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“Sully?” I glanced over at her. “Something’s off.” It was too vague of a statement, and she waited to respond until I clarified. “I’m not very… phoenix-y these days.”

Sully lifted her chin in the beginning of a nod. “Loren mentioned something about that. He said you seem to be regressing.”

Setting my wine down, I dipped a knife in the butter and scooped some onto one of the rolls. I took a bite and cheeked it before speaking.

“I guess. Any idea why?”

Sully shook her head. “None of my books say anything about the phoenix powers being lost. Or how to get them back.”

Seconds stretched into minutes. I nibbled on the roll, then pinched off pieces of it, watching the dough stretch and tear.

“I feel less than I used to,” I said softly. “Less of myself. And the voice in my head doesn’t talk much anymore.”

Sully peered at me over the rim of her wine glass. “Voice in your head?”

I raised my hands. “I’m not crazy, I swear.”

“I didn’t say you were.” Sully chuckled, then took another drink of wine while pondering. “When itdidtalk, what did it say?”

Near the beginning of this life, the day I met Loren, I’d heard it. It whispered to me in my trailer, reminding me of things I didn’t yet know.

“It likes Loren,” I said with a smile. “Says he’s my mate.”

Sully smiled in response. “That’s sweet.”

“It’s true.”

Across the room, Gunnar whooped and laid down his newest pair of cards, putting him three sets ahead of Dottie. Celebrating the holidays sounded like the best idea Sully could have had, if a little grim. These people had been imprisoned in Hell for decades, only to escape and be thrust into an unwinnable fight.

I was starting to understand why Loren was so afraid. Why Abigail was hiding in Sully’s bedroom. Why I should be afraid, too.

Manhattan, New York

April 8th, 1987

I stumbled off the dance floor, nearly tripping over my own heels. My high was peaking, which made this the worst possible time to take a break, but keeping up with the insatiable thirst meant drinking enough water and margaritas that I must have been sloshing.

Before I ducked out of the room, I paused to check on Loren, the only person I’d ever seen bring a book to the Pyramid Club. He was at the bar, reading while nursing the same bottle of Phoenix brand beer I’d ordered for him because I wanted the cap for my collection.He looked so pretty in the lights with his dark hair spilling like an oil slick over his shoulders.

I smiled to myself then hurried down the hall toward the bathrooms. Darting into the cramped, dingy room, I made for the single stall. The metal walls were scribbled with graffiti and lewd drawings that made me snicker as I relieved myself then used my shoe to push the flush lever.

Tugging up my panties and smoothing my skirt, I exited the stall and headed for the sink, where a filmy mirror showed my reflection. The neckline of my gold lamé top plunged nearly to my navel, creating rings like water ripples across my chest. The clip-on earrings were another bit of glitz, swinging and sparkling amidst the curls I’d bleached white hot blond. Like Billy Idol. In a skirt.

Water rushed from the faucet as the door swung inward and another man entered. I glanced his way and immediately recognized him from the dance floor. He looked a little like David Bowie, feathered mullet and all, and I’d let him grind on me, but I’d had my fill of him, so I rinsed my hands quickly and angled toward the exit.

It was a narrow pass, so I had to shimmy to get by. I’d nearly made it when the man barred his arm level with my throat and drew me to a stop.

“Where you off to in such a hurry?” he asked. His voice was growly with a bit of a slur, and his alcohol-scented breath rushed across my face.

“No party in here,” I replied, backstepping. “Don’t wanna miss the fun.”

I started to edge around his opposite side, but he was quick to pivot. He caught my elbow and dug his fingers in. My skin prickled at his touch.

“I’m lotsa fun. Bet you are, too.” His lips peeled back in a leering grin.

It wasn’t exactly a proposition, but I shook my head anyway. “No thanks.”

He didn’t look much like Bowie now. His skin and hair were slick with sweat that seemed almost slimy. Greasy as he was, it should have been easy to slip away from him, but he held me tight.