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The London nightclub house band is singing about dumb things, about pawning rings and melting wax to fix their wings.

Scarlet can empathise. She draws her shoulders in and rotates the glass on the bar, forcing the gold sparks within the glowing blue concoction to rise to the surface faster, to burst exuberantly

“Hey, Scar.” The slick blonde in black deliberately bumps Scarlet’s elbow, jolting her drink.

“Lucy.” Scarlet licks stray drops of her Long Distance Voyager from the back of her hand. “Haven’t seen you around for a while.”

Lucy moves absently to the music, gaze roaming the room, lingering here, loitering with intent there. “Been a little busy.”

“Bet you have,” Scarlet murmurs.

Lucy ignores the snideness and winks at Josh. She hums appreciatively as he weaves round the tables, only to frown as he claims the barstool on the other side of Scarlet.

“True north,” Josh confirms.

“Perfect,” Scarlet pronounces gloomily. She stares at her reflection in the bar surface. The worn mahogany counter exaggerates the smudges round her eyes. Scarlet shifts her head a fraction to the left. The smudges follow. Which means they’re really there, decorating her face, damn it.

Scarlet forces her hands flat on the counter, resisting the temptation to rub and make it worse. “What are you doing here, Lucy?”

“Relax,” Lucy drawls. “I’m meeting someone. And oh, there he is.” Target in sight, Lucy ruffles her hair and pushes away from the bar.

Josh rubs his jaw. “As Finn would say, that is one smokin’ hot babe.”

“That is a devil,” Scarlet says. “With a capital D.”

Lucy turns. A haze of pink shading-to-reddish lights and rippling shadows frames her. “The Devil.”

“A Devil,” Scarlet repeats.

“The.”

“A.”

“The,” Lucy asserts, stretching the syllable. Her lacquer nails are sharp exclamation points of ebony against her bare midriff as her hands curve over her hipbones. The ruby in her navel shimmers, promoting the reflection of flames.