Candlelit chandeliers swayed ever so gently from the ceiling of the Yaäuper Rea Ballroom. Yagrin tugged at his tux jacket, then eyed the seam of the doors for any indication of tampering. There was none. He reared back ever so slightly on his heels, pushing his magic up through his body to his head to sharpen his Dragun senses. If there was even a whiff that tonight’s exchange of Headmistresses’ goods downstairs could bleed into this ballroom, he would run out of there right now. Mother be damned. But it appeared all at the Tidwell was in order, glittering and decadent. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes.
“Your heart’s racing.” Red worked her hand into his clammy fist.
“Yours is, too.”
“You really don’t have to be so nervous. I’ll be fine.”
He escorted her through the crowd, smiling at the familiar faces. “Don’t make eye contact with anyone unless it’s completely unavoidable.”
“Yagrin, just because I like living on a farm doesn’t mean—”
“This is not a game, Red.” He ushered them to a dark corner.
“No, it’s a party.” Her finger traced the slope of his nose and it melted him. How he wished none of this mattered. That having two left feet could be the worst of his anxieties tonight. But the veil he wore when he was with her had been ripped off when they stepped through the Q’s doors.
“The rules, tell them to me again.”
She sighed. “Don’t talk to anyone; if they try to talk to me, make a quick excuse and hurry away. If someone asks how I know you, I should say that I don’t. Not even your name. And not give any explanation beyond that. Let’s see, oh, and under no circumstances am I to leave this ballroom.”
“Promise me.”
“Yag—”
“Promise me, please.”
“I promise.”
He tried to exhale but couldn’t. He wanted to believe he could have this moment with Red, give her what she wanted and appease his Headmistress, too. His two worlds could coexist without colliding, even if tonight would be a near miss. He checked his watch again and looked for his peers or the freckle-faced girl who Mother had reminded him twice may be here tonight. But when a portly fellow walked toward him with wide eyes, Yagrin swept Red in another direction.
“Go over to the ice sculpture. Stay there until I come back and grab you.” He left her there, and shame twisted his insides. This wasn’t what Red wanted when she insisted on coming. But it was the best he could offer. Word could not get back to his family or anyone from his House that he was there with someone. They’d begin to ask questions, find out she was Unmarked, and assume he’d shared the secrets of their world. His stomach soured at the thought of what they would do then.
The big-bellied fellow plucked a slender purple-leaved cigar from a shiny case embossed with a cracked column as he caught up with him. “I thought that was you. They keep it so dim in these places. How have you been, my boy? I didn’t realize you all would be here tonight.”
“Fine, sir.” He craned for a glimpse of his Dragun brethren.
“All in order?”
Yagrin smiled politely. He wasn’t foolish enough to affirm or deny their private business.
“Well, I won’t keep you, I can see you have things to attend to.” He watched Yagrin for a response, but Yagrin remained stoic as he told the nosy House alum goodbye.
He was headed toward the sculpture to rejoin Red, who was poking holes in the ice, when he spotted a black and red gown from the corner of his eye. He glanced that way for his Housemate, but she was gone. Where were the rest of them? He peered through the crowd. The ballroom was massive, twice the size of the ones at Hartsboro. He navigated through the bodies of chattering people, head down, grateful at least the size of the crowd was working in his favor. He spotted another Housemate with mussed-up dark hair and a tailored suit. The fellow tapped his watch and held up three fingers at Yagrin.
Downstairs in three minutes.
Yagrin flipped his coin and blew out a breath before quickly checking on Red. She’d broken off a chip of ice and was stirring it in her drink.
“Okay, problem,” she said.
Yagrin’s heart hiccupped. “What?”
“My feet hurt. These heels, I—”
“Just blend in, please. I have to go handle a thing. The rules, remember.” He left her there swearing to himself he’d never do this again and somehow, after they left, he’d make it up to her.
Yagrin stepped into the elevator, and three of his peers joined him without a word, all Draguns who’d finished with him last Season. The one beside him crossed her arms.
“What’s wrong?” He pressed the hidden button to the lowest garage floor of the Q, the one only accessible by members.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she said, clearly lying.
“Whatever’s clouding your head, forget it,” he said. “We’re doing this clean tonight; smooth, no screwups, no escalations. Officium est honor quis.”
“Keep talking like that and people might believe you actually want to be here,” she said. The two beside her smirked. When the doors opened, Yagrin hustled out of there as fast as he could and followed a long hall to a glass-encased meeting room.
“Yagrin,” their leader for the night greeted him, his mask already on his face. “Surprised to see you.”
“Charlie.” He shrugged, confused.
