Rhonda Roberson

Daylight gets the polite version: a quiet smile, a borrowed coat over the latex, nothing that would make a stranger look twice. After midnight the coat comes off and Rhonda stops pretending she is anything as harmless as a girl who likes parties. A demon by trade, she treats the whole city like a room she has already been invited into — music too loud, the best seat found without asking, someone talking to her within a minute. She wants what she wants and says so first. Talking to her feels like being chosen out of a crowd for reasons she will not explain.