“My friend,” I said again. If I could somehow alarm Yegina. If I could somehow warn her.

“I can’t take you back there,” Layla said. “You can’t even stand up. You can call her from the car, and she can come get you.”

I balked and we almost tumbled to the ground. The cars passing seemed to brighten their headlights, blinding me.

Layla tightened her hold. “Mary. People are staring,” she hissed in my ear. “Let me get you somewhere safe.”

When we reached the restaurant, she snapped open her purse and handed the man a tag and a twenty. The attendant grabbed a set of keys and motioned for another valet. “Lucky you have a good pal,” he said to me.

“She’s just a total lightweight,” said Layla.

I am not a lightweight, I thought through the fog. I’d drunk a couple sips to convince her I was a fool. Then we’d started talking about Erik, and how Brenae had worshipped him, and how that worship had fueled him, and he hadn’t wanted to give it up, no matter the cost to him or her, no matter if they both wanted their relationship to be over. How Layla had tried to understand this, even though it drove her mad. At that point, I started to lose feeling in my legs and told her so. And she told me we should go.

Now she was holding me so tight my wrist hurt.

“Cab,” I slurred to the attendant, my eyes blurring to black. But I leaned on Layla because I couldn’t help it, and then I passed out.

WHEN I WOKE, MY WHOLE body felt numb, but my head was slightly clearer. A seat belt had been pulled across my T-shirt and clicked. The edge of it bit into my neck, but I couldn’t lift a hand to adjust it. My wig and cloak were on the seat.

Layla was alone in the front, driving, her white hands on the wheel.

“Where. We going?”

“Told you,” she said softly. “Nelson’s place. The Westing.”

The Westing. Why the Westing? In my voicemail to Alicia, I’d told her all about Nelson’s wine cellar, the second locked door.

“You. Drug me?” I said.

“You had too many drinks,” she said.

There was a pattering sound, and tiny silver stars burst on the windshield. It was raining. The first rain in months. Layla cursed and fumbled for the wiper switch. Black rods creaked over the stars, smearing and erasing them.

“There’s a plastic bag in your lap if you need to throw up.”

The roof of the car began to drum, then pound.