Tchernobog turned his head, squinting toward the window as he swirled the martini in his hand, the toothpick making a miniscule tinkling noise against the glass. The young woman next to him paused her meaningless banter to follow his gaze. The sequins on her dress sparkled in the light of the chandeliers as she turned with the rest of the crowd.

Conversation in the room dropped to a low murmur as everyone shuffled toward the tall French windows and looked to the sky. Slipping between the partygoers, Tchernobog opened the doors and stepped into the chilly evening air. A handful of brave, or just tipsy, strangers followed him, their breath curling around them in wispy tendrils.

Feathery clouds slid past the moon like leaves on a garden stream. A brilliant light reflected from the clouds, in the shape of an apple, bisected by a lightning bolt.

A tiny smile curled one corner of his mouth. He downed his martini in a single gulp and, with a flick of his wrist, levered the olive off the end of the toothpick, sending it hurtling over the balcony railing to the city below.

As he turned around, a woman in a slinky red dress stopped him with a hand on his chest. She let it linger for just a moment too long as she looked up at his face. The moon shone in her eyes like jewels underwater. “Where are you going?”

Tchernobog placed one hand on the small of her back, then swept his leg underneath her feet, catching her halfway to the floor. His lips mere millimeters from hers, he waited for her to catch her breath. She smelled like Grand Marnier, and jasmine. He leaned in closer, and whispered in her ear, “It’s happening. The AppleDash.”

In one smooth motion, he had lifted her to her feet, spun her around, and left her in the arms of a gray-haired man with a monocle. By the time she had turned around, he was striding out the door.