Chapter 35
35
WHEN WE REACH our new table at the front of the room, the first thing I notice is that there’s no one else seated with us, or even near us.
Nick must see the surprise on my face. “I’ve been to these types of things before. These are big-spender tables for the mega-rich. If you pay a little extra to the right person, you get to reap the luxury of not having to mingle with the ‘common folk.’?”
“So, you and your fiancée are mega-rich?”
“We are,” he replies in a neutral tone.
I can’t tell if he’s referring to himself and Ava or himself and me, and a spark of unexpected frustration burns at the back of my throat.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“Same age as you.” He pulls out my chair. “A very belated happy birthday, by the way.” So he’s seventeen, I think. And he knows my birthday?
I allow Nick to seat me, even though my heart is pounding with the prospect of more time alone with him. All I have to do is get through dinner, I tell myself. Be impervious . Then, Zoe and I can face Erebus’s disappointment—or wrath—and figure out a new plan to get the crown.
I glance around the room and stifle a small heart attack when I realize that the woman who had been seated next to me might be confused at my disappearance—and Zoe and Mariah’s sudden appearance. But when I locate that first table across the room, the woman isn’t even looking at Zoe or Mariah. She’s sitting on the edge of her own seat, eyes darting all over the room at the increased security around its perimeter and the flashing lights overhead. At every entrance and exit, the guards have doubled.
And yet for all of that increased security, I still don’t feel any demon eyes on my skin, other than the sensation of Zoe’s occasional passing attention on my exposed left shoulder and cheek. When I glance at her again, her eyes are on the influx of new guards—and her nose has visibly wrinkled.
They must all be warlocks.
Ava, for her part, is seated even farther away from my and Nick’s table than Zoe and Mariah are. She’s staring at me with dark, cold eyes behind her mask, both arms crossed over her chest.
“Was that you?” Nick’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
When I turn back, I wonder how long he’s been studying me while wearing an expression that is somehow both guarded and disbelieving. Like he’s holding something back but still shocked that I’m here.
That I’m real.
I thought that I’d become acquainted with his face, but now I wonder if that’s even possible. It’s not just that he’s handsome; it’s that, even while he’s wearing a mask, his focused gaze unmoors me. Strips me bare. “Was what me?”
His blue eyes flick up to the flashing lights, to the security presence in the room. “The lights going out right before our meeting downstairs. Was that you and your friend?”
I blink, realizing what he’s asking. “Uh, no. We didn’t do that.”
“Huh,” Nick says, eyes scanning the room behind me as he thinks, “then someone else set off the security system, and you and I just happened to be the unfortunate beneficiaries of their failed attempt.”
“Someone else?”
“A third… meeting attendee.” Abruptly, he affects a wide smile and a slouch as he flags down a server in a tux passing our table. “Hey, what are we waiting for?”
The server stiffens at Nick’s casual demeanor—one that he’s simply pulled over his face as if it were yet another mask, just like before with Bianca. “Penumbra’s owner—and your esteemed host—will be addressing his guests shortly. I’m told we are securing the premises after an incident. You shouldn’t be waiting long—”
“Ugh,” Nick says, slouching farther. “I bet it’s gonna be some boring lawyer. Not even the real guy.”
The man bristles. “I assure you that there is only one master of the estate.”
“Oh,” Nick perks up. “So this Mikael guy is actually gonna be here? I heard he doesn’t even live on-site, just opens it up for parties.”
The server nods. “While Mr. Di Centa does not reside on the premises full-time, he prides himself on being a good host to all guests during these special events. All welcomed guests, anyway.”
Nick leans in. “Someone really tried to break into the building? Right in the middle of the gala?”
The server shifts his weight. “Not the manor proper, no.”
Nick’s eyebrow ticks up above his mask. “For real?”
But the server has grown tired of Nick’s affected demeanor, and his face closes down. “Would you like a drink while you wait, sir?”
Nick scratches at his chin, as if thinking. “A Lagavulin 25 for me. Neat. And a… French 75 for my lady?”
“Of course,” the server says, and pivots toward the bar.
After a beat, Nick straightens and looks at me. “What?”
My nose wrinkles. “Is that your bro face?”
Nick smirks. “You’ve asked me that before too.”
