“Hey,” Liam said sourly. It was a little difficult to stomach the notion that he and Ryan had been scraping poo and bubble gum off a bathroom floor while Bruce posed on a street corner, playing Fortnite on his phone.

“Thought you were sick,” Ryan grumbled.

“Black Ryan, my man.” Bruce held up his hand to high-five Ryan.

Ryan did not hold up his hand in return. “Come on,” he told Liam. “Let’s go see if we can cut this line.”

“Good luck with that!” Bruce shouted after them.

The line was so long. Liam wondered if they shouldn’t just turn around and go home. “Why are we here again?” he asked.

“Because your parents have plans tonight and you’ve always wanted to witness a drop,” Ryan said. “Plus, your ‘not my girlfriend’ will be impressed if you actually managed to score anything. We ate like a whole pizza before we came here. We can stand up for a couple of hours.”

Roy Clarke was the first to turn up at the bar. “So what’s with the invisible barkeep then?” he asked. “Is he, like, disfigured or something? Does he wear a mask?”

Peaches poured him a pint of Brooklyn Lager. “He’s not a he.”

“She then. Is she you?”

“No. I just work here. For free. I keep it clean and meet the deliveries and play the drums and offer people drinks if they’re brave enough to come inside. Usually they just open the door and look around and then walk out again. You were the exception. It’s not really a full-fledged bar. More of a ‘space.’ She put up the sign for karaoke tonight though, not me. She’s an artist and she travels a lot. I’m sure you’ll meet her later.”

“I see.” Roy took a sip of his drink. “What’s her name?”

“Elizabeth Paulsen.”

“Aha,” Roy replied. It figured. How could someone so mysterious be so ubiquitous? “Does it smell like formaldehyde in here to you?” he asked, sniffing the bar top.

Peaches pressed her lips together and nodded. Elizabeth had amassed a fuckload of weird shit in the basement. It was all part of her Birth.

“Maybe,” she replied coyly. “I didn’t smell it ’til you said it.”

Liam flipped up his hood. It was colder than he thought it would be. Ryan was still marching toward the store, ignoring the annoyed glares of the lined-up, waiting boys.

“If we’re waiting on line, don’t we have to go to the end?” Liam asked when he caught up.

“I hope not. I have an idea,” Ryan said determinedly. “I did it once before, at the North Face store when they released a new line of limited-edition parkas.”

Liam glanced at his friend. “Did what?”

“Well, it might be different this time. My mom knows the CEO of North Face. Anyway, we’re going to pretend to be models.”