Chapter 20
Twenty
One night till we steal the oracle. Not where I thought I’d be three weeks ago.
The A/C was on too high, and Cadenza rubbed the goosebumps pricking her skin.
The crowd of potential donors at Canon’s fundraiser was so large the facilities manager had cranked up the cold air to compensate.
The hum of voices reached her backstage, competing with the crystal chimes of the marble flooring.
After two days of near non-stop rehearsal—earthsong, actual songs, hours with Thomas trying to Spin, still unsuccessfully, logistics for Ruairi and Cyrus’s arrival tonight—her eyes burned with exhaustion, but she saw the irony of her situation all the same.
Here she was, about to sing at the gig that ensured she had enough money in the bank to pay for everything she needed for Venice.
But there was nothing to pay for. Not anymore.
Her nostrils flared. Every time—Every time!
—she’d thought she’d had it wrapped up, something had happened.
Norroway Auto and the country club would have covered her plane ticket.
And then her mother wanted more money, and sooner.
She decided to sell her car. It blew up.
Canon pays me, in advance, and I finally have all the money. Then there’s no part.
Every time.
She stamped her foot, glad no one else was there to see it.
The Fates can be as bossy as they want. I’m not caving in to their plans.
Tomorrow night they’d steal the oracles.
Thomas would be heartbroken at her betrayal—he’d been so pleased to see her again yesterday, in his own, eccentric way—but it beat kidnapping him and having Taran kill him.
They’d get an answer, break Taran’s curse.
Then all she had to do after that was conquer Spinning, and she and Taran could live a normal life.
She rolled her eyes at the blithe idea. Yeah, that’s all.
A text buzzed on her phone. Landed fine. Met up with ride. Be there soon.
Her shoulders relaxed a touch. Canon’s team was picking up Ruairi and Cyrus at the San Francisco airport and bringing them here, so they could ride back to Sonora with her and Reyna. At least that seemed to be going smoothly.
On stage, Canon finished delivering his speech to enthusiastic applause, then introduced her. Cadenza filled her lungs, blew it out, visualized snuggling with Taran and eating turtle chocolates to calm the fluttering in her belly, and stepped into the spotlight.
From his vantage point at the side of the stage, Canon drank in the audience’s reaction to Cadenza’s performance of Verdi’s “é Strano, é Strano.” Everything was running smoothly, but something itched at the back of his mind.
He’d yet to receive confirmation that Vasilios had fired the people in charge of sweeping the balcony at the debate.
Which was odd. When Vasilios wanted something done, it got done.
Cadenza bowed and glided offstage, a vision in blue.
She’d worn blue the first time she’d accompanied him to an event.
It suited her. He’d have to make sure he told her so this evening.
Not for the first time, he reveled in the satisfaction of knowing he was here to support Cadenza’s singing when Taran couldn’t be.
Reyna took the stage next, and Canon let his gaze range over the audience, assessing their desires.
Again, something felt off. Some cog out there was not spinning in the direction he wanted it to turn.
In the back of the hall, Vasilios cut his eyes at two security personnel next to an exit door and gave a miniscule nod. The guards slipped out of the ballroom.
In the wings on the opposite side of the stage, Cadenza accepted a bouquet of two dozen roses from a stagehand.
Canon gauged her reaction and allowed himself a small smirk when her face lit up in surprise.
He’d given the stagehand instructions to deliver the flowers anonymously.
He’d let Cadenza know they were from him at a useful moment.
She might be with Taran now, but Canon wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t feel what he felt, and he had no intention of bowing out gracefully.
The two security guards who’d left the ballroom marched down the hall, flanked Cadenza, and whispered in her ear.
Canon stiffened. It was possible that the Norroway brothers had arrived, but it wouldn’t take two security guards to deliver that message. He glanced back at Vasilios.
Who was no longer in the back of the room.
He looked back to the wings just in time to see the hem of Cadenza’s dress disappear around the corner. He hadn’t given orders to security about escorting Cadenza anywhere. He spun and hurried through the series of backstage hallways.
Some cog out of sync. Some piece of the puzzle missing.
Someone playing a different game.
Whoever had tried to run Cadenza off the road, planted the car bomb, and sent the sniper, was still out there. Besides firing people, Vasilios was supposed to have swept the balcony for evidence, but he hadn’t reported on it yet, claiming he was still working with the police.
