Free Fragile Eternity by Melissa Marr

almost immediately. “Ash? You okay?”
    “Yeah. Why?” Aislinn knew why: she never called anymore.
    “I just…nothing. What’s up?”
    “You free?”
    Carla was silent for a beat. Then she said, “Depends on why you’re asking.”
    “Okay, I was thinking I’ve been a lousy friend lately….” Aislinn paused.
    “Keep talking. You’re on the right track. Next part is?”
    “Penance?” She laughed, relieved that Carla was making light of it. “What’s the price?”
    “Ten per game? Meet you there?”
    Aislinn turned down the next street to head toward Shooters. “Spot me a few balls?”
    Carla snorted. “Penance, sweetie. I’ve been eying a new video card, and you’re going to bankroll it by the time the night’s done.”
    “Ouch.”
    “Yep.” Carla’s laugh was joyful. “See you there in thirty.”
    “I’ll get a table.” Then, in a decidedly improved mood, Aislinn disconnected. She knew that several of her guards followed behind at a discreet distance. Tonight, she didn’t want to see them, though. Shooting pool with a friend wouldn’t fix a thing, but it felt closer to the normal life she still missed.
    With that in mind, she walked the half dozen blocks to Shooters. The h in the sign was out, so it read sooters—which was far better than when the first s had been out.
    It had been weeks since she’d even stopped in. Guilt hit her again—and fear that she’d no longer be welcome. The regular crowd at Shooters worked hard and relaxed with equal enthusiasm. They were all older than she was—some old enough to be Grams’ long-ago classmates—but theydidn’t draw age or class or race lines at Shooters. It was a place where everyone was welcome as long as they didn’t start trouble.
    Before everything changed, Denny, a pool hustler somewhere in his twenties, had taken her on as a project of sorts. Denny handed her lessons off to his friend Grace when he felt like working a mark, and between their combined tutelage, Aislinn had become a pretty decent shot. She’d never be able to run tables like he did, but that sort of mastery came from shooting every day. Most of the regulars were cool to talk to or shoot with, but it was Denny and Grace whom she’d truly missed.
    When she went inside, she saw Denny right off. He was at a table with Grace. When Grace looked up and saw her, her face folded into a smile. “Hey, Princess. Long time, no visits.”
    Denny took his shot before he lifted his eyes from the table. “Out without either of the Princes Charming?”
    She shrugged. “Girl time. I’m meeting Carla.”
    “Grab a cue or a seat.” Grace’s voice had a cigarette-and-whiskey rasp to it that contrasted with her body. She sounded like a woman who should be a lithe singer in a vibrant scarlet dress, breaking hearts and inciting lovers’ quarrels, but Grace was a different sort of trouble. Wearing black boots, faded jeans, and a man’s button-up shirt, she was all muscle and just as able to handle any fights as the men in the room. She took immense pride in the fact that her Softail Custom was outfitted with more chrome andlouder pipes than Denny’s.
    “You want to shoot teams when Carla gets here?” Denny circled the table to reach his next shot. He’d tied his hair back, but the loose ponytail was already coming undone and falling into his face.
    “Only if I get Carla,” Grace said. “Sorry, Ash, but the two of them together would kill us.”
    Aislinn cracked a grin. “She already set stakes. Ten a game.”
    “So, twenty then, for teams?” Denny cleared two balls in a complicated shot that Carla could explain by way of geometry and simple angles, but which Denny executed as a matter of precision and practice. Aislinn had neither geometry nor sufficient practice.
    “Or ten still, even splits.” Grace opened a bottle of water.
    “We might break even, if you have Carla,” Denny said. Then he finished clearing the table.
    “Or not,” Grace muttered.
    He grinned. “Or