Sapphire Flames Page 28

  I took a deep breath and walked out of the room. Voices drifted from the kitchen, and I headed in that direction.

  “. . . a dignified pleasant gentleman,” Alessandro was saying. “I was honored to make Mr. Duncan’s acquaintance.”

  Honored my ass.

  “We shared a drink. It was perfectly cordial—”

  I walked into the kitchen. Alessandro stopped in mid-sentence.

  He was wearing a tuxedo. It fit him like a glove. He looked like he was born in it, every inch a Prime.

  I had seen him in a tuxedo a dozen times on his Instagram, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the real thing. My pulse sped up. I felt slightly light-headed. I wanted to reach out and touch him to make sure he wasn’t a hallucination. People weren’t that handsome in real life. It just didn’t work that way.

  It dawned on me that he was staring at me with a slightly bewildered expression.

  My sister opened her mouth. Runa elbowed her.

  Silence stretched.

  I waited for him to speak, but he seemed content to just stare at me.

  And this wasn’t awkward. Not at all.

  Everyone’s phone chimed, announcing someone at our front door. The most beautiful assassin in the world blinked. It was enough to snap me out of my trance.

  “That’s probably Linus. We should go.” I slid my phone into a small, glittering Edie Parker clutch.

  Alessandro came back to life. “Yes, we should.”

  Grandma Frida blocked the way. “Neither of you are going anywhere until I get a pic for my Insta.”

  “Grandma, they’re not going to the prom,” Arabella protested.

  “Shush. They’re going to a high society shindig and I’m getting at least one good picture of them together.”

  If we didn’t do it, I’d never hear the end of it. “He’s supposed to be in Hawaii right now.”

  “I won’t post it until next week.”

  I turned to Alessandro. “She’s lying.”

  Alessandro graced her with his brilliant smile. “I’d be delighted to pose for a picture.”

  “Smile, Catalina,” Grandma commanded.

  I arranged my face into a carefree smile.

  Grandma took the pic and checked it.

  “Good enough?” I asked.

  “It will do.”

  Alessandro offered me his arm, I put my hand on his wrist, and we walked down the hallway. He smelled of sandalwood, vanilla, and a hint of citrus. I felt completely ridiculous. I was Cinderella going with my prince to a ball. Where I would beguile and interrogate a woman who made monsters for an assassin consortium, and I had to do a very good job so the National Assembly wouldn’t murder the lot of us.

  We reached the door to the office, he held it open for me, and we headed to the front door. Every step was an effort, like someone had put a rubber band around my legs.

  “You look very beautiful,” Alessandro said.

  When given a compliment, always respond, Arrosa’s voice murmured in my head. “Thank you. You look very handsome.”

  He opened the door and I walked out into the street, where Linus’ armored Escalade waited under the light of the streetlamp.

  “Weapons?” Linus asked.

  “No,” I said. I had checked the security requirements for the gala. Ever since Baranovsky, one of the richest Primes in the country, was murdered at his own charity dinner, the safety measures for high society events had risen to ridiculous levels.

  Alessandro shrugged. “No need. There will be plenty of security people around.”

  And they would be carrying weapons he could copy.

  “How wide is your range?” Linus asked.

  Alessandro gave him his wolfish smile.

  “I ask, because I brought a full trunk. How close does the vehicle need to be to the building?”

  “How far away will the car be parked?”

  Linus shook his head. “If it’s parked 0.14 miles away, would that be close enough?”

  “Yes.”

  The car turned onto Texas Avenue and pulled up in front of the Wortham Theater Center, joining the line of other luxury vehicles dropping off their passengers, as if we all were elementary school kids. Night had fallen, but the entire street was bathed in bright electric light.

