I remembered how Solomon had looked back at the club. Zoned out, with that gnarly scar running down his throat. Had he had his head stuck in there? No, probably not. This was all for me. His had been for him.

I rested my head against the wall. “What’s next?” I gulped air. “All my ex-girlfriends come and castrate me?”

“Oh.” She stifled a laugh with her hand. “I sure hope not. But, then again, I’m not in charge of programming.”

All around the world, there are places where people explore the reaches of depravity. Suburban houses hosting bondage parties. Blood rituals in church basements. I heard there are underground clubs in Thailand where powerful businessmen pay to kill runaways. Some people have wicked ways to get off, and we let them.

I play music. That’s my plug into the power source. And I hardly even do that anymore. I didn’t sign up for this, and I don’t need it. Most likely, neither do you.

“Okay, cut the bullshit. Who the fuck are you?”

I could have sworn her eyes were grey, but now they were emerald green. “That’s complicated,” she said.

“Really,” I said, letting out such a long sigh it felt like venting steam. Who knows how long it had been since I strummed my last chord at the Full Moon Saloon. Several hours, at least. And I was beginning to feel the draining effects of shock. “How so?”

“Because our lives are fluid, not fixed. Tell me, are you the same person you were, say, five years ago? Ten?”

She had me there.

“Are you the same person when you’re mad as when you’re happy? At work and on vacation? When falling in and out of love?”

“If you think I’m in the mood for philosophy, you’re wrong.” What I was in the mood for was a cheese pizza and my comfortable bed. “Please,” I said, sitting up straight to avoid getting drowsy. “No riddles. I’m confused enough as is. Just start with your name. Is it really Malia?”

She scrunched her nose by way of apology. “No. The letters are true, but the name is a lie. Some names are too powerful to say.”

“Fine. What’s on your birth certificate, then?”

“Good question.” She licked her thumb and began wiping the mascara from her face. “Never seen it.”

I grabbed her wrist more firmly than intended, digging into the bone. Despite my earlier talk about rearranging her face, I’m not too keen on hurting women. Intentionally, at least. “You’re going to stop playing dumb right now, understand?” I could feel her blood pumping against my hand, her pulse steadier than my own. “I want to know what you’re doing here. And I want to know how I can get out.”

“Hurting me isn’t going to help you. It will only make things worse.”