“Looks like you’ve got friends here,” Rachel told her. “Just go. I can take over.”

  “No, I—” But Charlie had no idea what excuse to give—it would be weird for her to admit that she didn’t even like them. “Thank you.”

  “And sorry I was so weird before.” A line of worry sat between Rachel’s brows, as though she was the one who’d done something wrong.

  “You’re fine,” Charlie promised.

  Adeline walked over and threw an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. “Heard we can go. Wonderful.”

  Charlie gave her an extremely fake smile. “Looks like Re—Remy’s not going to make it. I’ll just head home and—”

  The door swung open. And there he was, in his black shirt and black jeans, pushing back slightly too long blond hair. Red.

  “Carver!” Topher said, standing.

  A not-at-all-pleasant smile curved on Red’s mouth. His gaze went to Charlie. Something about his expression made Topher hesitate in the middle of moving to greet him.

  Adeline took Charlie’s hand. “I’d hate for you to get comfortable back at your place. It would be twice as hard to drag you back out again.”

  Charlie thought of the Blight in her bag. She’d said she’d take it to Malhar, in the hope he could make sense of her half-formed theories. But she was increasingly unsure she could get out of spending time with these people.

  “I’ve got to change—” Charlie started, gesturing to her daiquiri-stained shirt.

  “See, I knew you would say that!” Adeline told her. “That’s why I brought you a dress. It’s in the car. Be a dear, Topher, and get the bag, won’t you?”

  “Clever Addy,” Red said, walking toward them. “But maybe Charlie is just being polite. Maybe she’s tired.”

  “Then let her go home,” Brooks said, confused by all the fuss.

  “Oh no,” Adeline snapped. “We’re all having a night out.” She knew, even if no one else did, that if Charlie refused to accompany them, Red couldn’t go either.

  But if she went, she was going to have to bring a Blight in a backpack with them. That seemed like a bad idea. Everything about this seemed like a bad idea.

  Charlie sighed, giving in to the inevitable. “Give me the dress. If it fits, I’ll go.”

  It was shiny silver tinsel and came along with a pair of pumps. Charlie changed in the greenroom in the back, wriggling into it. When she was done, she ran water into her hands and used it to smooth back her hair. She wiped away any runny eyeliner or mascara beneath her eyes with a scrap of toilet paper.

  When she looked in the mirror, Charlie wasn’t sure who she saw. The dress was very short and it made her legs look very long. She didn’t hate it.

  Rachel gave her a thumbs-up when she came out. She didn’t hate that either. Red looked as though he’d swallowed something the wrong way and was about to choke on it, which was less flattering.

  “Nice,” Madison said, though the comment was delivered to Adeline.

  No one seemed to notice the backpack over Charlie’s shoulder or the slight movement from inside.

  “It seems we’re going out after all,” said Red, reaching for Charlie’s hand. When his skin pressed hers, she found herself shocked all over again by his warmth. “Unless you’d rather go home.”

  “I’ll ride with you, Carver,” Brooks told him, ignoring their conversation.

  “It’s fine,” Charlie said. “I’m already wearing the dress.”

  She stuck her backpack with the Blight inside into the trunk. By the time she turned around, Brooks had gotten into the passenger seat of the Porsche. When he saw her standing next to the car, he got out only to flip up the seat and let her into the squashed back. For the entire ride, he talked about people he and Remy had known in New York. Charlie tried to pay attention, but the stories seemed to blur together into something that sounded like the Wilberforce-Batton-Bankes and Hastings-Abbotts co-hosting a charity event where everyone played cricket on Molly.

  She stopped trying and texted Malhar her apologies. She’d see him tomorrow.

  It turned out that several towns to the west, at the edge of the Berkshires, there was a members-only speakeasy called Lion’s Share that stayed open until four in the morning. Like Blue Ruin in Northampton, the third-shift bar that Charlie had been thrown out of and probably banned from, Lion’s Share got around the legal closing time by operating as a private club. Their group rolled in a little after two and Adeline ordered another round of espresso martinis. Charlie asked for a double shot of bourbon with a water back.