  “All right, children,” Linus said. “We’re going to walk inside, mingle briefly, and be seated at our table. The ball will consist of five acts with twenty-minute intermissions. Dinner will be served in courses during the intermissions. It is customary to dance and socialize between the acts. Catalina, you’re going to find Cristal, and when an opportunity presents itself, become her best friend in the whole world. We need definitive proof of her involvement, the location of the facility, and an admission of guilt, if you can get it. Record everything she tells you. Alessandro, under no circumstances is Catalina to be harmed. Avoid violence, but if you have no choice, try to take care of it quietly. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Count Sagredo didn’t dignify the question with an answer.

  The Escalade slid to a stop. The usher opened my door and offered me his hand. I leaned on it and stepped out of the vehicle into the night.

  A hundred and fifty feet of red carpet stretched across the narrow plaza, bordered by lush oaks and lit by globe streetlights. At the end of it, the glass entry archway glowed with golden light. People in evening attire strolled toward it, women in glittering gowns and men in suits, pausing at the topiary to have their pictures taken against the red-carpet backdrop. Onlookers waited on the edges of the path, eager for a glimpse of the rich and famous. A TV crew lurked in the distance, by the entrance, the correspondent interviewing the guests. Cameras flashed, ushers hurried back and forth, jewels sparkled on skin and hair . . .

  The urge to crawl back into the Escalade gripped me.

  I raised my chin. I wasn’t some Cinderella with a magic dress from my fairy godmother. I bought my own dress with money I earned, I bought my shoes and my bag, and nothing was going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight. I didn’t like this fake world of glamour and excess, but nobody had the right to question my presence here. I had a job to do, and I would do it.

  Alessandro came around the car and offered me his arm again. A few heads turned our way.

  Linus exited the Escalade. A subtle change came over the crowd. They didn’t exactly gape, but the Primes of Houston paused. Every single one of them knew Linus was there.

  Linus flashed a thousand-watt smile. When he was young, he might have given Alessandro a run for his money. He waved at no one in particular, and the onlookers went wild.

  Linus strode up the red carpet. We followed. Ahead, the TV crew realized that a Big Name Prime had landed, and the correspondent was desperately trying to wrap up her current interview.

  Alessandro walked next to me, beautiful and slightly aloof, a prince just a touch above it all, while Linus grinned and played up to the crowd. Ahead, the walls of the Wortham Theater glowed with colored projections of acrobats and rings of fire. The Houston Opera Admiration Society was celebrating the opening of Madame Trapeze, a new hybrid show that blended elements of the circus and opera. It had sold out in London and New York, and somehow Houston was the next to get it. We wouldn’t be getting the entire performance, just a few chosen acts before the real thing was open to the general public, but it was exciting being one of the first people to see it.

  A woman shrieked from the left, “Alessandro! Look at me!”

  He turned without breaking his stride and winked. The group of girls on our left erupted.

  “Oh my God!”

  “Marry me!”

  “Who’s the girl?”

  “My number is 830 . . .”

  We resumed our march toward the entrance.

  “Enjoying yourself?” I murmured.

  “Jealous?”

  “Of your many admirers? No.”

  “You never say anything nice to me,” he said, his voice low and slipping into
an intimate tone that brushed against my skin like velvet. We were on display in front of hundreds of people and he was speaking to me as if we were about to make out in my bedroom. “It’s always ‘Stop driving so fast, Alessandro.’ ‘You have to leave, Alessandro.’”

  “What would you rather hear?”

  “I could think of a few things.” His face took on a wistful expression. It looked good on him. Like everything else. “I missed you, Alessandro.”

  Why did I ask?

  “Hold me, Alessandro.” His seductive voice wove around me. All my senses came to attention. The crowd was fading and only his voice mattered.

  “Kiss me, Alessandro.”

  Heat warmed my face. I was blushing. Damn it.

  “Will you stop?”

  We were almost to the TV crew. Maybe we could slip by them unnoticed while they pounced on Linus.

  “Don’t go, Alessandro. Don’t stop, Alessandro . . .”

  “Stop lying about who you are, Alessandro.”

  His face shut down as if someone slammed a door closed. I hit a nerve. Good.

