Page 77 of Underground Prince

“Pace yourself,” I heard Noah say to her. His smile lingered on her for a second longer than required before he said something to Jamal.

“Excuse me,” an unfamiliar voice said.

Something pressed against my back, and I sidled to the left to let the person pass. We must’ve been standing near a staff door, because this man appeared out of nowhere yet commanded the entire bar in less than a breath. He created a pathway to the bar, the sea of drinkers parting with a combination of open-mouthed stares or furtive glances as they parted to let him through.

“Wow, he’s here,” Erin said beside me, tucking her curls behind one ear as she said, for additional effect, “He’s never here.”

For a gasp of a second, I thought it was Sax who’d drifted by me. The height was the same, the span of shoulders, the peaks and spikes of russet brown hair. But after that brief assessment, the truth pushed forward. Sax was a careful mover, studying his environment before ever taking a first step into the fray, whereas this man strode through, confident those in his way would dart aside before he ever made contact with them. Yet he also possessed the type of human grace I’d seen only once before.

“Who’s he?” I asked Erin.

Verily replied, “Trace Saxon, the brother,” yet she didn’t look over at me. She kept her eyes on Trace’s back. I noticed her natural movement closer to Noah when she said it.

“Here?” It was all I could think to say. “What is this, their family bar?”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Jamal said. “That family owns the place.”

I was about to take a sip, but the glass dropped from my lips. “How come I didn’t know this?”

“I thought you did!” Verily said. “Haven’t you ever seen Theo here…?”

“Shh!” I said, smacking her lightly on the arm. Last time I mentioned his name in this bar, he popped up at my elbow.

“Oh, is he Voldemort now?” Verily asked.

“Theo? Who’s Theo?” Lila seemed to be the only one confused by this exchange. Noah remained quiet, but his attention was on me, too careful.

“I thought Sax might’ve told you,” Verily said to me. “Trace runs their family’s bars. While Sax…” She shrugged, letting me do the math. “Anyway, Trace only appeared in the past year or so, while you were—gone.” Verily stopped to drink, but it might’ve also been to collect herself. “It’s not surprising you haven’t seen him around.”

“You sure know a lot about these brothers,” Noah said, elbowing her, but Verily didn’t smile back.

A tingle washed across the side of my face, much like the brush of moth wings against my cheek, and I turned from Verily to the other end of the bar, where I caught Trace’s eye. His lips were moving, and at first I thought he was saying something to me. But no, he was addressing the bartender beside him. I stared back, swallowed by his study, the flat lines of his lids, the expressionless forehead despite his moving lips. The lack of body motion following his speech. Everything about him, save for the words flowing out of his mouth, seemed dead.

“Cigarette!”

Lila’s yell shot me out of Trace’s cold suction, and I was back, cacophony flowing into my ears, drums of music and screeches and foot stomps and cursing filling the eerie congestion in my head.

“I need one,” Lila added, saying to me, “J doesn’t want to come because it’s too cold out there for his delicate skin. Can you? Smoking alone is so…”

“Illuminating?” I said, trying to laugh, but it sounded forced. “Maybe that’s because no one smokes anymore.”

“Just shut up and come with. I have enough public service announcements, thank you.”

She nabbed my arm before I could reply, so I mimed smoking to Verily so she’d know where we were off to. We had to aim and bounce to try to make our way out—no sea would part for us—and poor Lila, with her size, was nearly beaned in the forehead twice by stray arms.

We stepped outside, going from damp heat to dry ice in seconds. My lungs stung from the temperature change and I coughed, pulling my coat tighter around me. “Holy shit.”

“Right?” Lila said, jumping from one foot to the other. The wind flew against our bodies, tangling our hair into our faces. “Gah!” Lila’s mouth opened and closed as she tried to unstick hair from her lip gloss. “Even the wind wants me to quit.”

I guided her around the building and out of the way of the wind corridor. The bar was set up in the middle of the block, leaving a wide alleyway on either side. Dumpsters greeted us as we rounded to the right, and upon seeing them, Lila frowned at me.

“I swear, I did not plant the dumpsters there to further convince you to quit,” I said.

“You’re making me smoke beside trash.”

“Maybe we can slip past.” We dodged stray plastic and cans and black, stinking bags of questionable mushiness, ending up at the back of the building, near a small loading dock and driveway for the bar’s supplies. “Better?”

It was fairly quiet, the rush of traffic a background noise to the light clatter of aluminum, a sound probably caused by the scurrying variety.

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