Chapter Twenty
LOLA
Noonday glow gilds the sky as Arden and I hurtle through Aethera in the back of a cab to seek out my father.
“Help me with these cuff links, would you, darling?” Arden asks, holding out a sleeve.
“Of course.” I fiddle with the gemstone closures as tension mounts in my stomach. I’ve had a dozen meetings with my father over the past few weeks, but no matter how many times I do, the nerves never dissipate.
Thankfully Arden, who, in true Arden fashion, spent all morning worrying about every single possible worst-case scenario for this job, has slotted fully into his con artist mentality.
Ever since we left the Brig, he’s been the picture of calm, and thank the gods for it, because I think I’d lose my mind otherwise.
He’s dressed to the nines, sporting one of the most expensive suits I’ve ever seen. Glittering black stitching accentuates its crisp lines. A silken cravat of the highest quality shines at his throat.
“There. That should do it,” I say, releasing his sleeve.
“You’re a gem.” He throws me one of his signature Arden smiles as he runs carefully manicured fingers through his long, gelled hair. “Did you bring the cigars?”
“Of course.” I produce the box, a rare selection from the Zitinillo Onyx Collection—one of the priciest cigars in the world, worth several thousand plats apiece.
“Ah, perfect.” He slides it into his jacket pocket like it’s nothing special.
For Arden, it probably isn’t. He was born to a billionaire investor father and spent the entirety of his life before joining the Tentacles on lavish trips wearing luxurious clothing and rubbing shoulders with some of the most prominent people in the world.
While Enzo loves fashion, Arden lives his life like he’s on a runway, which makes him the perfect smooth talker for all our high-profile cons.
“All right, you keep the receptionist occupied,” I say, going over the plan for the third time, “while I sneak through the back entrance.” I dig in my pocket for a handful of Jade’s voratium popper pebbles and drop them into his palm. “Just in case.”
“Oh, thank the skies.” He laughs. “Don’t get me wrong, I can throw a punch as well as Soren any day, but I did just get my nails done yesterday, so if I can avoid it . . .”
“I have some, too,” I say with a nervous smile. “If you hear them going off, that’ll be my signal I need your help.”
“Brilliant, as always.” He settles back in his seat as I adjust my jacket. “Also, that dress is stunning on you—purple is absolutely your color.”
A pair of violet eyes flash in my mind, but I force them away. “Thank you.”
“I said it the second I saw you in that gown on all the magazine covers after you won the tournament—you can ask Soren. I told him, ‘Purple was made for that girl.’”
I laugh. “I don’t know about that.”
“What was he like? The Liar, I mean,” he asks.
My smile fades. “About like he seems. Charming. Pompous.” I adjust my dress. “Sparkly.”
“The magazines said you two were involved. Romantically.” His eyes glitter teasingly. “Is that true?”
“He was”—I swallow, dread spreading through my veins— “impossible to resist in many ways. But Enzo has always been my first priority.” My tongue feels like lead. “I would never betray him like that.”
Arden sighs. “Shame he’s our archnemesis. He’s very pretty.”
“That he is.” I chuckle to hide my wince as the cab pulls to a stop in front of a tall, brick business building, one I’ve met my father in as Nocturne several times.
St. James does a lot of deals with the traders who work here and even has his own classified office on the top floor.
Arden tosses a handful of plats into the cabby’s outstretched hand, and we clamber onto the curb.
“Okay, I’m going to go poke around his office,” I say, glancing at my reflection in the window on the first floor to make sure the voratium disguise we stole from one of the costume shops is still altering my face enough to keep my father’s blokes from recognizing me. “I’ll be back in about thirty minutes.”
“One moment too long, and I’ll come investigate.” He grins. “Try not to get hurt. I don’t think Enzo would forgive me.”
“It would be good for him.”
“Yes, but I might not survive it.” He blows me a kiss as I duck into the shadows.