  The correspondent pounced on Linus. Alessandro smoothly passed by him and we joined the throng of overdressed people walking through the wide-open glass doors. Nobody asked us for our invitations. Apparently just arriving with Linus Duncan was good enough.

  Six armed security guards in black suits lined the sides of the short lobby. We passed through the arch of the metal detector, then the airport-style bio scanner, and took the escalator up.

  The Grand Foyer had been transformed. An enormous wagon wheel chandelier supporting stage lamps hung suspended fifty feet in the air. Above it yards and yards of midnight-blue fabric stretched from the ceiling to the walls and dripped to the floor, imitating the inside of a big-top tent. Strings of golden lights curved from the chandelier to the sides of the room where the walls met the ceiling, glittering like summer stars against the night sky. Colored lamps tinted the fabric with splashes of lavender and turquoise. Soft music played from hidden speakers, a complex modern interpretation of the circus theme performed with a full orchestra.

  A round stage dominated the center of the room, level with the floor, smooth, and shimmering with flecks of gold. Rings of round tables surrounded the stage, each covered with a golden tablecloth and set for ten.

  A pair of tall metal golden supports towered on the opposite sides of the foyer. A high wire stretched between them. Two female acrobats twisted in the air, suspended by lengths of blue ribbons. To the left, on a small raised platform, a contortionist in a black bodysuit ripped in strategic places bent backward, touching his elbows to the floor. To the right an animal trainer strolled through the crowd, two lions in tow on absurdly thin silver chains. The lions followed him, oblivious of the onlookers. He had to be an animal mage.

  The sights, the sounds, the colors, and the hum of the crowd combined into a fairy-tale opulent circus. Reality ceased to exist. If I turned, I could still catch a glimpse of it through the giant window, the dark winter street, but here only fantasy existed. I could wander through it for hours, making up stories and watching people.

  “It’s beautiful,” I murmured, as the current of people carried us to the right.

  “Eh.” Alessandro shrugged. “The Melbourne Christmas Gala was better.”

  I punched him in the arm. I didn’t punch him hard, it was more of a tap, but his eyes sparked with orange. “Careful. I’m a bad man, remember? Who knows what I might do when provoked?”

  “If you decide to get provoked, let me know, and I will bring you back to Earth with the rest of us mere mortals.”

  He lifted his hand and a waiter appeared as if by magic, wearing a blue vest over a black shirt, black pants, and a red clown nose, and carrying a tray with champagne flutes. Alessandro took two glasses off the tray and held one out to me. “Champagne, tesoro mio?”

  My tolerance for champagne was about two sips. Any more, and I lost coordination. If I finished two glasses, I would fall asleep in my chair. But he was holding it out to me and I didn’t want to cause a scene.

  I took the flute and sipped. Linus materialized next to us. “Children, work now, bicker later. Follow me.”

  We trailed him to a table in the outer row. We didn’t have the best view of the stage, but we had an excellent perspective of the room and the crowd. Alessandro held my chair out. I sat. Alessandro was a touch slow to take the chair next to me. I glanced in the direction of his gaze.

  Benedict De Lacy raised his glass at me from across the room. He sat in the back row almost directly opposite us. I raised my glass and offered him a pleasant smile. Alessandro laughed next to me.

  I scanned the crowd. Cristal sat to our left in the front row on the opposite side of the stage. An older woman in a silver-green dress with blue-black hair and harsh features sat on her left. I remembered her from Alessandro’s hired killer gallery. The woman had an Armenian first name, Yeraz, and Alessandro’s database had listed her as a Magus Sagittarius, which meant she never missed. It was highly unlikely that she could have smuggled a gun through security, but MS magic came in many forms, my own included. Maybe she would throw forks at us.

  The white man in the chair to the right of Cristal looked like he had jumped out of a pro wrestling match. Sitting down, he still towered over everyone else at the table. His impossibly broad shoulders strained his tuxedo jacket, and when he raised his glass, I thought his sleeve would rip. He had the face of a street brawler: a misshapen nose that had been broken too many times, scar tissue chewing up the skin around his eyes, and a heavy square jaw that would break your hand if you punched it. His haircut, a short, blond stubble, did nothing to soften his impact. His eyes, sunken deep under heavy brows, scanned the crowd, looking for someone to hit.

