“I suppose.” Zemfira’s eyes flicked to her steel-grey nails, as though they were the most fascinating things in the room. “But Luis is a master with hair. He’ll be able to help you with… the thing you’ve got going on with your head. Is it a British thing?”

“Is what a British thing?” Ursula asked, no longer trying to hide the irritation in her voice. Zee was a nightmare.

“Having your hair plastered flat to your head like that. Like it wants to escape its miserable existence on your head, and you won’t let it.”

Ursula gritted her teeth. She would find a way to be nice to Zee, even if it killed her. She could do this. “I don’t know, but your hair is pretty.” She’d been trying for a compliment, but with her jaw clenched like that, it had somehow come out sounding like a threat. Like she’d just proposed scalping Zee and wearing her platinum hair as a wig.

“It is pretty,” Zee agreed cautiously.

“Absolutely. Very… straight. And blond.”

“At least you noticed. Kester did not.”

Aha. “Oh. Is he your boyfriend?”

Zee cut her a cold look. “He is not. He likes to pick up strays. Women who are beneath him.” Her narrowed eyes implied that this included Ursula.

And I’ve just found the raw nerve. “I hope you don’t think I’m one of his strays. We’ve only just met, and he’s my mentor. I work with him, as of last night, but our relationship is purely professional. In fact, I’m fairly certain he doesn’t like me.” That was certainly true.

“Right. Like he ‘worked’ with that orange-skinned girl from Hoboken he met at Tatty O’Rourke’s. And yet he doesn’t seem interested in ‘working’ with me. Because he likes skanks.” She picked up a magazine, flipping a page with a ferocity that suggested she had a vendetta against paper. “He likes slumming it.”

“I wasn’t using ‘working’ as a euphemism. I mean actual work.” Sure, it involved reaping souls and traveling through a fire portal, but it was work all the same. “Do you know what we do for work, by any chance?”

“Of course I do.” Zee arched a thin eyebrow and snapped her magazine shut. “Ah. Here is Luis.”

A dark-haired young man approached them, his crisp white shirt vibrant against his bronze skin. He was nearly as big as Kester, and he’d accessorized beautifully with a gold watch and chunky glasses. He peered over them, staring at Ursula’s hair. “Hello, gorgeous.”

Ursula straightened. Odd behavior for a hairdresser, but okay.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Luis,” said Zee. “She works for Kester.”

“I’ll behave.” He smiled at Zee. “So glad you could bring in this beauty. I love redheads.”