Chapter One #2
Vesper didn’t doubt it. Moderately well-off people tended to flaunt their affluence, but the truly wealthy wore their status effortlessly, like a second, self-assured skin.
Mr. Belver’s charcoal suit was understated, but she’d bet tomorrow’s breakfast that it cost a small fortune.
The gentleman pointedly ignored her as he addressed the inventor a second time.
“Francis, I’d like a word.”
“Oh, come now, Charlie!” Mr. Gladwell grinned. “Surely, it can wait. I’m in the middle of an interview!”
“It cannot.” Mr. Belver gave Francis a more pointed look. “The matter is … urgent.”
Francis pressed his lips together, visibly conflicted, before giving Vesper a rueful look. “Miss Evans, I do apologize, but I’m afraid that’s all the time I seem to have. It was a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you,” said Vesper. “Thanks for your—”
The inventor had already turned back to Mr. Belver, who immediately began speaking to him in a low, stern tone.
When he noticed Vesper was still there, he took Mr. Gladwell by the elbow and guided him away.
Vesper sighed. She’d expected her time with Francis Gladwell to be brief—he was, after all, this evening’s guest of honor—but she’d barely gotten to ask him any of the questions she’d prepared.
She would endeavor to try him again later, perhaps after the exhibition.
She stowed her notebook and pen, then withdrew her event invitation.
Its text was written in swooping black calligraphy, and printed on thick cream-colored paper.
The Basalton Coal Foundation invites you to an exhibition featuring inventor Francis Gladwell in the Basalton Museum of Art’s Main Atrium on Friday, the Fourth of November, at eight o’clock in the evening.
Vesper looked up. Her interview with Francis Gladwell may have been cut short, but perhaps she’d have better luck with her second one. She stopped a passing server carrying a tray of finger sandwiches.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Do you know if anyone representing the Basalton Coal Foundation is here tonight?”
The server lowered his gaze. “Sorry, miss,” he muttered. “That’s above my station.”
Vesper studied the server more closely. He was young, too skinny for the uniform he’d been given. The edge of some crude black tattoo peeked just above his collar. The longer he stood there, the more he fidgeted.
“I understand,” she said. “Thank you anyway.”
The server ducked back into the crowd, and Vesper’s eyes wandered.
A few feet away, several glasses filled with a sparkling golden beverage were floating in midair.
She watched as a pretty, brown-skinned young woman in a red silk dress helped herself to one of the enchanted glasses.
Even from a distance, she exuded an effortless poise that made Vesper slightly self-conscious.
As though she’d felt eyes on her, the young woman glanced over her shoulder.
Vesper tried to look away, but clearly she’d been spotted.
The young woman plucked a second glass from the air, crossed the atrium, then offered it.
“Champagne?”
Vesper hesitated, then accepted the glass. “Thank you.”
The young woman smiled. “I’m Ada. Ada Bickerton.”
“Vesper.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Ada. Up close, she was even prettier than she’d seemed from afar.
She had a heart-shaped face, painted red lips, and bright mahogany eyes.
While she and Vesper had the same coily black hair, Ada’s was pinned into a sophisticated updo Vesper knew she’d never achieve with her own.
“I don’t think we’ve met before,” said Ada. “Are you with the museum?”
Vesper shook her head. “I work for the Globe. My editor asked me to cover tonight’s exhibition.”
“How fascinating.” Ada’s eyes danced. “Have you talked to anyone of note?”
“I just interviewed Francis Gladwell,” said Vesper. “But I was hoping to get a quote from someone at the Basalton Coal Foundation too.”
“Ah.” Ada sipped her drink. “You’ll want to speak to Maximilian Kite, then.”
“Kite?” Vesper knew little about high society, but she knew that surname.
The Kite family was among the oldest and wealthiest in the city.
Their forebears had arrived in Basalton a century ago, when it had still been a small mining town, and established the Basalton Coal Company, which remained the cornerstone of a multimillion-gild empire.
Their descendants were notoriously reclusive, and rarely seen in public.
Vesper certainly hadn’t expected to see one of them tonight.
“What interest do the Kites have in an inventor?” she asked.
Ada shrugged. “When you’re bored and rich, you can dabble in all sorts of peculiarities.” She pointed. “I just saw Mr. Kite over there. Good luck with him. He can be … eccentric.”
“Thank you.”
Vesper headed in the direction Ada had indicated, eyes peeled.
