From The Murderr Museum

"The Calloway Gallery of Modern Art was a "white box" cathedral of the highest order.

All white walls, polished concrete floors, and stark, pretentious lighting.

The air was thick with the murmur of D.C.'s cultural elite and the acidic fizz of cheap champagne.

Jess, in her "bohemian" green velvet tunic and silk pants, hovered anxiously by the door.

"Ms. Cross! Hannah! I'm so glad you made it. I was... I was worried when you..."

"Jess, darling, relax."

Jess's words caught in her throat. Hannah Cross had glided in, a vision in forest-green silk.

The backless dress was a masterpiece of understated elegance, but it was the woman who was overwhelming.

Her hair, a vibrant, electric purple, was coiled into a severe, elegant bun that seemed to make the "statement" art on the walls look cheap.

Her eyes, a normal analytical blue, held an "I own this room" confidence that was utterly magnetic.

"You look... wow," Jess breathed, her nervousness and professional desperation melting into pure, fawning awe. "Your hair..."

"A whim," Hannah purred, her voice the low, velvety thrum that Jess remembered from the phone. It wrapped around Jess's spine and made her feel that her only purpose in this room was to be at this woman's side.

Hannah took two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and handed one to Jess.

"Now, tell me," she said, her eyes glittering, "what am I drinking?"

"Oh, it's... it's just the gallery's house... sparkling wine," Jess stammered, mesmerized.

"No, darling," Hanavari purred, her eyes fixed on Jess's. "What am I drinking?"

"I... I don't..."

"I'm drinking you," Hanavari whispered, though her lips barely moved. She clinked her glass against Jess's. "To a... fruitful partnership."

Jess just nodded, her mind blank, and drank."