Clueless or not—maybe especially when clueless—she was dangerous. One way or the other, he had to stop her before she hurt somebody.
The vivid smoothed down the cloak again and lifted his eyes as, in the mirror’s reflection, the heavy oak door of his bedroom opened. His father stepped in a moment later, dressed down from his usual full suit of armor, instead wearing leggings and a linen shirt.
Marius said nothing as his father came up behind, observing his reflection closely.
“How does the rest of the clothing fit?”
“Well.”
“Good.” Eirik folded his arms behind his back and, though he looked straight ahead, met Marius’s eyes in the mirror. “You have the invitation?”
“Yes. I should be set.” He turned to look at his father. “But I’m only one warrior. How can I face so many of those rats on my own?”
Eirik knit his brows. “Your task is meant to be completed discreetly. If all goes to plan, they won’t even know you’re there. That isn’t an issue, is it?”
He bowed his head. “No, sir.”
Eirik contemplated this for a moment; he caught one of the golden clasps braided in his hair between his fingers and peered into its reflection thoughtfully. “Perhaps you are right, though. Your safety should be our first priority, and if you’re worried, you should at least have some backup.”
Marius agreed, though his heart sank at the thought of having to share any of the credit. “Did you have anyone in mind, Your Grace?”
His father paused and looked into Marius’s eyes. If Marius didn’t know any better, he’d have said that he almost seemed … sad? Or was that disappointment again? And why? “There is one adherent who has been eager to prove herself. I think you know her. Ynga Widearms.”
Marius blinked. “I didn’t know she’s been gunning for rank. She seemed satisfied with where she is now.”
Eirik managed a half-smile. “She has ambition and natural talent. Yes, her talent lies with physical weaponry … but light comes easier once Tyr’s Rite is done. She would make a fine vivid. What do you think?”
Marius looked away with a stiff nod, turning from the mirror and unclasping his cloak chain, tossing the garment on his bed. His father’s words stung, though he would never say it and couldn’t quite understand why. Perhaps because he was convinced that the Radiant never spoke that way about him.
Eirik’s voice was soft when he spoke again. “Well? Will you have her?”
I don’t have any choice, do I? “Yes, Your Grace.”
His father paused. It was almost as though he wanted to say something more; he moved half a step closer and lingered. But then the moment of uncertainty, it seemed, was over, and he retreated.
When Marius looked back up, his father had turned away, shoulders sunken; he was nodding, moving toward the door. “Good. Tomorrow night, I expect triumph. Get some sleep, son.”
The oak door thumped closed with a sound as heavy and hollow as Marius’s heartbeat.
Chapter Thirty-One
Edie turned the rearview mirror toward her and wiped the corner of her mouth with a tissue, clearing away a smudge of deep purple lipstick. Her hands shook. Was this really about to happen?
“It’s going to be okay, kid,” Cal said from the driver’s side. He looked pretty sharp wearing an actual tuxedo, even though the coat was a size too big for him. Easier to hide his guns, so he said; Colt Trooper MK III under one arm and Stoeger Bear Claw under the other.
She tried to smile at him and realigned the rearview mirror to look in the back seat. Mercy, Fisk, and Satara had all managed to squish in together, with Fisk in the middle, in a tux of his own. Well … the shirt, jacket, and tie. They’d tried for hours to talk him into putting on some pants, with no luck. Satara had surprised everyone by showing up in a slinky, bright-red number, and Mercy had surprised no one by wearing her tea-length sequin and tulle monster. At least Fisk seemed to like it. Instead of complaining about the glitter now shedding all over him, he was rather fascinated.
Edie lowered her eyes and looked out the passenger-side window, just barely able to see the outline of her pale face, her one bare shoulder. Beyond her reflection was a long drive lined with little LED pathway lights, leading up to what could only be described as a leviathan of a house. She dug her fingers into the itchy chiffon of her black sheath dress. The damn thing barely fit, and the shimmery epaulet of beads sewn onto the shoulder of her sole angel sleeve did nothing to help the itching.
