City of Souls

liked living in Vegas, and was indulging her desire to have a fourth home here. Or was it fifth?

At any rate, Cher would have the sprawling, if slightly aged, home to herself from now on, and for some reason that brought on my melancholy again. A home without the two of them in it, I realized with some surprise, wouldn’t feel like much of a home at all.

“I think I’m doing the same thing here that you are,” she said quietly, looking up at me as she lowered her head. “Escaping.”

I winced. “That bad, huh?”

She shook her head, too quickly. “Not bad at all, actually. But…different.”

“Well, why don’t you talk to Arun about it? He seems like he’d move the world for you.”

Her smile brightened and she actually blushed at that. “Maybe I will when he gets back.”

“Back?”

“He went to Scottsdale for meetings. He’s a bit superstitious. Says the weather here is unlucky, and that it looks like the sky is falling.”

I eyed the bulging nest of power through the decorative glass of the front door. It did look like it was falling. “So he left you under it?”

“I told him I didn’t want to go. It’s my home.” She leaned against the back of the sofa and crossed her bare feet at the ankles. “Besides, Thanksgiving is coming up soon. You’re still spending it with us, right?”

“Of course.”

“Are you injured?”

“Wha…?” I glanced down in the direction of her gaze and saw the dried blood from where I’d run into the footstool. Damn it. I was going to have to get used to moving around differently again. “It’s just a scratch,” I said sadly.

“Sit here,” Suzanne said, pointing at an overstuffed ottoman. “I’ll get the Bactine.”

I sighed as I sat. Bactine today…a full body cast tomorrow.

She returned with the medicine and a whole bag of cotton balls. “What happened?” she asked, dabbing lightly.

“Dark club,” I lied. “Too much to drink. Late night. I fell down some stairs.”

“Ouch,” she said, and I watched the cool liquid bubble on my skin. I couldn’t believe I was going to have to get used to this again. How the hell was I going to tell Warren?

“Well, that which doesn’t kill you, right?” I said, quoting him now.

Suzanne grimaced. “I’ve always hated that saying.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“There, that should do it.” She sat back on her heels and blew hair from her eyes. “Want pancakes while we wait?” she asked, looking up at me.

“Oh, is that what you’re burning?”

She leapt to her feet. “Shit!”

I followed her to the kitchen, where she was, indeed, enthusiastically burning pancakes. While she went to scrape those into the trash and start over, I looked around.

The View played on in the background, some pseudo-Thanksgiving show reminding me that in this world-despite being camped out over another one, despite Xavier’s death-celebration was only days away. I eyed the tiny TV mounted beneath the shiny beech cabinets, the light granite countertops, the collection of ceramic roosters and pigs, and sighed. Sometimes I wished I had Suzanne’s life. And that was without the prince.

I leaned on the counter across from her and watched as she poured more pancakes into the skillet.

All this, I thought with a grimace, and she couldn’t flip a pancake for crap.

“Here,” I said, nudging her aside. “Let me.”

I took the spatula and turned down the heat. Suzanne dropped onto a bar stool and sighed in relief. If only taking over pancake duty was the most tasking of my heroic duties. I added some butter to the pan and poured the batter, glancing at her as she blithely sipped from her tiny espresso cup.

“Let’s talk about something cheery, shall we?” she said. “What about you? How’s your pursuit of pleasure and bliss going?”

It took me a moment to recall our conversation at the lingerie trunk show, right after Madeleine and Lena had turned on her. That seemed a lifetime ago now-before Vanessa, before Midheaven, and before I’d knew real goddesses existed-so I’d forgotten all about it. That was the problem with lying. Remembering what you were lying about was often harder than telling the truth.

“Not great.” I thought about Solange languishing beneath her stars, fashioning precious jewels out of other people’s souls-beautiful and strong…and more deadly than I’d ever be. “Um, I met a woman who showed me I have a long way to go.”

“Bitch,” Suzanne said shortly, which caused me to bark out in laughter. “The Olivia Archer I know and love would go head-to-head with her.”

The thought was laughable, and I actually snorted. It would take me weeks alone just to learn how to walk in Diana’s spiked shoes. But what really got me was the women’s amplified power. I’d doubted a lot of things about myself in the past, but I’d never doubted my strength. Yet Solange’s power made me feel like the Karate Kid.

“I’m afraid I’m out of my league there.” I shrugged, a move that betrayed my self-consciousness. “It’s easy most of the time here. Vegas, I mean. Big fish, small pond. But this other woman is…formidable.” I handed Suzanne a plate and slid her the syrup.

She put off answering long enough to cut into her food, groaning with the first bite, taking a second as I poured more batter. She spoke with a full mouth. “You still don’t get it, do you? Want me to spell out for you what a real man finds most attractive?”

I was talking about might, not men, but I nodded for her to continue. She lived, very simply, in another world.

“An authentic woman. Someone who walks through this world following her own whim. He’ll see her, he’ll watch her, and he’ll continue to stare, unblinking, as if mesmerized by the tail of a kite soaring and tossing about on the wind. For the right man, one who’s ready, just watching his woman move around scores new patterns on his retina, creates new pathways in his mind-or, for the first time, lights up the ancient ones-about what a real woman is.”

I tapped my spatula on the side of the pan, sharply, and put a hand on my hip. “Really? So what about all that lingerie and…” Shit. “…stuff?”

“Oh.” She sat up straighter, popped another bite into her mouth. “That’s not for a man. That’s for me.”

I stared.

She stabbed some more cooked batter. “These are really good.”

I glanced down, realized it was time to flip over another. “My sister showed me how to make them,” I said softly, moving another pancake to a plate.

Suzanne reached over the countertop and touched my arm. Her fingertips were cool and light, almost like she could float away. “You look tired, honey. Do you want to lie down in the guest room after breakfast? Just for a bit?”

I was exhausted, flipping the last pancake. But my mind was wired, and I still had too much to figure out about Jasmine and Warren. Solange and Jacks. Hunter and me, I thought, returning to Suzanne’s words. An authentic woman? I frowned, pouring the syrup.

“Suz,” I said hesitantly, not looking at her. “You know when you told me that women were the color of the world? That we were the life and-”

“The beauty.” She nodded, sighing to herself. “It’s so true. It’s our natural state. It’s-”

“I’m not,” I said suddenly, and I didn’t know why, but I wanted to cry at the statement. I swallowed hard. “I’m gray.”

“Has someone been telling you that? Who? That woman?” She was suddenly at my side, soft blue eyes burrowing into my own. I looked down. Solange had shown me. But Warren, I now realized, was the one treating me that way. And it wasn’t in words, but specifically in what he didn’t tell me, in the things he kept close to his chest. He claimed that he wanted me close, but then he’d sent me away. He said he valued me, but he continually put me at risk.