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attempted to pull back, find something—anything—to put between herself and her attacker. Clumsy with the enervation already seeping through her body, she stumbled. 
    There was a shift of time. One moment she stood with her life’s essence pooling in her boot, slicking the marble beneath her. The next she battled cold, icy talons wrapping her body in a freezing embrace. Bewildered, she didn’t know how much time had passed. Unable to stop her teeth from chattering, she stared up at the vaulted ceiling of her private audience chamber. A shadow blocked the intricate gilded paintings. She took precious seconds to study it, making out the details of a strange woman looming over her.
    The woman spoke. Minn’ast. Her musical words sounded both intimate and foreign. So familiar. Is that my name? How can I remember a woman I’ve never seen? Green eyes glittered with unshed tears above her, mahogany hair cascading down to brush her face. The woman spoke more words in a voice full of anguish. She understood no more than the tone of them. She heard herself respond, instantly recognized the slurred voice as hers, but the words were as strange as the woman’s. Cold gripped her, deepening beyond ice. She no longer had the energy to shiver.
    The world went dark.
     

Chapter Six
    Sharp, burning pain woke her. With a hiss, Whiskey sat up, clutching at her thigh. As she roused, the ache receded. She sat on the bench seat at Malice, music throbbing in time with the fading spasm in her leg. Alone. “Fucking nightmare,” she muttered.
    She released her leg to scrub at her face, and brush hair from her eyes. A glance around showed that Fiona’s people hadn’t left the bar, though they’d cleared out of the immediate area. A crimson filigree shawl Cora had worn adorned one chair, and a small shoulder bag last seen in Bronwyn’s clutches sat in the corner of the bench seat. Drinks and half-eaten food were scattered across the table’s surface. She’d been out at least long enough for everyone to have had dinner, and continue drinking.
    Her stomach ached at the reminder of food. Whenever she drank her metabolism went into high gear. She’d never suffered a hangover, but after a binge she’d be absolutely starving. Like now.Swinging her legs to the floor, she stood with little problem, the intoxication having faded to a minor buzz. How long have I been out? She didn’t have a watch, and there weren’t any visible clocks. It can’t have been too long. Don’t the bars close by two or three? Unless Fiona had greater pull than Whiskey suspected. Considering one of the bouncers appeared to be Sanguire, it wasn’t too far a stretch to think closing time had come and gone hours ago.
    She looked at the curtain of chain, not seeing much beyond except flashing light and shadow. Was someone standing outside the divider? Fully awake, she stared at the darkness, and listened intently for any movement outside. Was that the sound of cloth moving? Dumb shit! You can’t hear over this music any more than they can. Someone yawned loudly on the other side, and she straightened in surprise. Fuck! There’s someone there.
    She couldn’t imagine any of Fiona’s people hovering over her. Most of them treated her with indifference. Only Cora and Fiona paid outright attention to her. Had they wanted to come in, they’d do so. Still unsettled by the drink and the bizarre discussion, Whiskey took some time to collect her wits. She returned to the chair she’d been seated in before she’d gotten so smashed she couldn’t talk. Pouring herself another shot of alcohol from the bottle, she spun the chair around to face the curtain. “I know you’re there. Might as well come on in.”
    The tinkle of chain links heralding his arrival, an outrageous figure took up her summons. Thin and lanky, the specter looked like he’d just sidled out of a comic book. His black hair stuck up in three spiked mohawks, one centered and one at either temple, sweeping to