  The silver-haired bartender had one of those waxed moustaches popular among hipsters fifteen years ago, except he looked old enough for his to be what they were imitating.

  In her spangly dress, hair slicked back, stockings the only thing keeping her legs warm, Charlie felt chilly and awkward sitting at a high cocktail table, heel hooked on the edge of the metal bar of her stool.

  She wasn’t normally a pushover—and yet, somehow they’d convinced her to come along. Was it their money that had intimidated her? Was it that they’d known Remy and she had a masochistic desire to learn everything about him, this person that Red loved above everything and everyone?

  Was it that she worried Red wanted to go and was afraid to disappoint him?

  Topher had been staring at her chest since they sat down. She hoped he was looking at her tattoos—and maybe he was. He didn’t seem like the kind of person who hung out with a lot of inked people.

  Brooks barely looked at her at all, which was worse.

  “Remy,” Madison said, glancing across the table at Red. “If no one is going to say it, then I will. I can’t believe what you went through. I know we aren’t usually very serious, but you could have told us. We would have done something.”

  “I didn’t want you to try,” Red said, after a pause long enough to be awkward. He leaned back in his chair, the top two buttons of his shirt open to reveal the singlet underneath. No rings on his fingers. No dirt under his nails either.

  “Salt cut off your shadow?” Brooks asked, lowering his voice. “What is it like, not to have one?”

  “I lost a part of myself, I suppose,” Red said. “I’m just not sure which part.”

  Charlie wished that she’d tried to find video footage of Remy at one of these parties. Surely one of his friends had recorded something. Surely there was an Instagram somewhere. Anything that would tell her Red was acting at all like Remy.

  Carver.

  If he wasn’t trying to trick them, she couldn’t begin to guess what he was trying to do.

  “I remember meeting Salt a few times,” said Brooks. “He looked like anyone else’s grandfather. I can’t believe he was so dangerous. And how the two of you managed to be so normal, living with him, I have no idea.”

  Red’s gaze went to Adeline. “Sometimes you don’t know how bad something is until it’s over.”

  Adeline smiled tightly. “Family—well, you try to forgive family.”

  “Forgive him?” Brooks said. “I know he died and he’s your dad, but I couldn’t forgive that.”

  “We don’t understand everything that happened,” Madison said, putting her hand on Brooks’s arm.

  “I understand that it happened to Carver,” Brooks said. “Not you, Addy. You weren’t locked up in the basement and tortured.”

  “A toast,” interrupted Topher, clearing his throat and speaking fast to cut off the brewing argument. “To friends who you never have to forgive, because we’ll never give you a reason.”

  Charlie lifted her glass to that, clinking it against the others. Topher had feelings for Adeline, that much was obvious. It was less clear whether she was aware of his affection, or returned it.

  If Charlie had to wager, though, she’d lay money that Adeline knew. He wasn’t that subtle. Which meant she was avoiding the moment when she would have to reject him.

  Then they launched into a conversation about socialites in New York and someone who was doing a gallery show. Someone else was getting their whole trust. A third person was buying a house in Italy—basically abandoned, with bad plumbing—which this person thought they could restore.

  “Can you imagine Zoe out in the country, growing rosemary and cabbages?” At that, they all laughed.

  “Oh, I think this is their weed empire. Always jumping on an idea right after the market is saturated.” They laughed again.

  Charlie, with nothing to contribute, just kept drinking her bourbon. And when it was gone, she got another. And another. After a while, her tongue began to feel numb and everything got a lot more amusing.

  “So, Remy, you’re officially still dead right now, is that right?” Topher asked.

  “No, the lawyers took care of it,” Adeline said.

  “Back from the beyond.” Red saluted with his glass and Madison and Brooks raised their glasses too.

  “And you were living with her the whole while?” Topher turned his gaze toward Charlie. The condescension in his voice was subtle enough that Charlie could pretend she was imagining it.