“I’ve watched you lie before, you mean?”
His mouth tightens. “I got good at… pretending. When I was younger.” He waves a hand toward Zoe. “You’re not bad yourself.”
“I’m—” I begin to say, then shake my head. “It’s not just you and me. You think these black-market buyers and millionaires are using their government names while wearing masks that hide half their faces?”
“I’m not talking about their disguises, I’m talking about yours.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Sure, you don’t,” he drawls, looking back out over the room.
I scowl at the back of his head, suddenly feeling an urge to brawl with him again, in one way or another. “You think you’re so clever.”
His chin turns in my direction, even as he scans the crowd. “Someone clever told me I was clever once, so I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“I have a feeling that ‘someone’ was me.”
“You’d be right.” A beat passes before Nick turns to me again. He hesitates. “This isn’t… how I thought I’d find you.”
An ache blooms in my chest, and I don’t know why. What does my body know about this boy that my mind doesn’t? “How did you imagine it?”
He gives me a long look. “I don’t think that matters anymore.”
My heart flutters in my throat. The server returns with our drinks before I can reply. Once he sets them both down on the table, Nick pulls a wallet out of his suit pocket and passes a bill to the server. “Thanks, brah.”
The moment between us is gone. The other mask Nick wears, the invisible one, has slid back in place. I shudder, then blink at the hundred-dollar bill the server pockets.
“Very good, sir,” the server says, turning to go.
As soon as he is out of earshot, Nick groans quietly. “ That will probably blow our cover before anything else will.”
“Why?” I ask. “Because you tipped him well?”
“Because I tipped him at all,” Nick replies. “Wealthy people don’t think anyone else deserves to get paid for their labor. They’re the worst tippers in the world.”
I pause, wondering how many wealthy people he’s spent time with and why he talks about them like he isn’t one himself if he’s, as he said, been to these types of events before. “But you did it anyway?”
Nick takes a sip of the golden liquid in his tumbler before he answers, wincing slightly at the burn as he sets it down. “I don’t know if that server understands who his boss is. Lots of innocent people get caught up in magic that could get them killed.”
I smirk. “So you’re not that good at pretending, after all.”
He flashes a quiet grin. “Not when I’m with you.”
My brain skips, then scatters. In one uttered sentence, Nick has sliced the tension between us. I dive into that opening, hungry for his honesty. “What else happens when you’re with me?”
Nick’s brow arches. “I think we’ve covered some of the basics tonight already.”
“Fighting?”
“I prefer to think of it as banter.”
I narrow my eyes. “Combat?”
“That one was new, but I’m not complaining. Are you?”
“No. It was like you said. I had… fun.” I surprise myself with my answer—but my answer doesn’t surprise Nick.
“I noticed.” He meets my annoyed gaze with an amused one of his own.
I pause, considering my next question. In the silence, Nick lightly rotates the glass tumbler on the table between his fingers. First back, then forth. He watches as I gather my own bravery. Waits as I summon my own honesty. Finally, I ask, “And what happened between us in the elevator…?”
The glass stills. “We’ve done that before, yes. Not in an elevator.”
I flush at the sense memory of heated lips and strong hands. A gravel driveway beneath my feet in the early morning. The electric shadows of a darkened room at another gala, another time. Was that him? Was that us? “Have we done that… a lot?”
His mouth twitches. “You’ll have to be specific.”
Oh, how this boy annoys me. I lower my voice. “The kissing. The… touching.”
Nick studies me for a moment before answering, eyes unreadable. “We’ve kissed enough that I know how you like to be kissed. We’ve touched enough that I know how you want to be touched. Which is how I know we shouldn’t keep talking about kissing… and touching.”
My breath catches. “Why?”
“Because before we had this conversation, you told me you were leaving after the gala to return to wherever you’ve been the last four months, and I’ve already decided that I won’t stop you.”
The finality in his voice steals any words I could generate in response. He holds my gaze while I hold his, until the volume of the ballroom around us abruptly rises, reminding me of where we are and who we’re supposed to be. Not Nick and Bree, unexpectedly reunited, former maybe-lovers, but Benedict and Iris, recently engaged young Collectors. When we look away, it’s just in time to see Mikael the Nightshade take the stage.
