In the center of the room, Viola was still dancing. Harte was going to start backing away, using Jack’s interest in the performance to his advantage, but when the music changed, she dropped her finger cymbals and, in a dramatic motion, reached behind her back and withdrew a brace of thin, silver knives that glistened in the brilliant electric light of the gallery.
Harte stopped short, watching warily as Viola danced with the knives splayed between her fingers. He’d heard about what Viola could do with a knife, the way she could hit any target from any distance. Whoever her target was that night didn’t stand a chance, but then again, neither did she. The second she used her affinity, she’d be found out.
Without warning, the drum snapped out a rim shot, and Viola let a knife fly. Swiiip, it sailed through the air and took a cap off a server’s head, pinning it to the wall behind. The room erupted into wild applause, and Jack elbowed him, absolutely delighted at the show.
But there had been no spike of energy, no telltale warmth to give away her magic. Maybe her skill with the knives is simply that—a skill, he thought, when none of the guards moved to stop her.
As she spun, all eyes in the room were on her, waiting for her next move with the kind of nervous excitement Harte had seen before dogfights or before bare-knuckle matches. It was the desire to see violence done to someone else, to be close to the blade of danger without ever being cut.
It wasn’t anything Harte himself was interested in anymore. He’d had too much violence and danger in his life already. The only thing that interested him now was what the girl was doing. He saw her then, the only one moving across the room instead of watching the entertainment, inching her way toward the door to the gallery beyond.
So that’s her game, he thought with sudden uneasiness.
In the middle of the floor, Viola was still dancing, now weaving through the room, pulling one of the dour-looking guards into the dance with her gossamer scarf. The other guards laughed, slapping each other as they watched her draw their friend into the center of the room. Away from the door he was supposed to be guarding.
Misdirection, Harte understood. It was the heart of any illusion, and Viola’s was particularly effective.
Swiiip. Another knife sailed through the air, pinning the sleeve of another guard to the wall. More laughter erupted as he tried to free himself.
Harte began to move toward the closed gallery, to where the girl was standing with her back to the door, her hands behind her. Again, there was no betraying energy, no sign that she was using any affinity.
Clever thief. ?Talented, too, if she could pick that lock without looking and without magic. Luckily, she was too busy concentrating on her task to notice him approaching her, but she went completely still when he sidled up next to her.
“Fancy meeting you here,” he said, dipping his head low so that no one else would hear. He was ready this time for the effect she had on him, the talent she had for distracting him when he should most be paying attention.
Her eyes widened, but that was the only indication of her surprise. “Go away,” she told him, her hands still working behind her.
He had to admire the backbone in her. “You know, you can’t use magic in here—they have Mageus watching for it.”
“I’m aware,” she said, glancing at him.
He frowned. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you’ll never get out of here without it.”
“It’s sweet of you to think I need saving, but I’ll be fine. If you’d be a dear and leave me alone, that is.”
“Save you?” he said, widening his eyes dramatically. “Is that what you think I’m doing?” He inched closer. “I’m only interested in saving myself. You do what I think you’re about to do, and I might get caught in the crossfire.”
“Then maybe you should get out of the way.”
He moved closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “Maybe those men in the dark suits would be interested in meeting you. I’m sure they’d have a few questions about why you’re dressed like that.”
“I’d be happy to give them some answers,” she said too sweetly, batting her eyes at him innocently. “I’m sure they’d love to hear all about a certain magician who has more magic than they realize up his sleeves.”
“You wouldn’t,” he said, almost amused in spite of himself.
“I might,” she said, but her eyes were laughing at him. “I’ve decided I kind of hate you, you know.”
He found himself smiling. “I assure you, sweetheart, the feeling is mutual.”
“Well, then . . . Since we seem to understand each other now, you might want to move.”
The smile fell from his face. “Mo—”
The word was only halfway out when he felt the breath of air as a silver knife flashed between them. It was enough to make him step back.
Then the lights went out.
A CHANGE IN PLANS
Her heart was still pounding from the surprise of having Harte Darrigan materialize out of nowhere. She’d been so busy focusing on the feel of the lock, letting the vibrations from the pick guide her, that she hadn’t even seen him until it was too late.
Thank god for Viola. Or thank god Viola had only distracted him, when Esta was pretty sure Dolph’s assassin would have been just as happy to skewer them both. She’d definitely wanted to earlier, when Esta had explained her plan for Viola to create a distraction by replacing the troupe’s dancer. She had a feeling Viola didn’t forgive easily.
Not that she had time to worry about that. The second the lights went out, Esta slipped into the next gallery, leaving behind the gasping, buzzing crowd in the antechamber.
“Jianyu?” she whispered. “Are you here?”
“Where else would I be?” His voice came out of the darkness. “What is happening? This was not the plan.”
“Plan’s changed,” she said, sparking a small flame and lighting the nub of a candle she’d carried in her sleeve. Then she lifted her tunic and removed the clothing she’d hidden there. “They have Mageus for guards. If you use your affinity, you’ll never get out. Here—” She tossed him the gauzy pants and scarf. “Loosen your hair and put these on. And be quick about it.”
Jianyu rubbed the silky fabric between his fingers. “These are for a woman.”
“Yeah. Get moving.” She took the bundle of objects Jianyu had collected and began fastening them beneath her clothes. She wrapped a rolled canvas around her upper thigh and tucked a couple of small carved cylinders into the fabric binding her breasts.
Jianyu wasn’t changing. He simply glared at her. “You want me to dress as a woman?”
“That’s the basic idea,” she said, sliding a smaller canvas around her other ankle, fastening it in place with the garter for her socks.
“No,” Jianyu said, dropping the sapphire silk into a pile at his feet.