by Lili Zander
Get it together, Aria. You can do this.
I walk into the hotel lobby. There’s a line of extremely well-dressed people passing through security. I don’t join it. In my worn coat and backpack, I’ll stick out like a sore thumb. Instead, I head to the reception desk. I intend to get the lay of the land first. “I heard the restaurant upstairs was hiring?” I ask the suit-clad hotel employee who’s watching the proceedings with fascination. “Can I pick up an application?”
I’ve hitched the floor-length dress up so it wouldn’t get ruined in the dirty, slushy snow outside. It’s fully concealed under my ankle-length jacket. I have a hat carefully pulled over my head, concealing my elaborately braided hair. I can’t do anything about my face. I’m taking my chances that like most guys, he can’t tell when a woman’s wearing makeup and when she isn’t.
The guy behind the reception desk gives me a once-over. I must pass muster because his polite smile turns kind. “The competition to be a waitress is pretty brutal,” he says as he hands me a form. “But the tips are shared with the back of the house. Bussing tables is almost as lucrative.”
One of the guards raises his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention. You cannot take phones, cameras, or any other electronic items into the ball. Please have them ready. We will return them to you at the end of the night.”
The announcement isn’t entirely unexpected. All week, I tried to google the Dragon Princes and nothing. I couldn’t find a single photo of them. No gossipy anecdotes. Absolutely nothing. In fact, though there are supposed to be five dragon princes, four of them remain shadowy and hidden. I’ve only heard of Lord Jaeger.
I’m happy enough surrendering my phone. It’s the other electronics I can’t do without, like the tools I need to crack open the safe. But I have a plan.
Giving the employee behind the desk a grateful smile, I take the application. “Is there a washroom I can use?”
“Down the hall, to the right.”
I walk in the direction he’s indicated and push open the door of the washroom. There’s only one other occupant, a young woman dressed in a shimmering silver dress. Cat shifter, judging from her sharp nails.
She’s touching up her lipstick as I enter. She takes in my shabby coat and backpack, and her lips curl into a thin sneer. “Going to the ball?”
Let’s see if I can get her talking. “It’s my first time,” I confess nervously. “What’s it like? Are the dragon princes very intimidating?”
“Wow, you are clueless, aren’t you?” She pulls a tube of mascara out from her beaded clutch purse and gets closer to the mirror. “Nobody can remember the dragon princes unless they wish it. That’s part of their magic.”
What had Mariana said? Unlike the other magicals, dragons cannot be sensed.
In high school, the kids had regarded me strangely. I was Norm, but I was being brought up by a shifter. Most people stayed in their little enclaves, and I was an exception. To fit in, I’d fully embraced my Norm genetics. I love Silas, of course, but I decided when I was fifteen that, to fit in, I needed to hang around with Norms, not shifters. My best friend is Norm.
Mariana had rebuked me for my ignorance, and she was right to. I’m woefully clueless about magicals, and this evening, my ignorance might be my undoing.
If I survive this job, I resolve to change things. I’m not in high school anymore, and I don’t have to choose between my Norm genes and my shifter-influenced upbringing. I can be both.
“That’s a handy ability,” I mutter.
The feline shifter rolls her eyes at me and preens at her reflection in the mirror. “Enjoy the party,” she says with an insincere smile before heading out. The moment the door shuts behind her, I spring into action. I enter a narrow bathroom stall. Unzipping my backpack, I pull out my fancy high heels—also stolen—and slip them on my feet. My coat gets bundled inside, as does my hat and phone.
Lifting open the toilet lid, I shove my backpack into the tank. It’s a tight fit, but I’ve practiced this move during the week, and I know it’ll work. The toilet won’t flush properly, but by the dragon princes’ own rules, the hotel won’t call in a plumber until the ball is over.
I leave the stall, taping a prepared ‘Out of Order’ sign on the door. I rinse my hands in the sink and tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and then it’s time to leave.
Ready or not, the Valhalla Ball awaits.
I hold my breath as the attendant verifies my ticket. “Kelli Pagliaro?” he asks, peering at me, then back at the fuzzy photo on his monitor, then at me again.
I wipe my damp palms against my dress and do my best to look bored. “That’s me.” As expected, most of the security working the event are shifters. The dragons would only hire the best, after all.
The guard sniffs suspiciously at me. I hold my breath. Pieter, buddy, this rune of yours had better fucking work. “Fox shifter?”
“Yup.”
“Not too often you see a fox at one of these things.”
I’m not sure how to reply to that, so I stay silent.
“Okay, you’re clear.” He smiles and hands the ticket back, gesturing for me to enter. I nearly melt into a puddle of relief. I’ve got past the first hurdle.
Calm the fuck down, Aria.
My mouth falls open the moment I enter the ballroom. It’s a winter wonderland. A cool blue light diffuses through the massive room. In the center, a tall tree dominates the space, its golden leaves shimmering in the light. Next to the tree are two tall ice sculptures, one of a stag, and another of a goat.
