Page 29 of Underground Prince

“Since I needed the cash,” I replied. “Seriously,” I said to Verily. “I can do it.”

“You’ve only ever been with me. I don’t want—”

“I liked Georgie,” I lied. “She’ll be there, right? I can handle it.”

“It’s an eight-hour shift,” Verily said.

I checked the time on my cell. It was seven in the evening. “I can do that.”

I had no idea if I could do that.

“Really? You’ve only ever done five.”

“And made crap tips on five.” I remembered the wad of cash Theo gave me. A pile of ones. “Let me try eight.”

“You have a nine a.m. shift at the Aug tomorrow,” Verily said.

“And? Since when has the breakfast crowd stopped me?”

“I’d really prefer to be there with you, and I have no idea if Sax would be okay with—”

“Let her go.”

Noah, who hadn’t said anything in these past forty-five minutes, managed to hush the table in three words. My stomach looped and sank the instant it rang out.

“There. Settled,” I said, my voice higher than normal. I waved at everyone and gave an extra flutter into Verily’s face to prevent her from arguing any further. “Thanks, Noah.”

The bite of acid in my tone was hard to disguise. No one else noticed, but for the second time that evening, Noah glanced up, his indigo eyes settling on me and creating a minuscule squall between us before he lowered his and severed the impact.

It’s just as painful for me as it is for you, I wanted to say, but instead left him to his misery.

“Be careful!” Verily cried behind me. “And it’s a new place. I’ll text you the address!”

I steered through the growing after-class crowd, passing Matt. His hand tangled with my fingers as I went by. No doubt I’d have a few missed calls and messages from him tonight, but for the first time I wasn’t sure if I wanted to answer them.

I caught the subway home, immersing myself in the grit I was missing during my time with Verily. I entered the underground platform, a concrete cavern with two black archways on either side, both leading to the bowels of the city. The air was clear but there was the warm ether of old urine and unchecked sewage lining every inhale. The tunnel echoed murkily with voices, other waiting patrons, or some who were permanently embedded here, stretched out on benches and covered with moth-eaten blankets, a grocery cart of precious finds tied to their ankle while they risked slumber.

The subway roared through the subterranean escape, and I caught the ride. I left my ghost behind, but wasn’t stupid enough to believe she’d stay there.

By the time I reached home, I had a text from Verily.

Vare: On the Bowery, apt building above Whole Foods. 12th FL. 1204.

I threw my phone on our couch and moved to the fridge, chucking anything from the fridge with suspicious green fuzz or questionable scents, leaving half-eaten orange chicken as my dinner, and even then I was unsure how long it’d been fighting to survive. I settled for a peanut butter sandwich.

I grabbed my phone on the way to my bedroom, scrolling through.

Vare: Heaven and hell, baby! Get your pointy tail on.

I stood in the middle of my bedroom, clutching my soggy meal. Could I fashion some white sheets and wire hangers into wings? I didn’t have to be a devil simply because my best friend thought I was better as an evildoer than a savior.

Ding!

I lifted my phone at the sound of an incoming message.

Vare: Stop freaking out and look in my closet. Plenty to choose. But your red underwear is your own.

Ha.

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