Page 1 of Just Dare Me
Okay, reader, look. You know how there’s that thing about Nora Jacobs that makes her books feel so different from mine, and by different I meanbetter?I know you know what I’m talking about, because all your online reviews mention it. I’m talking about that thing that writers callvoice, right? And the voice of Nora’s books is all, like, endearing and genuine and likeable, while my voice is nails on a chalkboard, right? Not to mention the fact that I break the fourth wall, which drives most of you crazy, which also means I have to double down on that, for reasons that you now totally understand, having spent three books with me.
No, but listen—shhhhh—I’m trying to tell you something incredible about Nora Jacobs. Here it is: that quality of her writing voice—that’s the exact quality of herrealvoice. What I mean is, the books are no embellishment. She really is that genuine and heartfelt and just…likeable. It’s like there’s no filter between what’s in her heart and the words that come out of her mouth.
And that’s why it seems completely natural and soNorawhen she looks up at the moon on this cold, clear night and at the tail end of a weary sigh, says, “Shayne, there are only three kinds of men in the world now: those that fear me, those who want me, and those who weren’t in the club the night I ensnared half the city’s underworld population with my siren’s song.”
I’m not looking at the moon. I’m looking at Nora. After working with her for two months, I know how much this topic weighs on her. It amazes me that even with the love of all her men, Nora’s heart still has room enough for the rest of Detroit. She’s now a leader in the underworld of this city, and like all the best leaders, she doesn’t want their fear or their compliance—she wants their trust.
She huffs with disappointment. “And there’s only one type of woman: those who hate me.”
I take a puff on the 19th century cigarette holder dangling from my lips and say, “Oh, totally. I hate your guts. Same goes for Elle. That starry look in her eyes every time you walk into the room? That’s pure venom. She wishes you never met her brother and put that permanent smile on his face. Same goes for Director West. She told me not to tell you, but she totally regrets hiring you. Now that the fey have finally signed the FUA treaty, all thanks to you, what great cause is left for her to champion? Look, I hate to break it to you, Nora, but the peace and love and harmony you’ve brought to Detroit issonot good for our job security. Would you just cut that shit out already?”
Her troubled look smooths into an easy grin, which she aims at me with a sideways glance. “Are you kidding me? That starry look on Elle’s face is all yours. I’ve never seen hero worship like she’s got for you, and I can literally compel people to be my slaves.”
“Oh, sure, I’m such a great mentor that I got her banned not only from her own home, but from all of the most prominent houses in the sorcerer community.”
“Banned from their houses, but not from the bedrooms of their eligible bachelors. Are you kidding? She’s the belle of the ball, and loving it. WhenIarrive at the ball, everybody plugs their ears so I won’t enslave them for eternity.”
“Maybe so, but at least you’reinvitedto the ball. Not me; oh no, not the traitor, the trailer trash fox, bottom of the underworld food chain. I’m not even fit to polish your glass slippers.”
She arches a brow. “Don’t talk to me about bottom of the food chain. I was raised human, remember? Is there anything lower than that?”
“Yes,” I say too quickly, and before I can stop myself, I add, “Falling in love with a human. Even you haven’t managed to do that yet.”
That kills the playful mood. My heart seizes to a grinding halt, like an overworked motor for lack of oil. Nora’s face melts with sympathy and concern, all that touchy-feely bullshit that only makes me feel worse.
Dammit, I know better than to mention love. To mention anything that reminds me of him. Can’t talk about Jay. Can’t think about him. Those things don’t help. The only thing that helps—the only thing that matters at all—is todosomething about it. That’s why we’re here tonight, on the balcony of this ritzy underworld nightclub overlooking the Rouge River. Now’s not the time to lose my focus.
Taking the cigarette holder between two fingers, I blow a bright pink ring of sparkling mist. “Some sad sacks we are, huh?”
Nora levels a fond smile at me. “The saddest. Feared, misunderstood, human-loving sad sacks.”
“Don’t forgetoutcastandhomeless. I live in my car.”
“I liveunder a bridge.”
“Yeah, but with a dozen men to keep you company.”
“And I love them,” she says in earnest. “They’re more than enough. In fact, Shayne, sometimes I wish I could lock myself in with them and never come out again.”
“How antisocial of you.”
“But it’s…” She looks to me with something like hesitation, afraid I won’t agree. “It’s just too much sometimes, isn’t it? The responsibility, I mean. How has it come to beusthat everybody looks to for help?”
“Psh, not me. Are you kidding? Do you not remember the deflated, tear-soaked puddle of flesh I was when you found me? I wouldn’t even be able to stand up on two feet if it weren’t for you.”
Nora groans. “Ugh, that’s not helping. That’s just more responsibility.”
“Hello, have you gotten to know me at all in the last two months? Don’t you know that you happen to be talking to the undisputed reigning queen of deflecting responsibility? I’m, like, the Aretha Franklin of running away.”
“First of all, that’s not true, no matter how much you want people to think it is. And second of all”—she steps in close and clasps my hand in both of hers—“can’t we? Can’t we run away? I’m talking about when all this is over, and you’ve got your man back, and I’ve got mine, and can’t we all just…go? I don’t know where. It doesn’t matter, does it? Wouldn’t we deserve that? Nick Gorgeous is a billion years old. Shouldn’t it be up to people like him to run this city? Not us?”
She’s not wearing gloves, but I don’t mind the physical contact. After two months, there’s nothing she could read in my thoughts that she doesn’t already know about me. I give her hands a squeeze. “I guess I don’t have to speak my answer, right?”
Mortified, she drops my hand and steps back. “Oh, sorry.”
“No, seriously, what did you see?”
“Nothing. I didn’t even realize I had—”
