The bald, silent young man appeared with his tray of drinks and stood, staring at Izzy in a way that didn’t just seem mildly creepy anymore; it chilled her.

“Is Sky here?” Izzy asked.

He shook his head, no.

Then Jeb materialized at her side—she hadn’t seen him come over. “Hello, Aurora.”

This time she was prepared for the name. “I’m looking for Sky,” Izzy said, and then realized that she had no idea exactly what she would say to the woman when she did find her.

“What’s wrong? You look gaunt,” Jeb said. “Home life okay? You know, I like to ask this of every gaunt foundling who comes to our doors.”

“I need to see Sky.”

“She’ll be here later tonight. This is actually a private meeting, but you are welcome to join.” Jeb smiled pleasantly with a slight flap of his gauze-clad arms. “Beer? Wine?”

She couldn’t afford to drink alcohol now. She had to stay on her game. “No, thank you.”

“Get Aurora some lotus tea please, Ausar,” Jeb said, and the bald man scurried off. “Make yourself at home,” Jeb told her, and he left her there.

She sipped the tea the bald man had brought. It had a pungent scent, a subtle flowery taste, and a sharp anise-like aftertaste. Izzy finished the entire cup and set it down.

Then she went upstairs. Candles flickered in iron sconces. A balcony window overlooked the pool, vaporous with mist and stippled with moonlight, and Izzy heard the susurrating whisper of the waterfall; she imagined ghostly shapes in those vapors, transparent, swooning figures.

“Aurora,” a woman squealed, and Izzy turned to find Amanda wearing a gold satin slip dress that revealed her cleavage and tattooed arms. Two wet spots showed at her nipples. “It’s so good to see you,” Amanda said, hugging her. Izzy’s chest felt sunken, concave, especially in contrast to the other woman’s milky voluptuousness. “How are you?” Amanda asked.

Izzy tried to answer. My boyfriend was fucking our best friend. She’s pregnant with his child. He was murdered. She felt light-headed.

“I slept like a horse, and I’m hungry as a baby,” Amanda said.

What? Was Amanda high?

“Sky hates clichés so she makes us mix them up,” Amanda explained. “Original, visceral language—nothing derivative. She’s all about the blazon.”

“The what?”

“In literature. It lists the physical attributes of a subject. Eyes like this. Lips like that. Sky says it’s kind of brutal. That’s why it’s so wonderful. Like you’re making a recipe. Like you’re going to eat them for dinner.”

Izzy felt queasy, like she might be sick.