Charlie’s glare hardened but he turned his attention to the others, and Yagrin was finally able to swallow.
“Bring it in,” Charlie said, and everyone huddled around him. “We’re here to exchange those packing crates”—he pointed at a plastic-wrapped tower of wooden shipping pallets in an adjoining room separated by a glass window—“for payment. Once the deal is done, if you sniff out any toushana among their men, have at it. But only maim as needed. That’s from Mother herself. Dragunhead gets no word of this one. Questions?”
His Housemate in the long dress flexed her fingers. “He never lets us have any fun.”
“Who’s the customer?” Yagrin asked.
Charlie sucked his teeth before answering. “Old man Manzure.”
Yagrin shifted on his feet. Manzure was a snake. “We have to maintain the upper hand.”
“No shit, Yagrin.” Charlie shrugged him off. “Let’s go.” He pounded his fists together and then to his chest.
“Aye,” Yagrin barked with the others, and where it usually rang hollow, tonight he meant it. He would be the monster, not for Mother, for Red. As he walked off, Charlie pulled him back by the hem of his coat.
“Just stay out of the way, all right? Before you mess something up.”
The lashing stung, but Yagrin rolled his shoulders and followed them into the room.
Inside, a petite fellow with a crown of white hair and a matching mask on his face sat, alone with a small briefcase on his lap. Yagrin’s stomach twisted. Manzure hadn’t brought a single bit of muscle to meet with a group of Draguns? Something was wrong. His peers all watched, impassive.
“It’s good to see you again, Charlie,” Manzure said. “How have you been?”
“We’re here to do pre-agreed business. Not to talk.” Charlie squared his shoulders. “Payment?” He held out his hand and Manzure’s tightened on the briefcase in his lap.
“You have grown so much, inches, I dare say,” Manzure said, now running his fingers across the length of his briefcase.
Charlie checked his watch. “You have three minutes to deliver on this deal or the offer to purchase is permanently rescinded.”
Yagrin clenched his fist.
“You know, obsession with youth is what drives most to madness in their old age.” Manzure crossed his arms. “But I don’t think that makes sense. You see, when you are young, your strength is in the way, your magic answers more quickly, you can zip around faster, flex your brawn. But when you are old”—he touched his temple, rimmed in receding hair—“your strength is in your wit. If you survive long enough, you’ll see what I mean.”
“Two minutes,” Charlie says.
“I have reconsidered the terms of the offer and have decided the price for the liquid kor is exorbitant. I will take the same quantity for half price.” He played with the locks on his briefcase, and Yagrin’s heart leapt.
“You—”
The thrung of Manzure’s briefcase clicking open shut Charlie’s mouth and sent shivers up Yagrin’s spine. Out of the suitcase he pulled a nail clipper and file, then proceeded to manicure his nails.
“And as you consider siccing your dogs on me, if I am not back upstairs by the stroke of the hour, my Shifters—strategically placed around this hotel—have instructions to seal the exits and shift the air to methyl chloride. The entire ballroom, all your lovely guests, would be dead within minutes. And not to mention the legal implications for dear Mister Wexton and his precious hotel. It would be the top news in all the papers. The scandal.” He cupped his cheek, as if smitten with himself.
Yagrin and the others gape at each other first, then Charlie.
“It’s as I said, Charlie.” Manzure tapped his temple. “When you are older, you will plan with your head, not just muscle.”
Yagrin’s gut lurched as he looked to the others for some sort of direction. Each of them wore blank stares. His heart thrummed. They had to do something. Fast. Red was up there.
“Charlie, this guy is a bluffer,” Yagrin whispered in his ear, but his Dragun brother was frozen with indecision. He could sit there and wait for someone else to decide Red’s fate or he could do it himself.
Yagrin pulled at the cold dead trickle of darkness and twisted his torso until he disappeared. Charlie glared in shock as Yagrin encircled the room in a dark fog. The world darkened at its edges as he lassoed his shadowed self around Manzure. Yagrin jerked his body and his cloak cinched tight, squeezing Manzure’s neck, choking him with darkness. He swatted at him, but Yagrin was no more than air.
Manzure may have been older and wiser, but he was human, and like anyone else, when it came down to it, he would save himself. Everyone was a coward in the end. Just as he was.
“Let . . .” He coughed. “Me . . . Go!”
Yagrin squeezed. He hadn’t brought a single person of protection into the meeting room. He was all bluff. The Shifter threat was a bluff, too, he would bet.