She’d never met Mr. Kite, but she could imagine what he was like.
Probably just another rich old snob. She had no real interest in speaking with him, but there was no doubt that a front-page story featuring a quote from one of this city’s most powerful men would sell more copies. The Globe could use that kind of win.
Vesper reached the other end of the atrium.
There was no one in sight, but there was a table laden with several desserts.
She noted a tray of powdered coffee cake squares, another filled with glazed vanilla petit fours, and a third covered in glittering golden candy apples. She peered down at the gilded fruit.
“That’s real gold, if you’re wondering.”
Vesper started. The young man standing at the other end of the dessert table was tall and lean.
He had a fair, angular face framed by crow-dark curls that brushed the top of his collar.
Vesper made a few quick deductions. The young man was probably close to her age, no older than twenty.
His tailored blue suit and clean-shaven face suggested he belonged with this crowd, and she guessed he might be the son of some well-to-do banker or lawyer.
A small smile touched his lips and Vesper realized, with some embarrassment, that she’d been staring.
She cleared her throat and gestured toward the candy apples.
“Did you say real gold?”
The young man nodded. “That’s what I heard. One hundred percent edible gold.”
Vesper shook her head before she could stop herself. “That’s…”
“Innovative?”
“I was going to say indulgent.”
The young man shrugged. “Indulgence isn’t always a bad thing, is it?”
“I wouldn’t know. I rarely indulge.” Vesper couldn’t rationalize it, but the longer the young man stared at her, the more self-conscious she became.
His eyes were the deep, fathomless blue of a lake in summer, and he was looking at her with unmistakable curiosity. “Can I help you?” she finally asked.
“Only if you can answer a question.” The young man was still smiling. “Why do I know every face at this party except yours?”
Vesper’s grip on the strap of her satchel tightened. “I don’t attend events like this often. I’m only here for work.”
“Work?” The young man squinted as though he’d never heard such a word before. “Are you with the service staff?”
“I write for The Basalton Globe,” said Vesper, her tone cooled by the presumption.
“I’m here tonight to interview the exhibition’s guest of honor and its host. So, if you’ll excuse me…
” She made a point of looking past the young man in the hopes that he might take the hint and leave.
Instead, he cocked his head, looking even more interested.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he said. “Who are you looking for?”
Vesper gave up and met his gaze again. “I’m trying to find Mr. Maximilian Kite, from the Basalton Coal Foundation. Someone said he was here.”
“Kite?” The young man’s mouth twisted. “That’s unlucky. You lose a bet?”
“You know Mr. Kite?”
“Of course.” The young man nodded. “Everyone here does.”
“Care to comment on him, off the record?”
The young man considered. “Mr. Kite’s a strange one, bit of a recluse. I’ll admit the man’s got style, and some might characterize his confectionary instinct as borderline genius, but…”
“But?”
The young man’s expression turned serious. “I’ve heard he doesn’t do interviews anymore. You’ll have a hard time getting him to agree to one. Of course…” He arched a dark brow. “If you’re not particular, you could interview me instead? I’m quite interesting.”
And humble. “Thank you,” said Vesper. “But I have specific instructions from my editor for this assignment. I’m sure you understand.”
“Suit yourself.” The young man picked up one of the golden candy apples and examined it.
Then, without warning, he muttered something under his breath, tossed the gilded fruit into the air, and snapped his fingers.
Vesper thought she saw a purple spark, then the apple began to rotate slowly in midair, as though suspended by an invisible string. She drew in a sharp breath.
“I didn’t get your name,” the sorcerer noted. There was a new touch of amusement in his voice.
“Evans.” Vesper stared at the enchanted apple. “It’s … Vesper Evans.”
“Miss Evans.” The sorcerer snapped his fingers again, and the golden apple dropped back into his hand.
“It’s truly been a pleasure.” He offered a small bow, then left.
Vesper kept her eyes on his retreating form until he’d disappeared into the crowd.
Only when she was alone again did she exhale in relief.
Strictly speaking, she didn’t mind sorcerers, but something about that one had thrown her off in a way she couldn’t explain.
She thought of the knowing she’d seen in his eyes, the way he’d looked at her like he was enjoying a private joke.
She was still considering that look when the gentle clink of a knife against glass pulled her back to the present.
A blond woman dressed in a teal silk gown was standing on the stage across the room.
“If I could have everyone’s attention,” she said. “The exhibition will now begin!”