  “Of all the idiotic things,” Linus growled.

  “Yes, you’d think Benedict would have more brains,” I murmured.

  Alessandro had caught us looking at the giant. “Who is that?”

  I leaned toward him, keeping my voice low. “Frank Madero.”

  House Madero included five brothers, and of those five, the oldest two looked so alike, they could be twins. But Dave Madero had a permanent scar on his left cheek.

  “And what does Frank do?”

  “His skin and bones harden, his muscles swell up, he grows to seven and a half feet tall, and then he punches through furniture. Or walls. Or people. Whatever is in his way.”

  “House Madero is what happens when you breed for strength instead of brains,” Linus said, his voice dry. “In a couple of generations, they’ll have to hire handlers to help them put their pants on in the morning.”

  “There are more like him?” Alessandro asked.

  “There are five brothers total and a grandfather,” I explained. “They’re mean, stupid, and they hold grudges. And they’re for hire.”

  In theory, hiring one of the Maderos as a bodyguard made sense: they were huge and scary even before they used their magic and they served as an excellent deterrent. But the Maderos had a temper. Bringing Frank here was like dragging an enraged bull to a toddler’s birthday party.

  Alessandro pondered Frank. “Do your families have a history?”

  “His brother, Dave, tried to kidnap Nevada, and Rogan broke both of his arms. Frank also tried to kidnap Nevada and ended up in the ER. If Frank turns, bullets and knives won’t work on him and the only way to fight him is to dodge and hope his body gives out from the strain before he gets his hands on you. The Maderos can’t sustain the combat form for too long. They overheat and pass out.”

  Alessandro narrowed his eyes. “Does he still have to breathe in combat form?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “Excellent,” he said.

  “Remember, be discreet,” Linus warned.

  “We may not have a choice. Benedict brought friends.”

  I surveyed the crowd, trying to pick out faces I had seen on Alessandro’s laptop.

  “How many Diatheke employees
are here?” Linus asked casually.

  “Seven,” Alessandro said. “The dark-haired man to the left of Benedict is an aegis Significant.”

  I glanced in Benedict’s direction. A lean, pale-skinned man in his late forties sat by Benedict, picking at the appetizer with his fork. Aegis mages specialized in protection. They could throw a barrier in front of themselves that would absorb physical impact and block elemental magical assaults. An aegis Prime could walk through a modern battle with everything from snipers to artillery shooting at him and emerge unscathed. A Significant would be considerably less powerful, but still, shooting at Benedict would do no good.

  “Catalina, lean toward me again,” Alessandro asked.

  I turned slightly and tilted my head closer to him.

  Alessandro smiled. “Benedict is having a fit.”

  Looking at Benedict would be entirely too obvious.

  Alessandro’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s see what happens if I do this.”

  He reached over, took my hand, gently rubbed his fingers on mine, and kissed my knuckles.

  All my hormones stood up and gave him a standing ovation. Damn it, Alessandro.

  “Careful,” Linus said, raising his wineglass to his lips. “He might explode.”

  I finally glanced in Benedict’s direction. He was staring at me with a kind of possessive hatred. If I were in range, he would have hit me.

  “What is his deal with women?”

  “He’s a half phobic with sadistic tendencies,” Linus said. “He finds pleasure in inflicting torture and fear, and the more exquisite the woman, the more he wants her.”

  “He prefers mental mages for his amusement,” Alessandro added. “Maximum satisfaction.”

  I turned to Linus. “Why has he been allowed to operate?”

  Linus grimaced. “I could give you a long explanation about magical checks and balances, but the short answer is that powerful people find him useful. He’s a known quantity; he’s reliable and rarely unpleasantly surprising. There are a great many things I wish I had the ability to change.”