Rosalind turned around the moment she heard Portia's footsteps coming down the stairs. "I'm ready," Portia said.
Her sister wore black head to toe, down to the tips of her dominatrix boots. Her hair was pulled back with a fedora low over her eyes, which were smoky with makeup. She tugged on black gloves as she descended the last few steps. "Why are you staring at me like that?"
Rosalind shook her head. "You just look ..."
"What?"
"Dark."
"It's important to dress properly for each occasion." She waved at herself. "I'm dressed for planning a heist."
Rosalind bit her lip to keep from grinning, knowing her sister wouldn't appreciate the humor. She slung her arm around Portia's shoulder. "Let's go, Bonnie."
They walked slowly to the Red Witch because of Portia's heels. Rosalind shook her head, knowing better than to point out that if the police were chasing her, she'd be hobbled by those boots.
"Rosalind." Portia stopped suddenly, grabbing her arm.
"What is it? Do your feet hurt?"
"My feet?" Frowning, she shook her head. "No. I wanted to apologize."
"What for?"
Portia fidgeted with the edging on her gloves. "I haven't been nice to you since you've been back."
Rosalind shrugged. "You've been upset by Father's death."
"That's not an excuse. I've been difficult, and I'm sorry for it."
She opened her mouth to dismiss it, but she realized Portia was really serious. So she smiled and nodded. "I accept your apology."
Portia surprised her by throwing her arms around her.
She blinked, not sure when the last time her sister had hugged her, if ever. Portia had always been self-contained and proper. But Rosalind got past the awkwardness and clenched her sister close.
"Well." Portia pulled away, wiping under her eye. "I suppose we should get going."
When they walked into the bar, Rosalind felt an immediate longing for Nick. She glanced at the table where they'd sat and wanted to call him. Only she couldn't-not now. They had a robbery to plan. She followed Portia up to the bar.
It was quieter than the last time she'd been there. There were two older men playing chess in a corner, their pints untouched. Another man read at one end of the bar. The perfect ambiance to plot a break-in.
"This is colorful," Portia said. "I didn't know there were places like this close to home."
Rosalind expected Portia to get snooty, but she went straight up to the bar, her eyes bright as she inspected the bottles.
Niamh glanced at Portia and then gave Rosalind a big smile. "Who's your friend, love?"
"My sister Portia," she said as she pulled out a barstool.
The bartender pulled out a shot glass and filled it with Jameson's. "She's not going to rob me, is she?"
"You're safe tonight."
"What are you having, Rosalind?" Portia leaned over her glass and sniffed. She made a face. "That's rather potent, isn't it? I believe I'll have one as well."
Niamh raised her brows but just shrugged and poured Portia a glass as well. "Sláinte," she said as she slid Portia's glass toward her.
Her sister eagerly sipped, her face going red as she swallowed. She coughed discreetly and then said, "It's perfect, actually. I feel very edgy."
