I blink. “Um, no. A couple of each is fine.”

“You got it. Be back in a bit.” Emma snaps her notebook shut. She glances at my shirt. “Cute top, by the way.”

My cheeks heat. “Thanks.”

When Emma leaves, Alice exclaims, “See? This is why I date girls. Taste!”

“I have taste,” Sel mutters, wrinkling his nose.

Alice shoots him a dismayed grimace. “God, I am so embarrassed for you right now.”

William snorts into his shirt sleeve, shoulders shaking with laughter. Sel scowls at the world.

I stifle my own laugh by clearing my throat and poking Alice in the leg. “ ‘We’ll take a couple of each, Emma’?”

Alice beams. “We wanna blend in, right?”

“By flirting with the waitstaff?” She shrugs.

“There are worse ideas,” Sel says bemusedly. “But I’m afraid I agree with Bree. We aren’t here to enjoy ourselves. We need to review the mission and keep our eyes out for anything sudden or suspicious or both.”

“What exactly should we be looking for?” I ask.

“Unusual behavior. Conflict between patrons. Anyone staring too long at us, or who walks by the table more than twice.”

Alice points at a man in an extremely deep V-necked black shirt. “Well, that guy has walked past three times. But mostly because he keeps going back for more shots.” She jerks a thumb diagonally. “And those two in the enviable bodycon dresses are arguing over their bill.”

I look and, indeed, in the corner, a person and their partner keep jabbing their fingers at the tiny slip of paper on the table between them.

Sel’s eyebrows wing upward. He’s impressed. I’m proud. That’s my Alice.

“Well done, Chen.”

Emma returns with a small circular tray. “Here we go: two pints of Calamity and two Better Angels. Five each.” She sets the drinks on the table and stands up with a hand on her hip. The glass in front of me is a light, frothy orange color and smells like citrus. “Pay up front when you’re done.” She looks down at Sel mischievously, then over her shoulder, before lifting a final, double shot glass I hadn’t noticed out of her tray. I’d assumed it was for another table; at first glance, it looks like one of those flaming shots where the alcohol is lit on fire for added drama. “Look like you could use a lil’ pick-me-up, cambion. On the house.” And then she’s on to the next table, a party of three at a high-top in the center of the room.

Sel, William, and I lean forward to examine the drink—and immediately go still. A small, silver vortex spins independently over the top, and trails slightly down the sides of the tall, narrow glass and onto the table. But it’s not regular fire. It’s mage flame.

Sel hisses, lips drawn back.