Lance said nothing more. Nora knew he waited for another kiss, a kiss she couldn’t trust herself to give. So he smiled at her one more time before walking to his car, getting in, and driving off. He left as ordered, and as ordered, he didn’t look back.

“Good boy,” she whispered before correcting herself. “Good man.”

Nora watched him go before she shut the door, locked it and returned to her bed. It took an hour before she could sleep again, and just as she feared, when she woke up, Lance was gone from her life forever. Such was the nature of dreams. They only feel endless in the dream. By dawn they turn to dust.

For a week, Nora went through the motions of life—sleeping, eating, working, and then starting over again the next day. She had her weekly appointment with Judge B., but they didn’t talk about Lance. She spent the night at Kingsley’s, and he mentioned he’d found a new head of security for his clubs. She visited Natasha at her apartment and found the pretty purpled-haired Dominatrix itching to get back to work. The client who had robbed and assaulted her would be charged with everything the DAs could throw at him. He wouldn’t see the light of day for years. Nora suggested Natasha come back to work for Kingsley for the sake of safety in numbers. Natasha admitted it wasn’t a bad idea and promised she would think about it.

The Wednesday of that week Nora drove back to Wakefield and attended daily Mass. She didn’t stay to talk to Søren, she didn’t talk to anyone. She sat in the back, stayed kneeling during Communion, and only smiled at him once as she walked out the door of her old church and back again into her new life.

That night Nora found herself back at The 8th Circle bar.

“Okay, Kool-Aid. I got this. Try me.” Nora sipped at her drink and took a deep breath.

“Are you sure about this, Mistress?” Simone laid her hand on Nora’s thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “I mean really sure about it?”

“I’m so unbelievably sure right now that I’m stuck to the stool. Just ask me. I’ve got this.”

“If you insist. Here we go...How old are you, Mistress Nora?”

“I am thirty years old.”

“And...how much do you weigh?”

Nora took another deep breath. She opened her mouth and then closed it again.

“Maybe I don’t got this.”

“Mistress...” Simone laughed and laid her rainbow-hued head on Nora’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I don’t like telling people how much I weigh, either.”

“I don’t care how much you weigh. I just want to know what the hell kind of chemicals you’re using on your hair. Is that shit even legal? Are you giving yourself a brain tumor?”

“I don’t think so,” Simone sat up and rubbed her head. “I don’t feel any brain tumors. Although I have recently forgotten the last half of the alphabet and my own phone number. Is that a sign of a tumor?”