Val rolled up the windows and ran her hands over her windblown undercut. She smoothed the black hair down one side of her face and grinned at herself in the rearview mirror.

“Feel better, Gennie?” she asked.

Genevieve honked in an affirmative.

“Cool. Now it’s my turn.” Val stepped out of the Mustang and strode down the sidewalk to the nightclub. Music thudded from the open door, accompanied by pulses of many-colored light. The hectic energy drew Val like an oasis in the desert.

This was no oasis, however. The club was exactly what she’d expected when she stepped inside: crowded, loud, and filled with thumping energy. The smell of alcohol and sweat mingled with the DJ’s beats as a pack of bodies bounced on the dance floor, early though it was. Val had to shove her way to the bar.

A pierced and tattooed bartender served her a double rum and Coke with impressive speed. Val downed it and ordered another as the sweet buzz filled her veins.

She pulled out her phone and texted Enzo. It was quarter to six.

You fine with Tetra?

She’s sweet as pie. Don’t worry. I’ll drop her off after work.

“Sweet as pie, huh?” Val drank deeply from the second glass. “Faerie whisperer.”

The second drink dispelled all thoughts of Tetra from her mind. Val eyed the dance floor, decided she wasn’t drunk enough for that yet, and ordered a whiskey on the rocks instead.

“Your drink, miss.” The bartender slid it across the bar.

“Thanks, man.” Val took it.

The bartender’s eyes darted over her shoulder and narrowed. A moment later, a burly guy who smelled of stale booze slid onto the stool beside hers.

“You come here often?” he asked, loose-lipped. He planted a half-empty brandy glass on the bar.

Val eyed him. “Really? Don’t you have an imagination?”

The guy sneered. “Don’t get pissy with me.”

“I’m not pissy,” Val told him calmly. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

The bartender served the guy another drink, shooting glances at a bouncer in a black suit who stood by the door.

“Don’t worry.” Val offered the bartender a sweet smile. “I’m good.”

The drunk guy leaned closer. “Sure smell good.”

“Thanks. You don’t,” Val rejoined.

The guy sneered, and for a second, Val thought he might pick a fight. She longed for him to do that, but he took his glass and wobbled back to the dance floor to hassle somebody else.

Val crossed her legs and took it easy as she sipped her whiskey and eyed the crowd. It was only a matter of time before three dudes swaggered over, operating on the untruth this type of man universally acknowledged: a single woman in possession of a good seat at the bar must be in want of a random guy hitting on her.

She hid her smirk in her drink as the men crowded around her. The first, whose weak chin sported weedy stubble, slid onto the stool beside her, although many others were open.

“Vodka, neat.” The guy tipped his chin at the bartender like he was the shit. “Make it a double.”

“Yes, sir.” The bartender meekly served the drink.

“What are you drinking, beautiful?” The second guy had wannabe-surfer waves streaked with artificial highlights that glowed in the neon light.

Val smiled. “What I ordered, thank you.”

“C’mon, don’t be boring,” the third guy crooned. This one had skipped leg day. “Have a vodka.”

“No, thanks. I have a drink.” Val raised it.

Weedy Stubble chuckled. “Don’t you want something stronger?”

“Not particularly.” Val lowered her whiskey.

“Cheap date, huh?” Wannabe Surfer commented.

“I’m not on a date,” Val stated mildly, “and I could drink the lot of you under the table.”

The moment hovered on an uncertain cusp. One of two things would happen next: either they would get wasted together, or she was seconds from an excellent bar fight.

Either one was fine by her.

Skipped Leg Day snorted. “Sure you could, honey.”

“Try me.” Val knocked the rest of her whiskey back. The human-made booze was mild, but she still felt its burn on the way. “Double vodka, please.”

The bartender brought her a brimful shot glass. Val raised it and swallowed it in a single gulp. The three guys stared at her when she lowered her head and grinned. Skipped Leg Day looked awed, but Wannabe Surfer had an ugly twist to his sneer.

He tried to chug his vodka in a single swallow and spluttered. Skipped Leg Day laughed.

“Shut up!” Wannabe Surfer barked.

Weedy Stubble shook his head. “Crazy bitch.”

Val turned to face him with a suddenness he found disconcerting, judging by the way he leaned back.

“What did you call me?” she calmly asked, meeting his eyes.

Weedy Stubble cringed. “Nothing, ma’am.”

“Good.” Val smiled. “Little boys shouldn’t use foul language.”

“Maybe ladies shouldn’t come to places like this,” Wannabe Surfer growled.

“Okay, dude. Let’s tone it down a little.” Skipped Leg Day reached for his friend’s arm.

Wannabe Surfer shoved him away. “Take it back, bitch.”