In the center of the drive, they passed a fountain lit up in blue and purple, and found themselves sitting behind three or four cars waiting to dispense partygoers under the large porte-cochère.
“Oh, god,” Cal grumbled around his cigarette as they came to a stop in the enormous roundabout driveway, affording them a good look at some of the vehicles already parked in the fancy, stone-paved parking lot on one side of the mansion.
“Can you put that out? We’re all going to smell like a minty asshole now.” Edie waved some of his smoke away and added, “What are you oh-godding about?”
Cal cranked his window down and ashed his cigarette, then used it to point to one of the cars pulling into the fancy parking lot.
Edie squinted as she watched the car tuck itself snugly between a Bugatti and a silver Lamborghini. It was a long, luxe old car that looked like it had just taken a wrong turn at Fifth Avenue and missed the Rockefeller Center by a couple states and about 80 years.
“What’s that?” she asked, assuming he was admiring the car itself.
“1930 Mercedes-Benz SS Tourer,” he rattled off without missing a beat. “Champagne pink paintjob, New York pink and cream leather interior, rose gold trim.”
Edie looked at him, blinking rapidly. “You should really start charging for that.”
He grumbled and gripped Ghost’s wheel tighter, glaring at the other car as its lights flicked off. “I couldn’t tell all that from just looking at it, doofus. I worked on that car.”
“Whose is it?” Edie watched as someone stepped out, but it was just a valet.
Cal’s shoulders relaxed, albeit infinitesimally. “My ex.”
Mercy snorted, and Cal seized the rearview mirror, focusing it on the back seat so he could glare at her.
“Your ... ex? Ex-girlfriend?” Edie asked.
“No, Edie, my ex-tended edition of Terminator 2: Judgment Day.” He threw a hand up. “Yes, my ex-girlfriend. Matilda. She’s probably inside. Fuck sake, I knew I’d run into her at some point.” He hissed and dropped his cigarette out the window as they pulled up to the porte-cochère on the left side of the mansion.
It was even more impressive up close. It was made of stone and looked almost Georgian, but with heavy Gothic influences: blind arcading, angle-buttresses, and a pretty vicious-looking spire on the far wing. Golden light poured through the arched windows onto the lawn. Edie studied them in awe; their tracery looked almost organic, more like leaves than stone. Anster had some impressive old buildings, but she’d never seen anything like this.
Cal stopped the car and mumbled, “Stay inside. I’m gonna let you out.” He slipped out and slammed the door, and Edie watched him round the car before he opened the passenger-side back door, letting Mercy out first. He offered her a hand, and she took it, heaving her bulky gown out after her.
Edie watched Cal closely, how easily he took on a subservient role in this environment. She guessed that sort of thing was hard to shake, but the fact that he was still struggling—and the fact that, tonight, they all had to play along with it—made her more than uncomfortable. A thick shard of guilt punctured her heart; after all, she’d dragged him back here.
The valets and a few guests loitering near the entrance stared as Fisk exited the car next, causing the shocks to groan with relief and spring up. Satara climbed out, too, squeezing Cal’s hand tight before she started up the stairs. Edie’s turn was coming up, and if she wasn’t ready, no one was going to stop time for her.
Finally, Cal made his w
ay over and opened her door, holding out a hand for her. She’d already warned him about her ineptitude in heels, and his arm was as stiff as steel while she practically used it as a crutch.
“I should have worn high-tops,” she mumbled.
“I thought the plan was not to call attention to ourselves,” he mumbled back, tensing a bit as a young valet approached him.
Uh oh. Edie watched as Cal’s grip on his small key ring tightened.
“Your keys.” The valet looked at Cal for a moment, then bypassed him, looking instead to Edie. “Your keys, ma’am?”
“Uh, sure,” she said, laughing nervously to try and dispel the tension. She waited for Cal, and so did the valet, though he looked mightily unimpressed.
Cal’s grip on the keys tightened.
Edie nudged him. “Cal.”
