The phone would not stop ringing.

Sandelene, hand sufficiently iced and dull under painkillers, finally flipped the damn thing over and studied the list of missed calls. Three numbers she didn't recognize, and all had the right area number and that distinctive, somewhat guilt-inducing feel of 'police department.' There was also the newest number, Margery's, but his messages were text after text of first questions, then unpunctuated CAPS as news had filtered down to him about what'd transpired.

Which left the one call Sandelene didn't mind returning.

"Ronnie," she said, staring long and hard at that darkened safe. "Still up for that drink?"

"Already drank it," came the blithe reply. A steady pulse of something low, something that made your bones want to move, drowned out the rest of her high-pitched speech about what wonders Sandelene had missed, but the general gist of it was, "come on down!"

Sandelene made a quick change in her upstairs apartment, splashed her face, and threw on a little eyeliner so Ronnie couldn't accuse her of not making an effort. It was in her bedroom however, as she held two different tops up against her breasts trying to figure out whether or not the ladies would look good in a v-neck,  that she'd thought, for just a second she'd thought...

She'd thought the coat rack had formed the hunched silhouette of a dead man. But she'd had all the lights on; nothing flickered, no window pane went cold. When she spun around to see what reflected in her mirror, it was just a coat rack.Just her rain jacket, where and how she'd left it last.

"I really do need a drink," she announced, throwing on the first top before she thought she saw anything else. Tonight, at least, she also needed another place to stay.

That was where Ronnie came in. She would convince her friend to take her in for the evening, have a drink or two to steady her nerves, then head down to the police station, feeling better about doing so because now she had a place to rest her head somewhere far away from that curious coin in the back office. Too much had happened tonight. Her life had spiraled out of control in one fell swoop.

And a drink with Ronnie, she hoped, might restore a little bit of order. Clear her head, let her think about what had happened and what she'd done.

At least until the police came charging after her.

Ronnie was waiting outside the curved neon lines of a tipped bottle sign. The bottle rotated from upright to spilled every few scarlet seconds. Drink.Me: Ronnie's favorite bar, a bar for people like her, people that had a wild side written in ones and zeroes. Within the glossy doors was a technological fairytale, mostly buzzing with the right kind of crowd, sometimes with hornets. But it was always entertaining.

Ronnie was known within the club as the 'Conjurer.' It had something to do with her ability to code and generate script and other words that Sandelene didn't know the meaning of and would rather not. She didn't speak the language, but she'd never been unwelcome.

Ronnie's nickname had a little more to do with the fact that she was  skilled in magic. Love potions, specifically, or Sandelene had heard.  She'd never tried one of the stupid things. 'Conjurer' within this electric scene had another meaning, too: mostly to do with Ronnie's ability to conjure up a crowd of men and women wanting those potions and/or her.

Love potions were in, claimed the woman who, to Sandelene, spent more time at the gym than Sandy spent in her own shop. This gal was tight as spandex, a ropey brunette with curls to make Rapunzel jealous.  Ronnie's features were sharper rather than feminine.  She was a fox; you looked at her little nose and sharp cheeks and tiny white smile and you recognized it immediately. But when you saw a woman like that headed your way, most could forgive a tiny bust and a pointed chin for a night or, if they were lucky, a long weekend.

Sandelene took reasonable care of herself. Worked out when she remembered to, slacked off around the holidays and started back up in the new year like everybody else. She ate like shit, but since she ate so little, her constant grazing, and constant moving, sort of netted out, at least for now. When she got older and the metabolism of youth slowed, well, she'd start worrying then. For the time being, she was proud to say that she could be attractive, and act attractive, whenever she wanted to.

But outward appearances didn't really matter here.

The crowd at Drink.Me tended to look beyond the surface. Sandelene liked that. They were different, they were unapologetically themselves. Sometimes Sandelene felt like she'd stumbled into a new world, new language, new phrases, new ways to interact. It was refreshing.

Sometimes they looked a little too deep, which wasn't a problem if you asked Ronnie. Problem was, they didn't usually ask Sandelene.

"God, you took forever." Ronnie was twirling on her chair now, candy cane hair extensions twisted in her long fingers. "Ordered you a daiquiri, but when you didn't show I drank it."

"Next one's on me," Sandelene promised through a cheery smile, careful to keep her bruised hand underneath the table.

"Where were you?"

"Business call."

Ronnie's face scrunched with curiosity. "Was it your ad?"

Sandelene shook her head.

"Sorry, I know you paid an arm for it. Say, I was hoping you'd put in a good word for me with Danielle."

"Danielle?"

"Danielle Warren," she said, rolling her eyes. "Your incense supplier."

Sandelene took a sip of whatever strong drink Ronnie's friend had brought over as they spoke. Strong. Colored like a unicorn puked in a glass, but delicious. "What the hell do you want with Danielle?"

"Infused tonics," she said. "I've done some tests, been running samples down in the lab."

Sandelene didn't even want to know where the lab was.

"Anyway, products rated well with her incense. Her offer came in a little high. I was thinking, since you guys know each other so well, practically rub each other's backs, maybe you could get her to knock another grand off?"

"I can ask, I guess."

"Worst she says is no." Ronnie agreed. In return, she was more than happy to let Sandelene spend the night. "Now that business is out of the way," she continued, glancing at the dance floor. It was a slow night. More folks were using technology than their bodies. "I have some big news."

"What's that?"

She leaned forward across the counter, and with a girlish whisper cupped a hand to Sandelene's ear. "I think, and I'm not really sure, but I'm starting to think it's really true... I think I might be falling in love. No potions involved."