My father sits at his desk, the window behind him overlooking the city. Waterside glitters on the horizon, casinos and cabarets blazing neon along the shoreline. The Liar’s Den is a black hole at its center, a dark smear even at midday.
I hold my breath as I creep forward even though he wouldn’t hear me in my bodiless state.
He bends over ledgers of what appear to be voratium shipments, muttering under his breath.
After a moment, he leans back in his chair, yawning so hard his jaw cracks, and I catch sight of the lines around his eyes and mouth.
Lines I used to trace with my fingers when he’d tell me bedtime stories. They’ve deepened since then.
I remember how they used to crinkle when he’d laugh. I wonder how often he still does that.
Shaking those thoughts aside, I craft the illusion of Nocturne, bleeding it upward until it covers me completely.
“Magnus,” I say in Nocturne’s voice.
He lurches to his feet, yanking out his pistol. When he recognizes me, he lowers it slowly. “Nocturne,” he says, a little hoarse with what must have been a surge of adrenaline. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I trust you’ve heard about my game?” I keep Nocturne’s face impassive and her voice unperturbed even though the sight of my father pointing a gun at my face has sent my heart rate galloping.
“Of course.” He shoves his weapon back into his belt. “Is it for a purpose?”
“It’s a lure,” I tell him. “For the Thief.”
His mouth twitches. “So you’ve reconsidered my offer?”
“I’ll trap him for you on two conditions.” I raise a pair of long, slender fingers with nails tipped in black. “One: I need a slab of voratium. These dimensions.” I place a piece of parchment atop his ledger. “Tonight.”
He frowns as he reads. “That’s a significant size. I’m not sure I could get it that quickly.”
“Then, perhaps,” I say, voice lowering, “I won’t be able to rescue Magnolia after all.”
“What’s the second condition?” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest so his cuff links twinkle at me like eyes.
“You stay away from the game. The Thief and his Tentacles won’t come near it if they suspect you’re there.”
He scowls. “I can’t very well allow that magical favor to end up in enemy hands.”
“There is no prize,” I retort. “The game is a farce.”
He studies me for a long moment, then finally rises and holds out his hand. “I can get you the voratium by tomorrow at noon. The largest piece I have will have to be rushed in from Solada, and it’s just not possible to get it here before then.”
That’s cutting it close, but if there’s no way to obtain it sooner, I won’t win anything by fighting. “Very well. Noon and not a minute later.” I put my hand in his and shake it. “You have yourself a deal.”
It’s not ideal, but Estelle and I should still be able to set it up in time.
His eyes narrow, and his grip tightens. He yanks me closer, a ferocity in his eyes I’ve never seen before. A violence that sends a bolt of terror through me.
Channeling Enzo’s magic, I render my hand noncorporeal to withdraw it from his grasp in the same instant I channel all that terror into an illusion of pain. It slams into him, and he screams, stumbling backward.
Horrified, I release it, heart pounding. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, hadn’t even thought about it. But the fear had been so sharp I’d just . . . reacted.
Trying to regain my composure as my stomach lurches into my throat, I draw more illusion magic to mask the tremble in my voice. “You try anything like that again, and you’ll never see your daughter alive.”
“You’d threaten me, seaspawn?” he snarls, pressing his palms to his desktop.
“Absolutely.” I make the illusion grow, my eyes darkening, my teeth sharpening.
He pales and backs away, raising his hands. “Of course. That was unkind of me. I apologize.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow to gather the voratium,” I snap. “It had better be the highest quality. No inclusions. Fully raw and never before infused.”
“Of course.”
I sweep away, whipping my illusions into nothing before pelting, noncorporeal, back to the ground floor and past Arden, who’s sitting on the reception desk lighting one of the cigars for the man seated behind it.
When I flicker back into my physical form outside, I stumble to the nearest light pole, leaning on it as I gasp for air. A moment later, Arden sidles out of the door behind me. “How did it go?” he asks, and then, catching sight of my face, he gasps. “Are you all right?”
I vomit into the gutter.