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The waitress comes out and brings us our drinks while I look over the menu and pretend that I’m eventually going to order food. Then the music ends.

When the musicians are off the stage, a new singer steps on.

And I feel like I can’t breathe.

It’s her.

It’s the demon lady.

“Oh my god,” I gasp, watching as she walks across the small stage and stands in front of the microphone, wearing a white cocktail dress, a red rose tucked into her hair. But the rose is bleeding, the blood running down her cheek and dripping onto her dress.

She looks right at me.

Then right at Max.

I tear my eyes away to see him gripping the table so hard I think he’s going to rip it in half. His eyes are absolutely lost to flames.

“Max,” I whisper frantically, pressing my hand onto his thigh, trying to keep him grounded. “It’s her. It’s her.”

I don’t even know if he’s breathing. He’s frozen, mouth agape in horror.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” the demon lady says, her voice rich, normal, looking over the crowd, smiling at them. “I’d like to start with a special song. This is called the Song for the Dead. And it’s dedicated to our own dead man walking, Mr. Maximus Jacobs.”

Her gaze comes to our table and she holds her hand out toward him in gesture. Everyone in the bar turns in their seat to look at us, and if they notice the flames in Max’s eyes, they don’t seem to care. They smile and nod at us and then look back at the demon singer.

She smiles right at me.

Winks.

And then bluesy music starts to play from nowhere, the low hit of a double bass, the sinewy call of a sax. She gives the crowd a big smile, really a show of teeth.

Demon teeth.

“It’s late enough to go driving,” she starts to sing, holding the mic with both hands and crooning into it, “and see what’s mine. That’s a study of dying, how to do it right.”

“Max,” I say, louder now, trying to break the spell the woman has me in. She definitely has Max in her thrall. In fact, I think she has the whole place in the palm of her hand.

“Max, please.” I put my hand on his and he’s not snapping out of it. It feels like my energy is hitting a wall and bouncing right back into me.

Then I go against his wishes and lift my fingers, ready to place it at his temple. He’s not blinking, I’m afraid the flames might spread from his eyes and take over his whole face, burn him up, take him right back to Hell.

My fingers hover above his skin, afraid to take the plunge, and already I can feel the darkness licking my skin like fire, just a taste at what’s going on inside him.

The dark.

So much dark.

So much emptiness that I think I might die from it.

And I’m not even touching him.

“Max, I don’t want to,” I whisper…

I close my eyes.

My fingers coming closer to the pain.

CRASH.

Suddenly the sound of breaking glass fills the air.

It’s so loud it seems to ricochet inside my brain.

I jerk my hand away from his head and even he stirs, turning his head enough to meet my eyes.

The flames still dance, but he’s there now. He’s back. In control.

Looking at me with an expression I can’t read.

Then he keeps turning his head to look behind him, in the direction of the broken glass.

I turn my head too.

There’s a woman standing there behind us, a tray in her hands, broken glass shattered at her feet.

She’s pale, blonde, hair pulled back in a low bun, wearing jeans and a tube top, staring at Max like she’s just seen a ghost.

Her mouth drops open, closes. Opens again.

“Max!?” she exclaims, voice trembling.

Looks like we found Rose.

Sixteen

“Time wounds all the heals as we fade out of view.”

– I Sat By the Ocean

Rose stares at Max.

Max stares at Rose.

I look back at the stage to keep an eye on our demon singer.

But she’s gone.

There’s no one there at all. The music has changed, coming from the speakers, and off the stage I can see a group of four musicians sorting out their instruments.

I look back at Max, the flames fading away.

Now he’s blinking at Rose.

Oh god, I already feel like I shouldn’t be here, like this is too intimate for me to witness. Why did he bring me here again?

Oh yeah. He doesn’t have a choice.

“Rose?” our waitress says to her. “Are you okay?”

The waitress looks over her shoulder at us for an explanation, and Max finally gets up to his feet, towering over everyone.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the waitress. “I’m an old friend she hasn’t seen in a long time. Think I gave her a scare.”

He then meets Rose’s eyes and gives her a faint, somewhat hopeful smile.