Well that was interesting. Sandelene suddenly felt the urge to scan the crowd, as if she could pinpoint the woman's partner. Ronnie had so many, so often, it was dizzying. "With who?" she asked.

She plucked the strawberry off her daiquiri, sucked on it with a guilty expression. "You can't make fun of me."

"Who?" Sandelene pressed.

"Her name is Megan. She's a, she's a ... cobbler."

Sandelene chuckled. "Someone who fixes shoes? People still make a living off that?"

Ronnie's face dropped into her hands. "Stop, oh my God. When you say it like that... Meg does other things, too. Seamstress-y or whatever you call it. But shoes are her passion."

"Gotta admit, I always thought you'd end up with someone who can keep pace with your crazy."

"You've got no clue how fucking refreshing Meg is. No numbers. No technical crap. No geeking out over things. It's like I walk in her apartment and everything shuts off. I can relax. I've never felt so connected and unconnected at the same time."

There was something in her friend's eyes, a glimmer of brightness Sandelene found herself mildly jealous of.  Happy for Ronnie, of course, but she wished she could find that, too.

"Enough about me," Ronnie continued, long fingers curling around her glass.  "What about you? You know, Eli's been asking after that pretty woman who stomps around and yells me into good sense."

Sandelene's attention drifted to the evening's partygoers with newfound, if not mildly distracted, curiosity. "Have I met him?"

Ronnie grimaced, pointed not so discreetly at a scrawny kid who looked like she could be his mom. "More than once. He's sent us drinks a couple times. Last week he was asking you about buying a toad?"

"Oh, him." He'd been sweating straight through his white tee. On his phone Sandelene had glimpsed the google search for species of pet toads. Nice try, but Eli was playing little league. She wanted a man capable of hitting a big-time homerun. Needed bigger balls for that.

"I'll take that as a hard, 'no'?"

"Please."

Sandelene, feeling a bit awkward now, switched the subject back to incense, finished her drink, and found herself checking her phone. Right on cue, her phone pinged with an incoming call. She excused herself to the curb outside.

"What the hell happened?" Margery's scream blasted through the hot night air.

"I did what you're paying me to do."

"Am I paying you? Do you know what you did? What you damaged?"

The bouncer glanced over, eyes raised. Waving him off as she turned the volume down, Sandelene moved further down the street. The gathering crowd and thump of music faded into the noise of another club across the road. College crowd there; used to go there with Ronnie back when they weren't familiar with the city. Tiny skirts and shaved legs and too much makeup. She didn't miss it.

Margery was on a roll, stopping only for the occasional wheezed gasp when he remembered to breathe. "Not only do I have a wounded officer, the governor's wife cancelled! Where in God's good name were you?"

"You saw that thing," she whispered. "Officer Peabody disappeared. It wanted me to look for him. I wasn't falling for that trap."

"He could've died! Something ripped a hole through his arm. There's blood all over the serials section. It's a frickin' crime scene."

Sandelene had gone pale beneath the streetlight. She stepped against the curb and flagged down a taxi. "Shit. I'm—"

"Where are you?" he snapped. "I'm at the station. What gets my goat is they don't want you in here as a witness. Officer Peabody hasn't even named you. Just wanted to know if you were safe."

"He's speaking?"

"No thanks to you."

"Listen, if you'd been there, if you'd felt that thing's presence..."

"God, if Peabody had hair, it would've gone white. I'm telling you." 

"Good news," Sandelene said, tapping her foot impatiently. C'mon, a cab, a cab. Where were the cabs tonight? "I found the object."

"Mind telling me what it was so my assistant doesn't panic while she's cataloguing?"

"Some old gold coin. It was, uh, next to some gloves. Civil war, maybe? Honestly, I wasn't reading the descriptions."

Margery swore. "Where the hell is it?"

"In my office safe."

"In a safe, or safe?"

"In a safe." Sandelene rubbed her temple. "And safe. So both."

"That coin," Margery said, wheezing through another emphatic gasp, "is worth 18,000 dollars, excluding historical significance. It better be every kind of safe."

"No one knows I have it."

"They better not." impatience ticked through his momentary silence. "How do we remove the curse, or demon, or whatever the hell this is?"

"I'm bringing it to the arch diocese tomorrow. Monsignor Clayton specializes in possessions."

"I'll go with you. Be outside Smudge at six am."

Her shoulders rose and fell in a long sigh. "It's been a long night, Margery."

"Six am."

Of all the nights to be unable to hail a cab, it had to be tonight. The street, apart from walkers and already parked cars, was oddly quiet. Sandelene cast one longing look back towards the tipping neon bottle of Drink.Me, then kept walking. She texted Ronnie to let her know she wouldn't be coming back inside. Ronnie responded with a note saying she'd leave the key under the garden gnome wearing the Titans jersey.

She hiked out to a more populated street and found a cab within seconds. But as she opened the door to climb inside, something dark swooped down from a nearby tree. Claws swiped her forearm. Before she knew what was happening a pale bird slammed into her neck with a raucous screech. Within seconds it untangled itself from her hair and took off into the starless city  smog. Sandelene ducked inside and closed the door.

"What the fuck was that?" the driver muttered, turning around in his seat.

"Seagull, I think," Sandelene said dismissively. "Must've spooked its nest or something."

"Do seagulls have nests?"

"Beats me." She looked down at her arm. Tiny scratches prickled with blood up and down her forearm.

"Least it didn't shit on you," the man continued, brown eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror. "Where to?"

"Hospital."

He turned again, concerned.

"Not for me," she said quickly, covering her sore wrist. "I've got to see someone."