  But she’d had what felt like thirty-seven bourbons, so instead she gave Topher an enormous, lascivious grin. “He still is with me.”

  “You’re a nice girl, taking him in like that,” said Brooks. “He mustn’t have been in the best shape.”

  Charlie put her hand on Red’s arm. She could feel the strain of muscles under his skin. “He kept a lot of secrets,” she said, feeling proud that even though her tongue felt numb, she wasn’t yet slurring her words. “From everyone, I guess. I’m glad it wasn’t just me.”

  Adeline frowned.

  “I’m trying to lie less,” Red said easily. “In my undeath.”

  They laughed at that.

  Topher was still focused on deviling Charlie. “Once Remy inherits his fortune, he can pay you back for whatever you did for him.”

  Charlie felt her cheeks flush at the insult, not just that she’d want to be paid for her services, but that she was a problem for him to throw money at.

  “He’s the best investment you’ll ever make,” said Madison, laughing as though she’d made a clever joke.

  “He doesn’t owe me anything.” Instead of making her wild, the alcohol seemed to have made Charlie alarmingly sincere. That needed to be remedied. Putting her finger in the air, she signaled for yet one more double bourbon.

  Adeline gave her a pitying look.

  “On the contrary,” said Red. “I owe you a great deal. I may owe you my life.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

  “Well,” said Brooks, “I wouldn’t mind you being in my debt, Carver, that’s all I’m saying. Once you get your money, you will have to come to the city. Get a pied-à-terre. We can make you forget the last few years in short order. In fact, I’m heading out to Aspen in a week. You should join us. Surely Addy can advance you the cash.”

  “No ID yet,” Red said. “Dead men don’t go through airport security.”

  Madison laughed. “You know the security when you’re flying private is half-assed at best. I’ve definitely seen some walking corpses get through customs.”

  They all laughed again.

  Salt had a private plane. Red must have flown on one lots of times. Charlie wasn’t even sure why she cared, but it bothered her that she’d never even thought of it before. Never even imagined it. He’d never mentioned it either.

  “I’ll talk to the lawyers,” Red said. “Try to move things along.”

  Madison squinted at him. “I don’t know what I expected, but you sound different.”

  Charlie bit the inside of her cheek. If he couldn’t convince them he was Remy, he was going to be in a very tricky position.

  “I am different,” said Red. “In a way, Remy really is dead.”

  A shudder went through Adeline’s shoulders.

  Topher put his hand on her arm. She leaned away from him, but not enough to break contact.

  Brooks gave a big sigh and raised his drink again. “Remy Carver is dead. Long live Remy Carver.”

  They were all lit enough to raise their glasses to that. “Remy Carver is dead,” they chanted. “Long live Remy Carver.”

  “Soon, it’ll go back to the way it used to be,” put in Adeline, eyes sparkling. “All of us, together again.”

  “All of us, together again,” Topher toasted, but his attention was entirely on her.

  “And me,” Charlie said. “Intruding.” Then she drank.

  “To you, Charlie Hall,” Red said, holding up his glass. “For putting up with me and all my baggage.”

  “I doubt she’ll have to do it much longer,” said Topher, then laughed at his own joke.

  “What did you say?” Red asked mildly.

  “Oh, she’s too drunk to remember anyway,” Topher reassured him.

  “You are forgettable,” Charlie snapped, smiling, glad for an excuse to show her teeth. Finally, she’d run out of patience. She was tired of being ignored. Tired of them sneering at her. And most of all, she was tired of feeling as though Red might see her through their eyes and like her less because of it. “That must be why Adeline doesn’t love you.”

  Madison gave a gasp. Brooks snorted.

  “People like you,” Topher told Charlie, “always show their bad breeding eventually.”

  Maybe she had gone too far, breaking the masquerade that he had any chance with Adeline, but leave it to him to make Charlie’s lack of discretion proof that she wasn’t one of their kind. Of course, there had never been a way to be good enough, only multiple paths to prove that she wasn’t.

