And it had been unexpectedly hard, working for Wellington & Ketchum, knowing that she was so close, almost there, and yet not really any more likely to find out who had killed Rose than before. So she’d drowned out the voices that knew precisely how stupid this was because being smart about it was too frustrating.
She waited and watched and the evening dragged on, and her glass got closer to empty, and Harper felt less and less like she was going to find anyone useful in this bar. There weren’t a lot of people there, and those who were seemed . . . obvious. Magic so aggressively over-the-top that it looked fake. She wondered if it was, and leaned across to the bartender. “That guy has lit his own hair on fire three times now.”
The bartender rolled her eyes. “He’s in here all the time. The hair thing is his one party trick. It usually comes complete with a joke about how hot he is. Three’s a slow night for him. He’ll be fine.”
Drunken antics with the addition of magic really weren’t any more entertaining than normal drunken antics. Harper contemplated ordering another drink but decided against it. They were slammed at the office, and she was hoping that if she proved herself on the mundane stuff quickly, Madison would let her work on files directly related to magic. “I’m calling it a night,” Harper said.
“Be careful. There’s women who have been hassled—maybe even worse—after leaving here. Take a cab, maybe.”
“What do you mean, worse?” Harper asked.
“Worse like murdered. Finger bones removed.” She shuddered.
“Finger bones?” The dread of recognition, a lump in her center that she had to breathe around. Rose’s hands had been cut into, like someone wanted to remove her bones.
“Like they were killed for their magic. Which means this creep is stalking magicians. So like I said, be careful. Take a cab.”
Harper added an extra twenty to her tip, grateful for the warning. “Thanks. You, too.”
She stood outside, letting the cold air wash over her, letting it clear the noise and closeness of the bar from her mind, and thought about walking home. She wasn’t that far. But then she thought about how swollen her feet were in her shoes and the likeliness of being able to run in them. “You aren’t actually a superhero,” she reminded herself, and hailed a cab.
? ? ?
Grey left Colin Blackwood’s party early and in a bad mood. He’d had to stand there and listen as Colin—Colin, of all people, who hadn’t even made it past his second challenge, who’d been humiliated by that chick Laurent had hired—had bragged about how he was in Miles Merlin’s inner circle, how he’d been promised a place in House Merlin at the end of the Turning.
“You should talk to him, Grey. I heard your last challenge was rough.” All artificial sympathy.
“Not that rough—I won.”
“Still. Merlin can help. I’ll put in a good word for you.” Colin smiled, and Grey wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth.
He’d mumbled something half-polite and left.
“I couldn’t wait to get out of there, either.” She was curvy and dark-haired, and Grey was sure he knew her. He racked his brains, and knew it was his lucky night after all when they spit out a name.
“Hayley? Hayley Dee?”
“Wow, I didn’t think you’d remember me. I had such a crush on you in high school.” She smiled, stepped closer. He could see the flush of alcohol in her face, her unsteadiness on her feet. She had been, he remembered, a couple of years behind him in school. Barely any magic.
Perfect.
“I always remember the cute girls. Want to go grab a decent drink somewhere?” he asked.
“I’d like that,” she said.
He needed more magic, and she had just enough. He made sure they never got to the bar.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When the next failure of magic occurred, it was extremely public and impossible to mistake for anything else.
It happened in front of nearly the entire Unseen World. Another party, one to mark an unspoken change in the first part of the Turning and to celebrate the success of everyone still competing. A subtle signal that the real challenges—not just those about settling petty grievances and taking revenge for decade-old gossip—were about to begin. The duels weren’t mortal yet, but they were serious now.
The evening was meant to be a civilized, elegant occasion. The duel was even being fought with a civilized choice of magic: illusion. Perfect accompaniment to champagne bubbling in graceful coupes and rich food arranged like sculptures on plates the precise warm cream shade of the beeswax candles that decorated the tables.
Sydney had been right that Laurent would be invited to all the parties after her performance at the first duel. It seemed increasingly likely that the end of the Turning would see the establishment of House Beauchamps, and better to get to know him now, so as to have his ear and his friendship when he came into power. So that he might, perhaps, even feel indebted to those who were welcoming when he was still an outsider. Laurent knew exactly how much those welcomes meant, and so he turned down most of the invitations, but as he was that evening’s challenger, he was there, tall and elegant in his tuxedo.
She watched, grey eyes keen, as Heads of Houses and their heirs introduced themselves to Laurent, invited him to dance, leaned close and whispered to him as they stood around the small, high-topped tables that ringed the room. Miles Merlin, she noted, had not gone over to pay court. He was, instead, watching her. That was fine. She had come to be watched. She waved, pleased when Merlin ostentatiously ignored her.
She felt Ian at her elbow before she heard his voice. “You’re looking well.”
“Blood on the inside this time, and look—not even a scar.” Her dress, a severe plunge of black held by the thinnest of straps paid proof to her words.
“Better than well.” Ian smiled. “And what splendid activity do you plan to put them through tonight? Will you convince the gilded Heads of all the Houses that they should cluck like chickens or sing opera?”
“Not in the least,” Sydney said. “I think I’d like to see an opera someday, and the quality of the arias likely to come out of this crowd would probably end that desire. Besides, tonight’s challenge is illusion.”
“Will you play our nightmares over the walls like movies?”
“It’s not a bad idea. If I do, I promise to buy you popcorn first.”
“And sit with me and hold my hand during the scary bits?” He stepped close enough that she could feel the warmth of his skin.
“They’ll all be scary bits. That’s the point of nightmares.”