by Emma Savant
“It’s such a violent game,” Isla said in an undertone. “I’m shocked the queen hasn’t done anything about it yet.”
“Some people like that sort of thing,” Yvette said. “I’m sure she’ll shut them down if it gets bigger, but you know how these things are. Close one, and two others will pop up in its place. Better to keep them running where she can keep an eye on things.”
“I’m not sure if it’s better. Camilla’s going to lose her entire fortune if she doesn’t get a hold on herself.” She raised her eyebrows significantly and sipped her champagne.
I cleared my throat, smiled, and waved Yvette in. She brought her drink and settled into the seat opposite me. Behind her, the glass panes of a waterfall wall shimmered, and the air was scented with the perfume of the eternally blooming plumeria tree that lived in the corner.
I tried to focus as Yvette put in her requests, ordering both the velvet dress and its attendant cape, as well as several pantsuits and a black evening gown spangled with hand-beaded constellations. I took a note of her last instructions for the gown, then held my pen above the paper for a moment.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I leaned forward.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but were you talking about a mesmer game out there?”
Her eyes widened, and she put her hands reflexively around her knee, as if to keep her legs and body closed off to me.
“I’m just curious,” I said quickly. “A friend told me they’ve started holding games downtown, and I’m kind of worried he’s going to get involved.”
She relaxed a little. “I guess it is a bit of an open secret. Your friend wouldn’t be the only one to end up in trouble.”
I put a hand to my mouth. “Not members of the Faerie Court?”
“No one on the Queen’s Council.” She gestured with her long nails at herself and at Isla and Sage outside. “But other, lower-ranking members of the court…” She trailed off, then added. “Not just them, of course. Word is the games are attracting all sorts of people. Celebrities, business owners, even another fashion designer who’s dressed the queen is rumored to be involved.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “Can’t Her Majesty do anything?”
“She will, if it comes to that. But… You know, it’s a hard line to walk. How much should a monarch get involved?”
I nodded. “It’s the same with Ms. Hunter here. She can micromanage and control everything, or she can let little problems go and keep her attention on big issues that matter.”
“Exactly,” Yvette said. “I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. You’re just awfully easy to talk to.”
She smiled, and I smiled back. I didn’t mention that her openness might have had something to do with the charm on the room. Its real purpose was to make sure clients were communicating their orders clearly and directly, so we didn’t end up having to remake things down the line when they had said “light blue” but really meant “pale lavender.” The charm had the sometimes advantageous and sometimes awkward side effect of lowering people’s inhibitions and making them chattier than they might be outside the room.
“There’s supposed to be a big tournament happening this Saturday,” Yvette said, leaning forward. “Betting on it is high. If your friend hasn’t heard about it yet, you might want to find a way to keep him busy that night.”
I nodded earnestly. “Thanks for the tip.”
“The queen might get involved this time around,” she said. “People go crazy when that kind of money gets involved, and mesmer’s not the safest game anyway.”
“I’ll keep him far away from the game,” I said.
I made no such promises for myself.
21
Grandma ran into me on my way out the front door. The basket in her arms was heavy with herbs harvested under the moonlight, and I knew she’d be in the kitchen for the next half hour stringing them into bundles and putting them up to dry in her spell craft room for use in spells.
She stopped on the porch and took in my tightly fastened jacket and boots.
“Where are you headed, sabre?” Her voice stayed conversational, but her eyes were sharp behind her glasses.
She’d caught me.
I knew I should tell her what I was up to.
I also knew she would stop me.
Even though my last mission had gone well, and even though she had said she was proud of me for handling the werewolf attack the way I had, that approval had come with a lecture on how I wasn’t supposed to pursue major leads on my own without telling her.
But I had to pursue leads without telling her, because this next lead was going to take me into an illegal club to watch an illegal game, where I very well might run into members of the pack I had just fought.
It was way above my pay grade, but I couldn’t bear the thought of letting the opportunity go.
I could see the guilt on my face, so I reached for the first excuse that might explain it away.
“I was headed out to the den to go see Brendan,” I said.
She smiled slightly. “Have you decided on him or Alec?”
I stepped aside to let her through the door. “I didn’t know it was a competition.”
She chuckled. “You ought to be more observant if you’re going to become a Dagger,” she said. “You must have noticed the way those boys look at you.”
“I most certainly have not,” I said.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, then. You have a nice visit.”
She smirked, and I made an indignant noise.
She brushed past me into the kitchen, calling, “Have fun, sabre,” over her shoulder.
My ruse had worked, which did nothing to explain why I felt so suddenly unsettled. Brendan and Alec were attractive, certainly, and I knew they both had my back. But that didn’t mean I had to choose one of them.
As if to prove a point, I pulled out my phone as I walked toward my bike and sent them a group text.
Scarlett: Heading to a mesmer game downtown. Don’t come, too risky, but feel free to stage a rescue if you haven’t heard from me by midnight.
I hesitated, then added an emoji with its tongue sticking out before I pressed Send.
