Blood, Ash, and Bone

CHAPTER Thirty-seven

The key to replicating a nineteenth-century ball appeared to be lots and lots of swag—white draperies, tablecloths in black linen, ribbons and garlands and hundreds of carnations. Small tables clustered on the perimeter of the ballroom, candlelit and cozy, with the larger inner space kept clear for dancing. And there would be dancing—reels and waltzes and polkas—the music provided by a five-piece band already filling the air with fiddle and dulcimer.

Trey surveyed the scene. The row of windows on the far wall overlooked the water. Even from where we stood, I could see the luminous sparks of River Street and the white dots of boats pulled up to the dock.

Trey eyed the room critically. “They didn’t close the curtains.”

“Didn’t your data proclaim this a low-risk zone?”

“No greater than average risk, yes. The dock is problematic, however, not enough on-site surveillance.” He frowned. “The interior perimeter should minimize any difficulties, however.”

“So everything looks good?”

“Everything looks acceptable.”

He still hadn’t reconciled his data and his gut. He might have been assigned only one asset—Reynolds—but some part of him still felt the urge to protect everyone in the room. He stood too close to me. A true Victorian chaperone would have swatted him by now.

I took his arm. “You’re nervous.”

“I know.”

“Can you go off the clock? Maybe have a drink, take a spin on the floor?”

“I don’t…” He looked across the ballroom and relaxed the tiniest degree. “Good, they’re here.”

I followed his gaze. Reynolds and Marisa stood next to the punchbowl. She wore all black, including a French mantilla veil over her sleekly styled up-do. I’d never seen her work a room before, but her eyes swept back and forth like Trey’s, cataloging every detail. For the first time it occurred to me that she was as well-armed as Trey, and as potentially dangerous.

Reynolds spotted us and bustled his way over. He looked like a daguerreotype come to life, his white beard trimmed, his stocky body in a black frock coat, this time with a white sash across his chest. He had a sword too, the same one he’d worn to the reenactment.

“Good evening!” He grinned at Trey. “You’re looking all the dash, young man. Marisa wants to see you for a quick yoo-hoo.” Then he turned to me. “May I ask the lady for a dance in your absence?”

Trey looked at me, puzzled. I tapped him with my fan. “He’s supposed to ask you, and you’re supposed to say yes, and then I’m supposed to dance.”

“Oh. Yes. I suppose.”

I took Reynolds’ elbow and moved onto the dance floor as Trey went over to talk to Marisa. The band began a lilting waltz, all strings and harpsichord.

Reynolds swiveled me into position. “You’re looking exceedingly lovely, m’dear.”

“Really? I feel like a top-heavy wedding cake.”

“Nonsense.”

I put one hand on his shoulder, and he gathered the other in his gloved fingers. He smelled of aftershave and warm wool. In his time, he’d been a heartbreaker, I was certain of it. We mingled with the sweeping circle, in the timeless one-two-three. Reynolds was a fine dancer—assured, natural, easy.

He laughed. “You’re trying to lead.”

“You’re surprised?”

He laughed some more. I tried to follow. Things worked easier when I let the pressure of his hand guide me, when I countered his movement not with resistance, but with response. I caught glimpses of Trey over his shoulder, he and Marisa in a close confab.

Reynolds smiled. “You like the sword?”

“It’s very suave.”

“Look closer.”

I glanced down again. For the first time, I saw the cross-hatching on the scabbard, the dings and discolorations on the grip, and most telling of all, the floating C. S. casting on the hilt.

“Omigod, that’s a genuine Leech and Rigdon!”

Reynolds grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That thing’s worth fifty thousand dollars!”

“And then some,” he agreed pleasantly.

“How in the hell—”

“Easy.” He bent his head closer to my ear, not once dropping the beat. “I smuggled it out of Audrina’s safe room.”

“Won’t she notice the sword-shaped hole?”

“Not if there’s a sword in it.”

I stopped dancing. “Are you telling me you stuck a fake sword in your sister’s collection and stole the real one?”

He made a hurt face and swirled me back into step. “Not stole. Borrowed.”

“I’m not sure Audrina will see it that way.”

“Bah. She’ll never know.”

“She will if she opens up that display case.”

He made a scoffing noise. “Like she ever breaks the seal on that glass. Besides, even if she did, she can’t tell the difference. The only person who can is Fitzhugh, and I’ll have it back before he notices a thing.”

“I noticed!”

“Not at the reenactment, you didn’t.”

I gaped at him, then smacked him with my fan. “You cannot go waltzing around—literally—with a fifty-thousand-dollar sword on your hip!”

“People don’t see what’s there, m’dear, they see what they think is there, and they think they see a prop sword worth maybe a hundred bucks.” He moved me into step again. “Let the poor old sword have a night on the town. It’ll be trapped in the museum soon enough.”

“There are snipers!” I hissed. “Also on the town. Also looking for something exactly like that to snatch!”

“Trey said it was safe here.”

“His actual words were ‘no greater than average risk’ which is not the same thing!”

Reynolds rolled his eyes. “Now you sound like him, all tedious and stick-in-the-mud.”

I planted my feet and glared at him. “Trey came here tonight for one reason—to protect you—so for you to go flaunting—”

“You’re overreacting. Smile and dance.”

I smacked him again as the orchestra brought the dance to a close. Reynolds bowed and backed away, leaving me standing on the dance floor, my brain whirling. The fiddles kicked into high gear as a reel unspooled, but I wasn’t sticking around for it. I hiked my skirts and headed for Trey, who waited beside the punchbowl.

“You’re not gonna believe this.”

He frowned. I explained. On the dance floor, Reynolds spun some giggly young thing in a circle. Trey watched him, astonished.

“You can’t be serious,” he said.

“Of course I’m serious!”

“But I explained the risk factors involved—”

“I know! He told me I was overreacting!”

Trey stared after him. “I need to tell Marisa. Stay here.”

He hurried over to where Marisa stood, then bent his head to her ear. Her eyes widened. She whispered something back to him and marched onto the dance floor, where she snagged Reynolds by the elbow and hauled him off the floor. He shot me a look as he passed, like a naughty boy being dragged to the woodshed.

Trey came back and stood beside me. “She’s taking him back to the room. She’ll be putting the sword into the safe and calling Audrina next.”

“Who is gonna be seriously pissed.”

“I suspect so. But it’s the necessary response.”

The ball swirled around us, glamour and illusion weaving itself into a tapestry. Appearances deceived, half-revealed, half-revealing. Real swords, fake uniforms, the sheen of the surface. Nobody ever looked below the surface. Nobody ever wanted to.

People don’t see what’s there, they see what they think is there.

The realization struck me so hard I gasped. “Omigod, I know what Fitzhugh’s hiding!”