Mikael is dressed in black and green, just like his invitations. That alone tells me plenty: He likes control, and he wishes to make a certain impression. He enjoys the aesthetics of harmony, if not the truth of it.
Erebus said that Mikael likes being among humans. Values humanity for what it provides beyond the sustenance of our emotions. One look at this ancient Nightshade and even I can see that he’s bought into the very human, very turn-of-the-century, very American appearance of wealth and power. Much more so than either Erebus or Daeza.
Mikael wears a tailored black tuxedo jacket with a basil green silk scarf hanging down the lapel around his neck, and black tuxedo pants with deep emerald stripes. His dark hair is slicked back and gelled. He’s my height, but wider across the shoulders. Handsome and stately, with strong features, olive skin, and straight white teeth.
Mikael has arrived without a mask, and the statement is clear. He wants us to see him. Wants us to know him. Wants his followers to understand that he is so powerful he doesn’t need to hide. Of course, these humans don’t know that even the face he wears openly before them is yet another mask—just like Erebus and Daeza.
“A demonic great Gatsby,” I murmur.
Nick hums. “An enigmatic robber baron drunk on his own mythology?”
I glance around the room at the human guests who, for all their agitation and concern a few minutes ago, seem to be suddenly and wholly thrilled at the appearance of their host. “Something like that.”
Mikael doesn’t bother using the microphone when he calls for our attention.
“Good evening, everyone.” His voice flows across the room in a low wave. A commanding drawl laced with a Cheshire cat smile that silences the eager crowd with ease. “And welcome to Penumbra’s annual Collectors’ Gala.”
The room applauds. But even that is not loud enough to cover the sound of the door closing, sealing us all in with a loud, ominous click.
“If we have not met in person yet, I am Mikaelaz Di Centa. But, please, call me Mikael. I confess that I usually do not make an appearance so early in the evening at these events. I must admit, security alarms, emergency lights, and unexpected disruptions do not make good entertainment when conducting business that is not strictly legal.”
Nervous laughter skitters across the room, and the tension around us becomes palpable. A few people adjust their masks at their seats.
“However, I wanted to come before you personally to let you all know that I remain committed to the ethos of our gatherings and committed to maintaining your confidence. As a reminder: Masks that conceal the upper face are required, first names are encouraged, but inquiring as to last names and places of business is strictly banned among Collectors. What happens at Penumbra stays at Penumbra.”
As Mikael’s smile spreads, the laughter in the room shifts and lightens, but a spot at the back of my skull tingles slightly, as if I’ve been zapped by a tiny bolt of electricity.
“What the…?” I whisper. Nick raises his brows in a silent question, but I don’t have an answer for him. I don’t know what just happened, just that something did .
“Thank you for complying with my security team as they not only secured the premises but ensured your safety. Tonight, we had an attempted breach of a secured outbuilding on our grounds—not wholly unexpected, given the value of the items we have gathered for our event—but perhaps more distressingly, I must share that a second incident has occurred. One much more violent… and distasteful.” Mikael pauses, a small sneer pulling at his lips before he contains it. “Someone attacked one of my guards inside the building, leaving him badly injured and requiring medical attention. After a thorough sweep of the estate, my captain of security, Bianca, has determined that both the would-be thief and the assaulter are still here… among us.”
The room murmurs again, and a few voices rise in alarm. I resist the urge to glance at Zoe but feel her quick look my way. Beside me, Nick emits a low hum into his Scotch that feels specifically aimed in my direction. He’s gazing into his drink with far too much interest.
I scowl. I’d hoped to knock the warlock out long enough for me and Zoe to get out of here. It might have worked, too, if every other detail of our plan hadn’t imploded.
But who is this other thief, this third culprit, who attempted to steal something from a second location? My eyes snap to Ava without hesitation, but her attention is on Mikael. Could she have been the other thief tonight? If so, why? I thought she came here with Nick.
“I understand completely if some of you are too uncomfortable to proceed with our dinner and auction. Many of you have your own security concerns to keep in mind. If you would like to forfeit your chance to bid on the auction items scheduled for tonight, you are welcome to leave now and try your luck at earning an invitation to next year’s gala instead.”