The revenant seemed almost to come out of a brief fugue—probably of anger—and practically threw the keys at the kid. “Not a scratch,” he warned, before pulling Edie away, following the rest of their group up the carpeted marble steps.
Edie could feel the frustration rolling off him. It probably took all the strength he could muster not to come in guns blazing. Maybe there was something she could do to help, if even a little; if she could get him to lighten up, he might be less likely to blow a fuse.
She nudged him, gentler this time, and teased, “The way I’m clinging to you like you’re a pool noodle, people are gonna think we’re dating.”
“No, they won’t,” he replied, deadly serious.
Okay, not a good time for jokes. She cringed and made a note to offer more silent support. Being here made all of them nervous, but for him, it seemed extra fraught; she had the feeling most of the people here would feel safe in assuming he was her thrall. For right now, theoretically, that worked out for them, but it was pretty sickening. She was already tired of the Gloaming.
They followed Mercy, Fisk, and Satara into the vestibule, where a tall man in a dark suit was carefully patting down a guest, and a woman dressed similarly was looking through peoples’ purses and taking their invitations. Edie knew that Fisk and Satara were unarmed, a fact that had everyone very much on-edge, but Mercy had whip-stitched a pocket into the inseam of her Spanx, big enough to hide one of her switchblades. It wasn’t clear how much use a Hello Kitty switchblade Mercy had never actually used before would be, but it was a nice gesture.
Edie held her breath as the man patted Mercy down with the backs of his hands, but there was no way he was getting anywhere close to her inner thigh without actually lifting her skirt. He let her go without much of a thought, and Edie relaxed a bit.
Cal wedged Edie between him and the man next, but her pass was brief; the guy was mostly busy eyeballing the six-foot-four revenant. When he was done with Edie, he moved on to Cal unceremoniously, reaching out to pat him down.
Cal looked like he might let him—he didn’t have a whole lot of other choices—but Edie cut in. “Um, excuse me … his anti-decomposition charms are very volatile, so please don’t touch him.” Oh, god—gods?—please let that work.
The man paused, hands hovering over Cal, and looked at Edie. “I have to check everyone.”
Oh, no, you don’t. Whatever she did, she couldn’t let him take Cal’s gun.
Harnessing her panic, she tried to sound as irritated and imperious as she could. “Leave it. Do you think I don’t have him under my control?”
The words made her feel disgusting the moment they came out of her mouth, but they worked. The man slowly lowered his hands. For a moment, it seemed like he wanted to protest, but apparently his desire to keep things running smoothly won out, and he just shrugged. “Very well. My apologies, madam.”
“Security’s tight,” Cal grumbled as he rejoined Edie, tugging his lapels tighter with a stormy glare.
“It probably makes them a pretty easy target, having so many Gloaming in one place.” She could tell he was uncomfortable with what she’d said; she was, too. But she had to bet he’d have been even more uncomfortable without his weapons. Quietly, she added, “I’m sorry.”
He just grunted.
They crossed the checkered marble floor to the grand staircase. The interior was all dark-wooded and marmoreal from what Edie could see, with marble statues of rigid, tall figures wearing armor and adornments the likes of which she’d only ever seen in Lord of the Rings: flowing and strangely organic, like the tracery on the Gothic windows.
Relying less on Cal now that she was getting used to the heels, she followed the others up the grand staircase, past an intricate mural on the first landing—a wood burning of a family of elk under a yew tree. She turned on the landing and started up the second, narrower staircase, keeping a firm grip on the twisting and beautifully imperfect wooden banister. Everything looked like it had been grown rather than crafted. The blood red carpet ended at the second landing, where huge double doors of dark oak were propped open, granting a view of the ballroom.
“Oh my god,” she heard Mercy breathe as Edie came up behind her.
It was enormous, with three huge, arched windows on the north wall and great glass chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings. A dais was raised before the windows, overlooking a dance floor already filled with guests. The intricately-tiled marble floors were polished to a shine, and everything glittered, a joyous orange-yellow light filling the room. Not really what she had expected from a Gloaming party, but it was a pleasant surprise. She stepped through the doors, practically turning in a circle to take everything in.