The bar that fronted the club was busier than it had been last time, with several people hunching over at the bar and two tables full of people with beers. I made my way back to the bathroom and threw a quick glamour over myself. If any of the wolves from Sticks & Stones caught sight of me, they’d see a woman with fading blonde hair, a black jacket, and a face entirely different from my own.
I tapped the Out of Order sign. The door swung open, and I made my way into a club that was ten degrees warmer than the bar and so loud I almost had to plug my ears.
The gaming area at the back had been rearranged. Three mesmer tables sat evenly spaced along the floor, and each table was now surrounded with staggered platforms covered in small tables and chairs, so everyone present could have an unobstructed view of at least one game. I wandered slowly to the bar and ordered a cola with ambrosia infusion, then scanned the nearest game for an empty chair. There wasn’t one; the platform was crowded, and every seat was occupied with someone whose attention was fixed on the game. I had better luck at the table farthest from the entrance, and managed to snag one just as someone was leaving.
The game was more than halfway over, with only three people left in play. An enchanted microphone on the table amplified their voices as the players made moves and the dealer announced cards. In the center of the table, the two snakes coiled lazily around one another.
I wished Brendan or Alec had come with me. But my discomfort wasn’t worth the risk of them getting recognized as Wildwoods, especially when even a glamour wouldn’t be able to disguise their scent from other werewolves.
Everything in my body thrummed with a subtle sense of suspicion, and I was alert to every person and movement around me. I wondered if this was how the other Daggers felt with the Wildwoods around, like they were open to an attack at any
moment.
Or how they had felt, until recently. The tension in the house had faded a bit since the incident at Sticks & Stones. After word got around that the Wildwoods had tipped us off to the attack, most of my sisters seemed… not trusting, exactly, but not so openly antagonistic, either. A few, of course, thought it was suspicious that the Wildwoods had heard anything at all, but, as Grandma had reminded me after I’d complained about it to her, one shouldn’t expect to have everything.
Down at the edge of the table, I caught a glimpse of someone I recognized. It took me only an instant to place his sharp profile and impeccably tailored suit: this was Joseph Brick, the head of a prominent fashion house and a distinguished magician. I’d met him more than once, and each time I’d had to fight to keep from being overwhelmed in his presence.
The House of Brick was the kind of fashion empire Carnelian had aspired to be back before the queen had started ordering from us. We were on Brick’s playing field now, and if we stayed in favor with the Waterfall Palace, Grandma was poised to be able to exert the same kind of influence on Glimmering fashions as their designers.
Joseph Brick had a subtle power as he walked through the room. This was a person who knew his authority and had confidence in his ability to use it. I watched him as the crowd parted around him. He had a drink in one hand and his other placed on the back of an attractive young woman in a slinky dress.
He stopped at the edge of the mesmer table and watched, focused on the game and getting distracted only by the woman next to him when she spoke. He stayed through two confronts, which both ended in the snake going back to rest.
The third time, the player was attacked. She screamed, then screwed her eyes tightly closed and panted. I recognized the technique; it was a pain management trick I’d learned during my early Dagger training. She stayed absolutely still while the dealer detached the snake, then held out a hand and let herself be led away.
“That’s a professional right there,” a woman behind me said to her companion.
I sipped my drink and tried to let the player’s agony wash over me. She had chosen to take part, I reminded myself. Anyone who played this game knew the risks and must have been willing to accept them.
Mr. Brick had watched the whole thing with a smile. Now, he led his date over toward the tables in front of me. One of them cleared immediately, its previous occupants grabbing their drinks and suddenly deciding they had somewhere else to be. He nodded politely as they left and pulled out a chair for his date. He spoke with her for a moment, then took off toward the bar.
The deference the people around Brick showed was more than something a fashion celebrity might expect, and more than I’d seen people offer him the few times we’d met.
It was more than I would have expected even for members of the Faerie Court, except for maybe the queen and her heir.
A slight suspicion wiggled at the back of my mind, and before I could think it through, I jumped up and scurried after him.
I arrived at the bar a moment after he did and waited behind him while he ordered. The bartender seemed flustered by what had seemed to me like an ordinary encounter, and Mr. Brick turned around, so quickly that I was too late in glancing away.
“Are you following me, my dear?” he said.
I opened my mouth to deny it, then remembered I was fully glamoured. Quickly, I switched tactics.
“I am,” I said and laughed. “Sorry, I’m just such a huge fan of your work.”
He glanced down at me, taking in my glamoured jacket and scuffed boots, then offered a polite smile. “Always a pleasure to meet someone who appreciates the House of Brick,” he said. His eyes darted back to the bartender, who was busy making Brick’s drinks.
“I’m a friend of someone who works in the industry,” I said quickly. “Scarlett Hunter?”
The name didn’t seem to ring any bells, and I frowned a little. He’d been charming and attentive every time I’d met him. He’d even offered me a job a year ago, saying he was impressed by my fledgling career and that I had a place at Brick if I ever got tired of working for my grandmother.
