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Lirium. Kolek is a dangerous man.”
    “I’ll manage. Just get me in, and Ophelia and I will find a way to get out.” I hope this is true. This is about the extent of my plan so far, and it sounds terrible when I say it out loud. But I’m short on options. Madam A raises her thin-line eyebrows, like she thinks I’m even more foolish than before. I glare at her. “What’s my cover?”
    She pauses a beat. “How good are you at pretending to be a sex worker, Lirium?”
    The look on my face makes her break into a grin.

    I’m still not convinced this isn’t Madam A’s idea of a cruel prank. Maybe her twisted attempt at revenge for my unwillingness to sign up full-time for her charity.
    Then again, I did ask for this.
    I’m standing outside a mansion, the kind I would never expect to see on the east side. A lush, expansive lawn serves as a natural barrier between the guarded gate and the house. White stucco walls are hidden behind palm trees, but brightly lit with spotlights. It’s hard to tell the size of the estate in the dark, but I don’t spend time trying. The fatigue-clad security guard at the gate with the automatic rifle slung over his shoulder has captured my attention.
    “I’m Joe,” I say, giving my real name, because everyone will assume it’s not. “I have an appointment with Valac.” I follow the script Madam A gave me, hoping there actually is a Valac locked up in the mansion somewhere. It sounds like a debt collector name, and probably means “demonic being of evil deathliness.” Ophelia would like it.
    The guard speaks into his wrist for a moment, waits, listens to something only he can hear, then clears me with a nod of his head. I shuffle towards the black-iron gate, but the guard stops me with the barrel of his rifle crossing my path.
    “I’ll have to search you first.” His voice is rough. His buddy in the guard shack looks unimpressed with my trenchcoat and boots. Madam A cleared my attire, after she unbuttoned half my shirt, spiked up my hair, and replaced the hospital bandages on my knuckles with nu-skin tape that makes my wounds practically invisible. Part of me wonders if I was really, all along, only a few buttons away from passing for a male sex worker. The guard slings his rifle over his shoulder and makes quick work, running his hands up and down my body. He doesn’t give a second look to my hands, the only real weapon I have. I try to act like I’ve done this a hundred times before.
    Finally he nods to his partner. The gate clicks, then buzzes as it slowly slides open. I hurry through the opening as soon as it’s wide enough and stride up the long driveway. Another rifle-carrying guard stands at a door I assume is the entrance, based on the giant, plaster archway and two-story columns marking it. I climb the three steps of the marble stoop. He holds up a hand when I’m still a few feet away. I freeze in my tracks. He doesn’t say anything, just stares. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but I try to act cool. I search my memories for what Madam A’s girls looked like when I opened the door: calm, collected, sexy. Smiling like they’ve done this before.
    I smile at the guard and shift my weight to one foot, quietly tapping my boot. The guard frowns. My heart pounds in my ears. I look away, pretending to examine the architecture, heat rising in my face.
    I have no idea how to do this.
    Finally, the mansion door slides open and a man leans out, holding on to the door frame. He’s young, with wavy, longish blond hair. He grins, bites his lip, and lets his gaze travel the length of my body before saying, “Joe, is it? Do come in.”
    I force a grin and saunter up to the threshold. I feel like an idiot, but the guard is already looking away, bored. Valac—at least I hope it’s Valac—slides his arm around my shoulders, ushering me into the darkened entryway. He leans back to press the button to close the door, a hand still firmly latched onto the shoulder of my