Behind them, on either side of the door they had just come through, were a set of golden stairs which led up to a large landing and mezzanine. An entire second tier of ballroom, hugging all but the north wall, was full of people milling away from the food and dancing, some looking down and observing those on the ballroom floor.
Edie’s heart beat faster at all the different faces and shapes—creatures she’d never even dreamed of before, let alone seen. Men and women at least eight or nine feet tall mixed with people half their height or smaller; giggling balls of light wove between crowds and danced around chandeliers; nearby, a skeleton in an ornate blue robe spoke animatedly with a pale, pale woman whose skimpy dress revealed a ragged hole in her back, edged with moss and fungus like a rotten tree trunk. Beautiful, sharp-eared and sharp-toothed people of all shades—glossy ebony to powder blue, pearl-white to plum, even multicolored scales—danced and drank and laughed.
Edie was beginning to think that maybe coming here had been a bad idea—that maybe trying to look as plain as she did had been a fatal error.
An unveiled valkyrie wearing a double-slitted dress of swan feathers passed in front of them, and Mercy mumbled, “At least you’re not wearing that. Itchy.”
“So many people. Looks like there aren’t very many humans here, though.”
“We should start looking right away,” Satara said, her voice strained as she came up, holding her clutch tightly. She wore a golden necklace and cuffs engraved with dragons and tiny runes, and they shone brilliantly. “The sooner we find Indriði, the sooner we can … leave.”
Edie nodded and looked around the room. The mezzanine lined the ballroom in a U shape, with the door from which they’d just entered at the lowest point of the U. It was held up by stone columns decorated with gold leaves, and the cover of the mezzanine gave the recesses of the ballroom under it a darker, more private feel—a perfect place to gossip.
“I’m going to check around the perimeter,” Satara mumbled, still eyeing the crowd warily.
Edie nodded and looked at the others. “Fisk, you search the second tier.”
“What should I do?” Mercy asked eagerly.
Edie sighed. She really wished Mercy hadn’t come. The danger here was unspeakable, and the last thing she wanted was for her best friend to get hurt. But Mercy had absolutely insisted. They’d fought over it for a whole day before Edie finally accepted that there was nothing she could do to keep Mercy from coming.
Guilt ove
r how she’d treated Mercy the past week weighed her down. She didn’t deserve someone so dedicated. If Edie were as brave and selfless as Mercy, this whole thing would probably seem a lot simpler.
To top it all off, this whole leadership thing was already giving Edie a headache, and she was grateful Cal and Satara were here to tell her when her ideas were stupid. The most she’d ever been in charge of was a four- or five-person band for a set with DYSMANTLE, and even then, Mercy usually took point.
“Um … you stay with me and Cal for now. We can check the ballroom floor.”
As their group splintered and the two young women stepped further into the ballroom, Cal trailing behind, Edie finally blurted out what she’d been thinking for the past three days. “I can’t believe I’m the one who ended up having magical powers, out of the two of us.”
Mercy laughed a little. “Why not?”
“Well, considering I’m sort of ... the sidekick.” It wasn’t quite the right word, but it was the closest comparison she had. “It’s just weird.”
Mercy’s face fell, and she slowed to a stop next to one of the tables. They held a wide variety of food—a whole roast boar, a platter of baked apples stuffed with wild rice, fish—and further on, a barrel of wine or mead and a flaming punch bowl.
“What do you mean, the sidekick? You’re my friend.”
“I know!” Edie said quickly, wringing her hands. “I just meant, you know, you’re usually in charge of stuff, so it’s just ... a really weird change.”
She could see she’d hurt Mercy’s feelings, but she only seemed to be digging herself a deeper hole.
“You’ve just got the pink-haired magical girl vibe, and I’m just ... grungy. That’s all. It’s just weird. You know, like, if this were a comic or a book, you’d definitely—” Edie turned and tried to look like she was carefully selecting an apple. “You’re just more capable. I’m not good enough to deal with all of this.”
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