Sol rose and put on her poncho. She hated Little Five Points. Too many try-hards and harassers, too many aspiring yuppies and actual yuppies, the worst combination. Of all Atlanta had to offer, why did people persist on frequenting this nub of a neighborhood?

She hated concerts in Little Five Points even more. Because it was one of the few places in town that featured good acts for good prices, she had to go. Things normally went well, but on those few occasions she’d seized an ass-grabbing hand and twisted back its desperate fingers, she had been the one who was restrained and thrown out. Still, for her purposes, it worked. The beauty of the Variety Playhouse and Little Five Points in general was that you always knew who was supposed to be there and who wasn’t. Tourists—in all forms, whether they were visiting a new place, a new scene, or a new version of themselves—were always visible. If she really were being tailed by a PI, this would be the place to find out. Sol just hoped she wasn’t the tourist. Variety lived up to its name, so this could easily turn out poorly. She stepped out into the rain, headed toward Mclendon.

Theo was outside when she arrived, packed among a mob huddling under Variety’s small rain cover. On sight, Sol laughed at his inexplicable hoodie. He really didn’t get it.

Theo greeted her with a hug and a smile, quickly stepping back to wipe his forehead. Sol wasn’t sure if it was sweat or rain.

“Are we really about to see a Mystikal cover band?” Theo asked, scanning the bill. “I know we haven’t hung out in a while, but this is pretty weird.”

Sol grimaced; she hadn’t even liked regular Mystikal.

“No, let’s just get something to eat,” she said, stepping back out into the rain, the ridiculousness of her plan settling in. A PI could be anybody, anywhere at any time. She wasn’t going to catch anyone spying, especially a professional. If she wanted to get her parents off her ass, she’d have to get personal. Zed, Apollo, and Kai had vetoed her request to tag Derrick’s houses. Obviously, they’d have to change their minds.

“So, what’s up with you?” Theo asked as they slid into opposite sides of a booth in a smoke-filled restaurant. “You’ve been pretty quiet since we left Variety.”

Sol stared at her menu, recalling fragments of her last trip to the Vortex. She had ordered a burger of some sort, but it had been a burger in the most generic sense. It had all the burger elements—meat, salt, cheese, bread—but not any lasting bonds between them. She’d dressed it carefully, placing the lettuce, tomato, onion, and Texas Pete in perfect harmony, but defense didn’t win games.