Canon shivered, the hair on his arms standing on end. When Vasilios wanted something done, it got done.
What did he want done right now?
What are you thinking? Vasilios has only ever supported you. Canon threw open a rehearsal room door, denial threading a jagged path through his thoughts. The room was empty. The next was locked. He peered through the window slit in the top of the door, but it was dark.
A hand grabbed his elbow. He whirled to find Reyna at his side; he hadn’t noticed her music ending.
“Canon, where’s Cadenza?”
“I don’t know.” He yanked his arm back. “Who do you think I’m looking for?”
Reyna’s jaw hardened and she pointed a finger in his face. “Don’t play with me, Richards. You’re cute, but not that cute. Someone has tried to kill my friend at least twice, two of your security guys just took off with her, and she did not look happy about it. So where is she?”
Canon rushed down the corridor, trying more doors. Drostan had explained about the Silence, but Canon had thought Cadenza would be safe at his event. He was here, Reyna—a Guardian, even if that role was new—was here. Drostan’s other sons, also Guardians, were arriving and accompanying them home.
“I didn’t tell the guards to do anything,” he said. “Someone else is working some angle.”
Reyna flung open a storage closet and checked behind a stack of boxes. “Well, who’s in charge of your security guys?”
Vasilios, Canon thought, cringing.
A spot of red fluttered in the air current of the A/C—a rose petal. Canon scooped it off the floor and tugged on the door closest to where the petal had lain. Locked. Reyna rose on tiptoes and peeked through the narrow window set near the top.
“What the—” She drew back and pressed her back to the wall beside the door. “Isn’t that your sponsor or something?”
Canon stole a look through the window. Betrayal coated his tongue, bitter and acrid.
Vasilios reclined in a metal folding chair in a large storage room, about fifteen feet from the door, facing away from them, a pistol with a silencer in one hand.
Cadenza sat stiffly on a metal chair, wrists zip-tied together in her lap.
The rest of the roses lay scattered on a table.
Scratches ran where the thorns had carved trails through the dust.
Canon narrowed his eyes. “Fine. New game.”
“What?” Reyna asked.
“Nothing.”
“Fine.” She yanked up the hem of her dress and retrieved a pair of slender iron pins from a thigh holster.
“What are you doing?” Canon hissed.
She jimmied the pins in the lock. “We have to get in there.”
“And you just happen to carry lock picks under your formal?”
She shushed him. “Keep it down. I always carry something I’ve made with me. Better to be prepared.”
The lock gave way with a quiet snick. Reyna grabbed the handle and eased the door barely open, gesturing for him to follow her. “Come on.”
“No.” Canon shook his head. Vasilios had changed the game. Canon had to change it again. “I can’t go in.”
“What do you mean, you can’t go in?” she hissed. “We have to help her—you promised Drostan you’d help.”
She didn’t get it. You didn’t win chess by charging straight at the king. “Vasilios can’t see me. He can’t know that I know.”
Reyna glared at him. “Coward.”
“No, Reyna—” Canon tried to explain, but she opened the door and slipped in behind a stack of boxes piled just inside the room.
He caught the door to keep it from making any noise, wishing he could scream in frustration.
He was no coward. But he did seem to be the only one around here who knew how to play a long game.
Cadenza flicked a doubtful glance at the two security guards flanking her down the hall. She checked her phone with one hand, her anonymous roses in the other. “You’re sure Ruairi and Cyrus are here? They didn’t text me they’d arrived.”
“Just in this other green room, Ms. Cavalieri.” The taller guard ushered her through a door.
She pulled up short. “This isn’t a green room.” The space held a few chairs, a spare music stand and several stacks of boxes. But no Norroway brothers. She turned back to the doorway to find it blocked by both guards.
She swallowed. “Where’s Canon? Or Mr. Pearce?” Canon trusts Pearce, right?
“Ah, gentlemen, thank you for finding her.” Vasilios Pearce patted a guard’s shoulder, and they parted their blockade, letting him enter. “Ms. Cavalieri, excuse the detour.”
“What’s going on, Mr. Pearce?”
“I hoped to speak with you a moment before we join your guests. And once again, please call me Vasilios.”
She lifted her chin. “About what, Mr. Pearce?”
He closed the space between them and plucked the phone from her hand.
“What are you doing?”