Ursula took a deep breath. Calm down. All you need to do is give Hugo the parchment, and ask him to sign. He should be perfectly reasonable about it. What Emerazel wanted with his soul was a mystery, but she supposed Kester would probably just tell her it was none of her concern.

As the elevator silently climbed fifteen stories, she glanced at a CCTV camera in the corner. This place was probably littered with cameras. A bit tricky to stay in the shadows.

At the top floor, the doors opened to reveal a vast room dripping with opulence: platinum, muted gold, and vibrant amber. It was like something out of a Russian palace before the revolution. No wonder Zee liked it here.

A few patrons clustered around a circular bar, while others lounged in cream leather booths. Above the bar, a gold column branched out like a metal tree, and crystal lights sparkled among its boughs. But the most eye-catching aspect of the room was the view: across the East River, Manhattan’s buildings jutted into the sky, a glittering, steel forest. This place was so far from Rufus’s club that it might as well have been on another planet. You’ve come a long way, Ursula.

A grey-haired man in a black sweater approached them. “May I take your coats?”

“Yes, please,” said Zee.

Zee wriggled out of her white coat, revealing a pale cocktail dress that hugged her delicate curves. A pearl necklace draped around her neck, and she gripped a small, indigo clutch that matched her shoes.

The man turned to Ursula. “Miss?”

Ursula slipped out of her coat. The black Prada dress hugged her body perfectly. Short and A-line—good for running if she needed to slip away fast. She handed over her coat.

Zee appraised her outfit. “Black. Sophisticated. Very nice.”

You’re not the only one out here who can pick out a dress. “Thanks.”

“I don’t know about you,” Zee continued, “but I’m dying for a cocktail.” She headed to the bar, nabbing the last gold-cushioned seat. Ursula had to stand awkwardly behind her.

Within moments, a blond bartender leaned across the wooden bar. “The usual, Miss Zemfira?”

“Yes, but make it two.” She turned to Ursula. “You like champagne cocktails.” It was less a question than a directive. Drink it or else.

“Sure. Whatever.” With her nerves blazing, Ursula wasn’t really in the mood for drinking, but it would help her blend in. Champagne wasn’t so alcoholic as to get her drunk, and she could slowly nurse it.

“Great.” Zee smiled. “Save my spot. I have to pee.”