Bea takes a sip of whiskey and lets out a shaky breath. She was so distraught when she first arrived that I couldn't follow what she was saying. Judging by her smudged eyeliner and disheveled curls, she hasn't slept since our failed ritual.

I swivel a little on my barstool. I'm too anxious to stay completely still. I give her time for a few more steadying breaths before I speak. "So, what was so important you had to rush over?"

“I'm sorry,” she says into her ...