stop to think. She raked her hands up his solid chest, fisted them around the lapels of his beautiful suit. The fabric would wrinkle. For some reason, that pleased her.

He'd called her a liar. The word burned in the base of her throat. No matter it was true; no one had ever called her that. Not to her face. Who did he think he was? What right did he have to judge her? She'd ignored his veiled insults, the deliberate slights against who she was. What she was.

Enough was enough. Now he was going to pay. For all of it.

Georgia wrenched him closer, released his suit and slid her hands up further, to the piercings in his ears she'd discovered were so exquisitely sensitive. She gave one abones. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Started a few years back." Jim studied him. "Figured it better you find out from someone you know."

"Thanks." Darius shifted. Now he really wanted to go home. His little studio in SOMA had never felt so far away. He took a deep breath. "Well, I should get on. I've got a thing."

Jim extended a hand, and they shook again. He found Darius' eyes. "You be sure to keep your head down." His voice quieted. "The hood's gotten harder since you left. Nowadays, people go in, but they don't always come back out."

† † †

Jim's words were still echoing in his head when Darius arrived at his destination.

Aunt J's Conjure House looked the same as it always had. The old stick Victorian was painted a watery aqua