Mikael pauses to let his words sink in. The hesitation to take him up on his offer settles on people’s faces. If they leave now, they may not be invited again.
When Elijah first explained the nature of these Collectors’ Galas to us, he, too, made it clear that we were only going to get one real shot at the crown here and now. If the crown or any other item tonight is successfully auctioned, it might never again exchange hands, even somewhat privately at an event like this. We’re sitting in a limited window of opportunity. And if I’m going to stop the Shadow King from being the Rootcrafter Hunter, then I can’t afford to miss it. This time, I do glance at Zoe, and she nods once—we’re on the same page. We’re staying, even if we need to improvise a new plan before dessert.
“We have moved all auction items to a more secure location and have decided to reschedule tonight’s auction to three days from now, on Sunday evening,” Mikael continues. “Any Collectors who remain interested in these items will need to submit to an appropriate, additional level of security screening—and remain on-site, here at Penumbra, for the duration of the weekend.”
Nick’s drink thunks down on the table, but the sound is buried beneath the eager uproar of the formally dressed guests around us.
Everywhere I look, Mikael’s Collectors are either clapping or exchanging anticipatory smiles at the prospect of staying at Penumbra for three more days. Where I only feel shock at this news, Mikael’s Collectors are joyous.
Mikael speaks over the wave of excited murmurs. “I see that many of you have been a Collector long enough to remember the last time Penumbra welcomed overnight guests in communion. As in the past, we will, of course, allow you to send for the necessary items you may need. Medications, toiletries, et cetera. In keeping with the traditional atmosphere of the estate, we will need to provide guests with approved attire to maintain the required dress code. All expenses and meals will be covered.” His comments are met with thunderous applause, as if he’d just offered everyone in the room their greatest desire.
My heart drums in my ears, but across the room, my eyes find Zoe’s. She’s already looking at me, inhaling slowly in acceptance.
Rules can change.
She lifts her bag slightly, reminding me that my own overnight bag is still at the table. Erebus suspected that Mikael would change the game mid-play, and he wanted us prepared. Relief floods through me at the realization that we’ll have another chance at the crown—and soon.
We just need to make it through the weekend and, apparently, let Mikael dress us all up like living dolls to fit his aesthetic. I can only hope that the Rootcrafter girl from the Rat is still connected to her root. That the King won’t drain her in three more days’ time, and that he’s consuming other sources of power.
All around us, guests are reaching under their tables to produce overnight bags of their own, and an uneasy feeling settles in my stomach.
These “Collectors” are not just an exclusive group of rare artifact admirers, not just Mikael’s eager followers. They are something more than that. Erebus’s voice returns to me once more: Mikael thrives where there is both human devotion and human greed.
But if the auction isn’t happening until Sunday, then what are these humans greedy for?
As Mikael continues to speak—this time about the grounds tours and amenities guests can enjoy over the next several days—the anticipatory hunger in the room sharpens. Like the Collectors are waiting to hear about a specific event. A specific activity.
“This is weird—” I begin, but stop when I feel the table beneath my hands rattle. It only takes a moment to realize that it’s Nick, his knee and thigh bouncing in agitation that matches his pensive expression. He has been so controlled and collected since I met him, or re-met him, that I’m alarmed by this open exhibit of nerves. He doesn’t even seem like someone capable of nerves. “What’s wrong?” I whisper.
“Three days,” he mutters, eyes cast to the middle distance. “I can’t stay here for three days.”
Panic streaks through me. We’re in this together now. If Nick—Benedict—leaves, does that mean “Iris” has to leave too? That won’t work. Zoe and I have to stay here to find the crown. Stop Erebus. Save the kidnapped girl. Save as many girls as we can. “Why not?” I demand.
Thoughts churn behind his eyes as if I’d never spoken. “That’s too much time.”
I was wrong. It’s not agitation I see in Nick, but desperation—and the thinnest thread of terror. What else does Nick know that I don’t? “Too much time for what?” I reach for his arm without thinking—but he jerks back as if I’d burned him.
Behind his mask, Nick’s eyes have become lightning, pinning me in his path. His face, a tortured thundercloud rolling close. “You weren’t supposed to be here. An hour or two, I could handle. But three days?” He looks away, taking the storm with him. “There’s no way in hell I can be around you for that long.”