  “People like you,” she said, her smile widening, “are so used to the taste of spit in your food that you think it’s some exclusive seasoning. People like you are so used to getting what you want that if you were stranded on the side of the road, you’d refuse a ride from a car without heated seats.”

  “Fuck you,” he said.

  She stood, flushed with triumph. Then her heel caught on the rung of the barstool. Her drunken reflexes betrayed her. She fell sideways, kicking the table hard enough on her way down that Brooks’s drink was knocked to the floor, the glass shattering.

  For a moment, lying there, she thought of being behind the bar of Rapture, surrounded by smashed bottles, when the gloamist’s shadow had smothered her.

  Then Madison started to laugh. A moment later they were all laughing, looking down at her. Once again, Charlie had made a spectacular fool of herself. The heel on one of her shoes had entirely broken off so she couldn’t even stand with dignity. She could taste tears in the back of her throat.

  “This is what you like, Carver?” Topher said, sneering.

  Charlie pushed herself to her feet and kicked off her shoes. Then she punched him in the face.

  Charlie Hall, glue trap for disaster. But come too close and you’ll get stuck too.

  Topher staggered back, hitting the bar. His hand came up to his face. His nose was bleeding. “You’re a crazy bitch.”

  “Glad you finally figured that out,” Charlie said.

  A big guy with a beard pushed away from the wall and headed toward them. Security. Well fine, she didn’t want to be there anyway. She didn’t want any of this. Barefoot, she stomped out of the bar and into the icy-cold parking lot.

  She didn’t have the keys to the Porsche and she was far too drunk to drive anyway. She definitely didn’t want to face Red. So she kept walking, her body hot with shame.

  Charlie got about a block away before realizing that it was much too cold for her temper. And that if she went farther, she would come to the end of the tether that bound her to Red.

  As she turned, bright lights swung her way. The Porsche drove up beside her. Adeline was in the passenger seat.

  “Get in,” Red said.

  “Leave me alone,” Charlie told him, as impossible as that demand was.

  He sighed. “You know I can’t do that.”

  No, neither of them could escape one another. Her head hurt and she felt stupid. And she was sure that in the morning, she was going to feel much, much worse.

  “I’m sorry things went so badly tonight,” Adeline said, although Charlie didn’t think she was sorry at all. Of course, Charlie wasn’t in the most generous state of mind.

  “It’s cold, Char,” Red said, his voice gentler. “Please get in.”

  Vince used to call her that. “I could make you feel something,” Charlie said mulishly, opening the door. “I could fucking make you.”

  “You make me feel plenty,” he told her.

  She got into the tiny back seat. Her feet stung in the air blown from the heater, signaling just how cold they’d been. She rested her head against the window. Not looking at Red. Not looking at Adeline. Keeping her gaze focused on the blur of moving lights.

  20

  [DRAFT] Transcription via AI from recording by Madurai Malhar Iyer

  Malhar: Tell me about Adeline.

  Red: I don’t want to talk about her.

  Malhar: Why not?

  Red: My thoughts are messy. The memories I have of her feel like puzzle pieces that don’t go together.

  Malhar: Are those Remy’s memories?

  Red: His, and mine. She did things to me—with me—and Remy didn’t—well, maybe he—I don’t know.

  Malhar: [silence]

  Red: I don’t want to talk about her. I said I don’t want to talk about her.

  Malhar: What about Remy’s grandmother?

  Red: I don’t want to talk about Fiona either.

  Malhar: Can you tell me why?

  Red: When Remy didn’t want to feel something anymore, he put it into me. Some—a lot—of those feelings were painful. He especially didn’t like to be sad. When we left his grandmother’s place, he missed it, missed her, missed not being afraid. Then he gave all that to me and he didn’t feel it anymore.

  Malhar: But you did.

  Red: Those feelings aren’t real. They’re not mine. Or at least they’re not all mine. Is that enough?

  Malhar: Tell me about Charlie then.

  Red: She makes me angry.