“What do you want?” Robby asked. Velvet faltered to a stop. She couldn’t quite remember, what with the pickup truck and the skinned patches on her knees and the—Burt—

Burt. Just for a second in the bar, Robby had looked right at her, and there hadn’t been any goddamn superior bullshit, there had been understanding. She’d known what Velvet was talking about, all right.

Robby’d seen it.

“Burning,” Velvet said. Robby’s gaze went deep-sea diving to the carpet. “C’mon, don’t. You know. Y’do.”

Her tongue was thick again, sloshing around in her mouth like a squid—now there was a disgusting thought, enough to make her barf. She’d eaten squid once. The taste came back, and she washed it down with vodka.

“Yeah,” Robby said. Velvet leaned forward and had to brace herself with a hand on the coffee table. She dropped the Stoli bottle, but it didn’t matter, there wasn’t enough left in it to spill. “I’ve seen it.”

“Sho—so you seen it, I seen it—how ’bout that? Kinda strange, huh?”

Robby sipped Scotch. She wouldn’t meet her eyes. Velvet hiccuped and covered her mouth. Her fingers felt remote and rubbery and cold.

“Unless it happens alla time,” Velvet finished. Robby looked up, eyes wide. “Doesn’t. Does it?”

Robby got her another bottle. They shared it.

Incident One

CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

Kevin Baird Tannery eased back into the bubbles of the Jacuzzi and accepted a fluted glass of champagne; a cheap vintage, biting, but good enough for the present company. Little Sharon Rose was not enormously sophisticated about bubbly, or anything else, but she looked appropriate in a string bikini. Ah, that reminded him—he slipped his free hand under the hot skin of the water and touched cloth. There was a catch at the back—one quick twist of his fingers, and the bright pink top floated off on a cloud of bubbles, and little Sharon Rose giggled nervously and smiled at him. He caressed the small brown nubs of her nipples and leaned in for a kiss, a long one, with tongue.

She was clumsy, open mouth trembling and tasting of salt. He circled her nipples with his thumbs, not quite hard enough to hurt, and ran his hand down her flat smooth stomach to the thin bikini briefs. The curly mass of her pubic hair felt springy through the cloth. She made a squeaky sound of protest. He pinched her nipple harder, and smiled.

“Oh—oh—don’t—I—”