Exact Warm Unholy

By Jeffe Kennedy

Tonight my name is Mary...

Or is it? Sometimes she’s Tiffany or Syd or Bobbi. But whatever face she wears, she returns to the same bar, to find a new man and seduce him, safe in the knowledge that no one will recognize her. Until one man does.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeffe Kennedy
• Release date: Dec 11, 2016
• ISBN: 9781945367090

Jeffe Kennedy

Jeffe Kennedy is an award-winning, best-selling author who writes fantasy with romantic elements and fantasy romance. She is an RWA member and serves on the Board of Directors for SFWA as a Director at Large. She is a hybrid author who also self-publishes a romantic fantasy series, Sorcerous Moons. Books in her popular, long-running series, The Twelve Kingdoms and The Uncharted Realms, have won the RT Reviewers’ Choice Best Fantasy Romance and RWA’s prestigious RITA® Award, while more have been finalists for those awards. She's the author of the romantic fantasy trilogy The Forgotten Empires, which includes The Orchid Throne, The Fiery Crown, and The Promised Queen. Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico, with two Maine coon cats, plentiful free-range lizards and a very handsome Doctor of Oriental Medicine. She can be found online at her website, every Sunday at the SFF Seven blog, on Facebook, on Goodreads and on Twitter.

Book preview

~ 1 ~

Tonight, my name is Mary.

Mary, Mary, quite contrary. That calls for fiery red, steampunk crimson carved into long, perfect ringlets. Not a corset, though. Not for Circle², a bar that tends toward the conservative, at least so far as cosplay is concerned, unless it’s Halloween or something. Instead I choose the black sheath dress with the deep vee neckline to show off the inner curves of my breasts, and advertise that I’m not wearing a bra. Or anything else beneath.

Have to set the bait properly, after all. And Mary can do what I never could.

For makeup, I go with a retro vibe. I have to layer it on thick anyway, to make myself into Mary, so the heavy stuff works best. Theater pancake in the fairest tone to complement the hair. False lashes and black eyeliner, with a cat’s eye flair. Bright green contact lenses. Lipstick in screaming scarlet, just shades darker than the wig. Amazing, really, how redrawing the lines of lips and eyes change a face entirely.

No one ever recognizes me, not even me. Maybe G_d does, but we’ve had a falling out and I don’t care.

At the last moment I go for boots instead of stilettos. High heels, black leather, over-the-knee. Maybe I’ll let him fuck me in just the boots. Whoever he’ll be tonight.

The night air slaps chill on my bare arms, so I hurry the few blocks to Circle². I don’t like to wear a coat. They’re too expensive to take a different one every time and I’d rather spend the money on wigs. Too bad there’s not a wig wear-and-return system, as I never use the same one twice.

I don’t mind the coolness either. It helps combat the heat. I’m alive with the anticipation, already wet, primed for the release to come.

Tonight I pick out a stool at the bar. Mary is the sort who’d do that. I cross my legs so my hem rides up to show a strip of skin above my boot, turning sideways to display my cleavage.

Come and get it, gentlemen.

What’ll you have? the bartender asks. He’s a genial sort, always ready with a friendly smile. Never hits on me, no matter who I am that night, which makes me think he doesn’t take advantage of the women who come to the bar. That’s part of the reason I go to Circle². It sets a tone to the hookups, I think, as the men who frequent the place are generally clean and polite.

He’s always working, six nights a week. The bar is closed on Mondays. I suspect he owns it, but we don’t have conversations. At least, not connected ones. I’m always a stranger to him. He smiles, asks what I’ll have, then leaves me alone.

Tonight it’s Prosecco and he gives it to me in a tall flute. He’s wearing a shirt that says The book was better.

I’ll get that for the lady. A tall man, dark skin, pretty brown eyes, makes the offer hopefully. He’s wearing a good suit, has nice hands, long fingers. I’ve never seen him in here before. Yes. Yes, he’ll do nicely.

I’d love that, I purr. I always keep my voice low, though I doubt the bartender would recognize it, above the din of conversation and whatever’s playing on the television screens. It’s best to keep conversation to a minimum, regardless. I’m not there to talk.

Do you come here often? The man asks.

My first time, I lie.

Mine, too. He’s telling the truth, nice man that he is. He holds out a hand. It’s chilled from the ice in the lowball glass he set on the bar. I’m Tom.

Mary, I say.

I’m here on business, he tells me. They usually are, another reason I like Circle². It’s next door to a hotel where a lot of those types stay. Frequent traveler points, reasonable rates for client budgets, decent linens. But the hotel rooms are lonely and the front desk recommends Circle² for the good prices and proximity.

I like that, too.

Tom shrugs, a bit self-deprecating. We’re doing the dance. He’s being careful, feeling his way through. None of them realize that they all say the same things. It’s like we all know the code, the order of the invitations. It didn’t take me at all long to learn the steps. Hotel rooms get lonely, you know?

Would you like some company? I finish my Prosecco and set the empty flute next to his lowball. I’ve left scarlet lip prints on the fine rim.

His pretty brown eyes fire