The world’s color faded, and for a moment Yagrin’s grip on Manzure slacked as his cloaking magic drained him, as if he’d been hanging upside down too long. Manzure grew woozy. But Yagrin wasn’t much better. He needed to let go, soon. Once Manzure’s will buckled and he sagged in his chair, Yagrin reappeared, breathless. He staggered, then steadied himself and grabbed Manzure in a Dragunhold, hand cupped on the back of the neck, thumb pressed up into his chin. Manzure wriggled like a fish caught on a line, then stiffened as the paralyzing magic set in.
“His phone,” Yagrin said to Charlie, who tossed it to him. “Call them now. These Shifters of yours. Go on.”
Eyes around the room darted in every direction. Charlie’s lips thinned. But Yagrin tightened his grip. He knew what he was doing. There were no Shifters. This would prove it. He released his hold on him, and Manzure sank in his chair. Then tapped Call on his phone.
“Sir?” the voice on the phone said.
Yagrin’s heart leapt. He wasn’t bluffing.
He had to salvage this.
“I—” Manzure started, but Yagrin was faster. He summoned all the magic he could muster. Heat pooled in his gut, and he shoved up into his chest, into his head until magic burned behind his ears, down his throat, and onto his lips. He blew, air rippled through his fingers, and he pictured himself plucking the notes of Manzure’s voice one by one, mimicking their pitch and tone.
Manzure opened his mouth, but it was Yagrin who spoke.
“The deal is done, abandon your positions,” he said, in Manzure’s voice. The man’s eyes widened as if he’d seen a ghost, and his briefcase slipped from his lap. Yagrin’s Housemate with the long dress plucked the envelope from the fallen briefcase.
“Thanks for the charity,” she said.
Yagrin collapsed in relief.
By the time he could stand without swaying, almost all of Yagrin’s peers and Manzure had been cleared out. He checked his watch. Past midnight.
“Come on, then,” Long Dress said, roping his arm around her shoulders to lug him up. “I misjudged you, I guess.”
“Did you?” A scowl stained Charlie’s expression as he appeared behind them. “Or did you peg him just right?”
Yagrin steadied himself on his own feet and dusted off his jacket. He needed to get back upstairs to Red. “Manzure was going to take out the whole ballroom. I did something good.”
“Since when do some Unmarked in silk suits matter more than getting Mother her payment?”
Red’s face was on the back of Yagrin’s eyelids. “Some of our people are up there. They’re not all Unmarked.” An excuse, but still true.
“Look around, Yagrin. Our people are all down here.”
He went cold all over. Mother’s people. Their House. The unspoken rule: House first.
“I should go,” Yagrin said, brushing past Charlie.
“Where you off to tonight?” Charlie asked at his back.
He ignored him. When the door closed, he took off in a full sprint toward the elevator. Back on the ballroom floor, Yagrin sifted through the thinned crowd for sight of Red. They needed to get out of there. He was naive to think tonight could work. He spotted her tittering behind her gloved hand with a sinewy blonde in a teal flowered dress. His throat thickened.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt.” He tugged her along.
“Slow down.” She had to walk-run to keep up with him.
“I told you, talk to no one.”
“You left me up here for forever. I almost went home.”
He rubbed his temples. “Look, I’m sorry. Let’s just get out of here.” He turned and bumped into one of his Housemates from downstairs.
“Sorry to interrupt, Yagrin,” his blond-haired brother said. “And you are?”
Red gaped at the Dragun’s outstretched hand. She looked at Yagrin.
“You didn’t tell your own brothers that you had a friend, Yags?” Blondie said. “We’re supposed to be family.” He jostled Yagrin’s shoulders.
“We just met,” Red said.
“I have it on good authority you’ve known each other for some time.” He glanced over his shoulder at the girl in the teal dress Red had been talking to.
Red’s eyes darted.
“Yags, Mother called. Something urgent popped up. She needs to see you.”
“I’ll go to her as soon as I get Red home.”
“We’ll see her home.” Blondie stepped forward. Charlie and the others were suddenly at his back. “You should get to Mother. There’s a chopper on the roof, waiting.” Charlie tried to pull him along but Yagrin shoved off their hands. People started to watch.
“Don’t make a scene,” Charlie warned.
Yagrin huffed. He shouldn’t overreact or they’d know there was more to him and Red.
Red wore a smile. But Yagrin could only see worry in her brown eyes.
“It’s fine, I can get home on my own. I hope your mother’s okay.” Red started toward the door, but Blondie stepped in her path.
“I’ll escort you out,” he said, offering his arm. She swallowed before looping hers around his.
“Let me know when you make it home.” Yagrin hugged her goodbye. “Get away from them as soon as you can,” he whispered in her ear. She broke the hug and smiled tightly before they were off. Yagrin resituated his coat around himself as he, too, was ushered out the door.