“At Carnelian,” I said. “She’s Ms. Hunter’s assistant. Training as a designer?”
Still nothing.
After a moment, he shook his head slightly, polite smile still affixed. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall. But your friend is a good connection to have if you’re interested in the industry. Carnelian is a rising star.”
The bartender handed him two drinks and turned to me. Mr. Brick nodded and went back to his table, the crowd still parting around him.
“Miss?” the bartender said.
“Sorry.” I blinked a few times. “Just a club soda, please.”
How had Mr. Brick not remembered me? I wasn’t on the same level in the industry as Grandma or Josette, obviously, but I was still Grandma’s personal assistant. That should have counted for something. Weren’t people like Brick supposed to keep an eye on talent that showed promise? It wasn’t like I’d never met him before.
I could practically hear Mom’s voice in my head, chiding me about how Daggers should blend into the environment and him not remembering my name was a good thing.
It was impossible to believe her.
The bartender handed me my glass, and I caught his attention before he moved to the next person.
“That man who was just here,” I said. “Joseph Brick. What can you tell me about him?”
The bartender made a face I couldn’t quite identify, like he had something to say but wasn’t about to give into the urge.
“Not much,” he said. “He’s a fashion designer. Pretty wealthy guy.”
“Is that why people kept giving up their seats for him?” I said.
“I think that’s because most people here know they’d better,” he said.
“He’s a magician, right?”
He paused, then nodded abruptly and moved to help the next person.
22
“Who won?” Brendan asked from across the room, where he was pouring glasses of milk.
I looked up from the piles of tabloids on the table in front of me, eyebrows furrowed.
“The mesmer tournament.”
“Oh,” I said. “Oh, I have no idea. I didn’t stay long after that.”
Brendan gave me an incredulous frown, and Alec set a mug of tea down on the table in front of me. The wolves’ den had come together incredibly quickly over the past few days, which maybe wasn’t surprising when I remembered how many of them were working on it. Warm light pooled from the hanging lamps over the table, and the smell of chocolate chip cookies rose from the oven.
“What kind of generator do you guys even have to keep that going plus the machines in the laundry room?” I asked, gesturing at the oven.
Alec smirked and slid into a seat at the end of the table. “A magical one,” he said dramatically, waving his fingers around.
I tossed him a stack of tabloids. “Here, you look through these.”
“Why are we not just searching on the JinxNet, again?” he asked.
“Because I want real information on Brick, and I also want the kinds of nutty theories that only crop up in Glamour Enquiries,” I said.
He flipped open the first thin page. “Like ‘Pop star Dior Miller gives birth to secret alien baby’?” he said. “Or ‘Merlin of Camelot found living in doomsday bunker beneath Stonehenge’?”
“Like ‘House of Brick designer actually the same wolf who licked me like a creeper in an alley and then totally just pretended to not know who I was because who’d admit to that level of grossness?’” I said. “I already ran a bunch of JinxNet searches, and apparently he disappeared for a few years when I was a kid. Is it impossible he became a werewolf?”
“Most people don’t disappear for years,” Brendan said.
“Sometimes they do,” Alec said. “If they join a reclusive pack. It’s happened before.”
I flipped through a few pages, none of which had anything to say about Bric
k or his company.
Brendan put the milk back in the fridge and fixed me with a skeptical look. “Is it possible you’re just clutching at straws because he didn’t recognize you?”
I shot him a glare, and he held up his hands.
“I’m just presenting all possibilities.”
“Then sit down and help me with some of these possibilities.” I tossed a stack of tabloids toward him.
The timer went off, and Alec got up to pull the cookies out of the oven. I moved on to a stack of fashion magazines.
Brendan dropped into one of the chairs opposite me with a sigh. “What am I searching for, exactly?”
“Anything that connects Brick to the mesmer games, and anything that connects either Brick or the mesmer games to werewolves.”
“I’m feeling attacked.”
“Werewolves that aren’t part of the Wildwood pack.”
“That’s better.”
He flipped through pages and immediately got distracted by an article claiming that the Faerie Queen was secretly just a bunch of hex moths in an overcoat. He read the article aloud to us, putting on a dramatic new voice for every quote, while Alec rolled the second batch of cookies and I kept paging through fashion magazines. One of Grandma’s skirts was featured in an editorial. I remembered coordinating with the magazine to get the items to and from their studio. I tore out the page to keep.
After I’d plowed through two magazines and twice as many warm cookies, I found a letter to the editor that complained about “illicit gambling dens” ruining Portland’s nightlife scene. Half an hour later, I stumbled on a months’-old profile of Joseph Brick. I skimmed through it and paused on a quote from a former House of Brick designer.
“Mr. Brick is tough on subordinates,” says Portia Carpenter, a former employee at the fashion house. “He’s a brilliant man and a top-caliber designer, but he can be sharp with people who disagree with his vision.”
The article went on to talk about how he was usually flanked by multiple assistants, and—