loved by all for your voice more than anything else,’ said the demon who cursed her, and they were right. No one will ever love her as much as they love her singing. That’s why her husband mans the door.” Georgie drew Miriam along in another twirl to aim them toward the exit. “Hugo. If he ever heard her sing, he’d never love her as much as he does now ever again. You’d call that a blessing?”

Miriam frowned; despite the buzzing euphoria of hearing such unnatural secrets as she had always hoped to learn, still she forced herself to take Georgie’s words seriously. “Was it you—”

“Hugo was touched when he was born, too,” Georgie carried on wistfully. “It’s what brought them together. Darby made it so that no one who speaks directly to him is capable of lying to him. I think you can imagine why he might consider that nothing to brag about.”

Miriam’s eyes darted to Darby himself, who seemed quite content enjoying his drink alone right where they’d left him. She could easily imagine him playing such a cruel joke on an unsuspecting human. Even so, she turned back to Georgie with a steely expression. “According to you, anyway. What are you getting at?”

The good humor faded from Georgie’s smile. “An angel’s magic and a demon’s magic aren’t the same,” she told Miriam seriously. “Demons don’t bless, they curse, and you’re too old for that anyway.” She leaned close enough that her lips brushed Miriam’s temple. “You want magic now, you’re gonna have to sell your soul for it. You willing to go that far?” Her fingers crept lower down Miriam’s back, teasing their way toward her ass. “You’d better consider very carefully who’s on the top of that contract before you sign away your immortal soul.”

I don’t care, Miriam thought at once, and despite her foolhardy pride her heart thumped as she leaned into Georgie--already strong, but hiding even greater strength, she was sure of it. How eager she was then, to have a sturdy beast splay her across a sofa lounge, just like Emerald herself. Her own imagination made her dizzy, and she clung tight to Georgie’s hand and shoulder. I don’t care. What else is there to want here anyway?

“It doesn’t make any difference to me,” Miriam confessed, the words hot in her mouth. “I don’t think it really makes a difference at all, to anyone.” A shudder of righteous frustration rippled through her. “I’ve known supposedly ‘pious’ assholes my whole life. Just because something is holy doesn’t mean it’s good. Even demons are just fallen angels anyway, right?”

Georgie slowed to a halt, and Miriam leaned back, eager to see her face. The sudden hesitation she found there was uniquely and almost guiltily exhilarating, and with greater confidence, she continued. “They’re not that different. I’d be a hypocrite if I said I wanted magic from one but not the other. And besides…” She licked her lips and held Georgie’s gaze. “If demons were all bad, you wouldn’t be trying to warn me against it.”

Georgie’s lip quirked. She grabbed Miriam’s ass, startling her into a very embarrassing squeak, and spun them about a few more times while Miriam struggled to follow. “Oh Miriam,” Georgie said around laughter, “didn’t Darby tell you?”

Abruptly she stopped and let Miriam go; she even took a quick step back so that Miriam was left to catch her own balance on her own. Though Miriam glared at her, flustered and off guard, Georgie only smirked back. “It’s all smoke and mirrors, love,” she said. “There’s no real magic here.”

“But you—” Miriam started to protest, but Georgie was already backing away. Even that might not have stopped her if not for Gerogie sweeping up another guest--a handsome, older gentleman much too pleased by her flirtatious laughter. Miriam clenched her fists and stood back, cheeks burning and damnably conscious of the scene she would have to make to interrupt.

I know it’s you, she thought, drilling the words into Georgie’s back with her eyes alone. I’m going to make you admit it, too. 

“Mirrors my ass,” Miriam muttered. She snatched her purse off the sofa and marched across the lounge to the exit.

Hugo the bouncer was on the other side. He blinked at Miriam in surprise for her forceful exit, and as their eyes met, she was seized once again by her insatiable curiosity. Test him, she thought, and she scoured her brain for some lie she could try to tell him. Tell him you’re a raging alcoholic and came here just for the booze.

“I came to see Mr. Tripepi,” she said, the words sliding into place on her tongue without the slightest hesitation, so much so that it stunned her.

“I believed you the first time,” Hugo replied. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Excited and spooked all at once, Miriam charged up the stairs then outside.

Out on the street, Miriam took in a huge gulp of cool, night air to clear her head. It didn’t help as much as she had hoped; the breeze chilled her sweat and gave her goosebumps, but it only made the small of her back where Georgie had touched her seem even hotter. Her head was spinning and she stomped up and down the curb a few times to try to expel some of the manic energy threatening to pour out of her in a shout.

Demons! Real demons! She couldn’t quite contain it all--she laughed, startling a pair of older women across the street. Their disapproving stares only bolstered her exuberance. They can play coy all they want--I know it’s true. If only they’d—

“Rude,” said Darby behind her, and she spun about in surprise. He was just coming out of the club, buttoning his suit coat up against the night air. “Not even a ‘Goodnight, Mr. Fairchild’?”

Miriam crossed her arms. “Why would I, when you’ve been absolutely dreadful?”

“Dreadful! That’s quite harsh.” Darby reached into his pocket as he came closer. “Allow  me to make it up to you.”

He offered up his business card: smooth, eggshell white with embossed gold lettering. Miriam pretended that she wasn’t interested, waiting for him to give it an enticing shake before plucking it from his fingers. “And this is…?” she said carelessly, though her pulse was already quickening again.

“You want to know more about Gremory,” Darby drawled, and Miriam couldn’t keep her eagerness out of her face then. “I want to know what that book says about her, too. Bring it to brunch tomorrow and I’ll tell you what it says.”

Miriam eyed him. Did she dare believe that he meant it? “That page is different,” she said, testing him. “It’s written in some kind of glyph alphabet I’ve never seen before.”

“Like I said,” replied Darby, buffing his nails against his lapel, “I’ll tell you what it says.”

“Deal.” Miriam slipped the card into her purse. She considered inviting him back to her apartment there on the spot, only to think better of it. I should copy that page before I let him see it, she thought. What if this is some kind of trick and he tries to take it from me? “Why are you so curious, though?” She remembered the hasty manner of his arrival in the club and squinted. “Did you really come here tonight just for the show?”

“I came here to see you,” Darby confessed too easily. “Naomi promised to do me a favor, if I convinced you that the book is legit.” He raised an eyebrow. “Now that I’ve admitted my interest in it, doesn’t that convince you?”

“You…” Miriam gaped at him as she puzzled through his twisting words. “Naomi? Wait--what favor?”

“I haven’t decided yet. I’ll make it a good one, though.” Darby eyed her expectantly. “Well? Are you convinced?”

Miriam crossed her arms again. “It’ll depend on what you tell me is on that page.”

“Fair enough. In that case, until tomorrow. Call me when you’ve decided on a place.”

Darby turned to go; Miriam hurried to tug him back. “Wait--why would Naomi send you?” The memory of Naomi fleeing so abruptly from her apartment still twisted her stomach more than she thought it should. “Why does she care if it’s real or not?”

Darby shrugged. “Ask her, I guess. If you’ll excuse me.” He tugged free of Miriam and smoothed down the crease she’d left in his sleeve. “If Georgie thinks I left with you, she’s going to have so many questions I don’t want to answer. And I truly hate to fib.” With an impish little smirk, he turned again to head back inside. “Goodnight, Miss Vance.”

“Goodnight Mr. Fairchild,” Miriam begrudgingly replied. Bubbling with too many questions herself, she hurried down the sidewalk in search of a cab.