Page 60 of Will It Hurt?

Aisla

I’d been curious about Shades of Red ever since Grams announced that she was leaving the coven to pursue what made her happy. And apparently, what made her happy was getting on stage in a barely-there flapper dress that reflected the light with a thousand sequins.

“As your kinda-sorta employee, I feel it’s my duty to tell you that this is not the best use of our limited time,” I said as we snuck into the back row of the first-floor balcony.

The last few rows were blissfully empty and none of the ushers seemed to notice when we brushed past them. More of Jinn’s handiwork, I assumed.

“What else do you think we’d be doing if we were back at the covenstead? More practice spells that will bring the ceiling down on us again?”

“ One time, ” I protested, flopping into a seat next to her. “That was a one-time mistake. And it was ceiling dust , not the entire ceiling.”

The noise she made was between a scoff and a grunt.

“We should wait to receive proper instructions before trying again,” she said, primly folding her coat into neat squares.

“Is that an OCD thing?” I asked, watching her turn the coat around several times before she deemed it perfectly folded.

“Is what an OCD thing? ”

“The folding.” I nodded at her coat. “You did the same thing last night in the covenstead. It was obvious you couldn’t let the coat go until it was folded perfectly.”

“Is it polite to ask someone if they have OCD?”

I shrugged. “Is it polite to sneak into someone’s dreams and manipulate their subconscious?”

She was saved from a response by the rise of the curtains below.

Shades of Red was Edinburgh’s only cabaret night, and while it had begun as a glittering homage to the Moulin Rouge, it had now become somewhat of a tourist trap.

I’d often wondered why Grams chose to hitch herself to this wagon.

Was it fame? Was it money? Or was it a desperate need to do something different with her life other than working for the High Coven until her dying day?

I pondered this as Jinn crossed her legs on the rickety seat. Each time she moved, the old iron hinges creaked. Something about the age and quality of the seats told me that they would have creaked a hundred years ago when this space used to be a chapel for the School of Divinity.

Was it blasphemy that the once-sacred altar had been turned into a stage for half-naked dancers moving in questionable ways? Although I tried my hardest, I couldn’t hold back the visible cringe when Grams shimmied onto the stage and flashed us her sequined crotch.

I’d wanted to watch her perform for a long time, but not today. Not when I was racing against the Cold Moon.

I forced myself to be still, even though I wanted to fidget to get rid of some nervous energy.

My gaze strayed back to Grams. There was no denying that she was a beautiful woman—not for her age, as some would say. But beautiful regardless. She hadn’t had any enhancements done, but magick could obscure little things she’d consider an imperfection .

Despite what the outside world interpreted as homogenous features, we weren’t related.

Not through blood or bone. Grams had married my maternal grandmother, who was twenty years older than she was.

Such a vast age gap would have caused a scandal elsewhere, but in our circles, no one batted an eye.

It was common to find love amongst a small coven of wytches—the extended lengths of time we spent together was a good catalyst for a relationship.

The brassy wail of a saxophone mingled with the hypnotic thump of a double bass and the heavy crimson curtains shook with each beat. I followed the swaying movement of Grams’ calves as she twirled on stage, my thoughts absently drifting to what Jinn had said earlier as we waited in line.

Fang play.

Those were very specific words used in the Fang Nights trilogy. I’d said them aloud in the dream last night—or at least, I thought I had. I would never use the term in real life.

So how could she know?

I searched her face for an answer, but deep down, I already knew—either the dream had not been a dream, or we had crossed into something else entirely.

And that was not okay.

The opening musical number slowly transitioned into the second and third.

“Are you paying attention?” Jinn asked, one brow raised. She hadn’t turned her gaze away from the stage.

“Of course I’m not.”

“Is the cabaret not to your taste?” she asked drolly, and I had a feeling she had already read my thoughts.

“You know damn well—”

I paused as someone two rows in front of us turned to shoot us an annoyed glare.

“Sorry,” I murmured, snapping my lips shut .

But they didn’t stay shut for long.

“I can’t believe you trespassed on my dreams last night!”

The words sounded as accusatory as they meant to be.

“Trespassed?” Jinn repeated. “That’s an interesting word choice.”

“It’s an appropriate word choice because you wiggled your way into my subconscious when I didn’t specifically invite you.”

Her lips curled in that infuriating way.

“You didn’t need to.”

“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded, earning yet another glare from the woman two rows ahead.

“ You dreamed of me , little wytch.”

She said those words as though it was some kind of blanket statement—a universal explanation to something I still didn’t understand.

My fingers tightened on my thighs.

Her lips moved as she mouthed the words. “I don’t have control over your subconscious.”

“And?” I pressed. “People have dreams all the time. It doesn’t mean anything. It certainly isn’t an invitation to invade somebody’s personal space and turn it into a bloody nightmare.”

“Isn’t it?”

I hated the smirk that twisted her lips.

“No,” I declared, the word clipped. “It isn’t.”

“Does that also mean you don’t want me to watch while you slide your fingers into your pretty little—”

My jaw parted in disbelief as the lady in front of us turned again, looking incensed.

Fuck. Had she heard what Jinn almost said ?

A flush crept up my neck, slow and insidious as the lady continued to maintain eye contact with me, warning me to shut the fuck up.

But Jinn’s words refused to dissipate.

The unfinished sentence, the teasing edge in her voice—it was worse than if she’d simply said it outright. I exhaled, slow and uneven, willing my body to calm down. But it was useless since I now knew first-hand how her lips tasted.

I shifted, trying to steady myself, but the heat had settled low and insistent, impossible to ignore. My cheeks burned with a helpless mix of mortification and… Wanting.

Shit. How had she so easily turned my attention from the matter at hand? The problem was her and the fact that she had somehow manipulated my dreams.

I needed answers first.

“Not here,” I told Jinn, getting to my feet. “We need to talk about this. Now. Outside.”

The lady’s gaze followed us every step of the way as we left the balcony and headed out the nearest exit.