As he walked back to the town house, he took mental note of every person who shunned him and every person who made a point of acknowledging him. He saw everything . . . and he saw nothing because the city had faded behind a soft mist that held a terrible clarity.

2

Arms linked, Surreal and Jaenelle strolled to the registration desk at the far end of the two-story atrium that was decorated to feel tranquil and lush—and was a clear signal that pampering Ladies was a serious business.

“Mother Night,” Jaenelle said, looking around with wide eyes. “Are there really enough female indulgences to take up a place this size?”

“You’d be surprised,” Surreal replied, biting back a smile when Jaenelle groaned. The place was built on a much grander scale, but it reminded her of Deje’s Red Moon house in Chaillot, Terreille—and made her wonder, since there were guest rooms, if there were a few accommodations that weren’t advertised. Not that sex was on her list of indulgences right now. Not for herself, anyway. “We’ll get settled in our suite, then I’ll make the appointments for our pampering.”

“Maybe just—”

“No.”

“But—”

“You’ll love it. Trust me.”

Jaenelle gave Surreal a narrow-eyed stare. “You think painting your toenails is normal.”

“And your point is?”

Sighing, Jaenelle slipped her arm out of Surreal’s and turned away from the registration desk just as a trim man returned to the desk from the other direction.

“Good morning, Ladies,” he said, giving them a warm smile.

Returning the smile, Surreal gave him her name—and watched hostility flash across his face before he managed to hide it behind a neutral mask.

“I am sorry, Lady Surreal, but there are no rooms available.”

You’re not sorry at all, you spineless little prick. “I made a reservation, which was confirmed. Check your book.”

“There’s no need. I assure you—”

“Don’t fret about it, Surreal,” Jaenelle said quietly, turning back to face the registration desk—and the man. “If an error was made, we can stay at the family town house. There are other shops in Amdarh, and I’m certain this establishment isn’t the only place that has people skilled at trimming and styling hair.”

She wasn’t sure which was more fascinating—the way Jaenelle bloodlessly gutted the little prick with a few words or the way the little prick scrambled to rectify his error when he recognized the golden-haired woman standing in front of him.

A minute later, Surreal tucked the key into her pocket, linked arms with Jaenelle to provide support without being too obvious, and headed for their suite of rooms.

“He didn’t want us here,” Jaenelle said quietly.

“Oh, he was thrilled to have you,” Surreal replied. I’m the one he looked at as if I was shit on his shoes. Now why is that, I wonder?