Eikthyrnir and Heidrun, the stag and the goat that stand atop Valhalla. Someone really knows their Norse mythology. A fellow geek.
I’m gaping in the doorway, and the man behind me coughs politely. “Sorry,” I mutter and move into the room.
“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”
The voice is familiar. Disconcertingly familiar. I look up, and it’s as if my lies have all come true. Rhys, the guy from the Cellar—the Norm guy—is standing next to me, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Fancy meeting you here, love.”
20
Aria
He takes two champagne flutes off of a passing waiter’s tray and hands one to me. “Iechyd Da,” he says, tipping his drink toward me.
“I don’t speak Welsh.” I’m proud of how steady I sound. This whole job has me on edge, and Rhys’ sudden appearance has set my heart racing again. He shouldn’t be here. He’s a Norm, and this is a shifter party, and in my line of business, you learn that there is no such thing as a lucky coincidence.
I should abort this attempt. Get the hell out of here. Alive, I can try to find a different plan. Dead, I can’t save Silas.
“It means ‘good health,’ he replies. He leans in closer, his breath warm against my ear. “You look lovely, Aria.”
The scents of sandalwood and smoke wash over me. Heat licks through my body, making me hyper-aware of everything around me. I battle my fight or flight instincts and turn to him. I need to go on the offensive. It’s the only way. “What are you doing here, Rhys?”
The other night at the Cellar, he’d been dressed casually. This evening, he’s wearing a crisp black tuxedo, and he looks delicious.
My skin prickles in warning. Danger.
He laughs lightly. “I could ask you the same question.” His fingers close around my right wrist, and he tugs my hand toward him, tracing Pieter’s rune with the tip of his finger. “What are you tonight? A fox?”
I stiffen with shock. How does Rhys know about the tattoo, and what is he planning to do about it? “Who are you?”
His lips curl into a devil-may-care grin. “I’m just a guy, love.” He closes the distance between us and presses his lips to mine in a brief but toe-curling kiss. “The guards are watching,” he whispers. “Look like you’re having fun.”
He’s right. A black-clad panther shifter is lurking less than five feet away, and he will be able to hear every word of our conversati
on. I force a smile on my face. “I love the decor,” I exclaim vapidly. “So imaginative.”
He makes a face. “It’s not my cup of tea,” he says. “Too cold.” He waves to a stage which holds five stone thrones, no doubt reserved for the five dragon princes, the most wealthy and powerful men in the world. “A combination of depressing and pretentious. Lord Jaeger has outdone himself.”
I laugh, startled by his honesty. He doesn’t seem to be bothered that the security guard can overhear his biting assessment of Lord Jaeger. I’m not a fan of winter either, but the room feels magical. “Look at it,” I say softly. “It’s Valhalla. The hall of the dead, where Odin, Allfather, chooses his bravest warriors to dwell with him in the afterlife. And look how many of the details they’ve got right.” I gesture to the tree in the middle of the room. “Glasir, the golden tree. The stag and the goat.”
“Yet Valhalla is still the hall of the dead,” Rhys replies quietly, unexpectedly. “And I’m still alive. I personally prefer the spring gala.”
I gulp down my champagne, needing something to steady my nerves. “Are you here with someone?” Rhys asks, devouring me with his eyes.
I should tell him that I have a date. Having him here complicates things exponentially. But I can’t bring myself to lie. “No.”
His eyes flash in triumph. “Good,” he whispers. “I can have you all to myself.” He holds his hand out to me. “Let’s dance, love.”
I let him swing me onto the floor. He’s a good dancer. He leads me away from the guard and pulls me into his body. “I’m a thief, love. I suspect I’m sneaking into this party for the same reason as you.”
“You’re a thief?”
“Mhmm.” He dips his head. “The woman behind you, the one in the black dress, is Hilary Dalzell,” he whispers into my ear. “The diamond and sapphire necklace around her neck has been in her family since the Crusades. The last appraisal valued it at four million dollars.”
I tip my head back and look into his deep brown eyes. “Are you going to steal it?”
He chuckles. “Too distinctive,” he replies. “Too hard to fence. There are easier targets in the room.”
His story has the ring of truth, and I can’t be the only person who’s thought of stealing from the socialites here. “Are you going to get in my way?”
“We don’t have to fight, love.” He brushes a wisp of hair out of my eyes. “There’s more than enough baubles in this room to go around, and I’m very good at sharing.”
My insides heat as I remember that night at the Cellar. The way Rhys and Mateo had both kissed me. The way their hands had run all over my body on the dance floor.
All week, Bea’s been bugging me about which one of them I prefer. The truth, which I’ve been too embarrassed to admit to her, is that I didn’t want to choose. I wanted both.
“So we stay out of each other’s way? Deal?”
His eyes twinkle. “I think we should seal our agreement with a kiss, Aria.”
21
Mateo
Concealed by magic, the four of us watch Rhys flirt with Aria. For some reason, my dragon is close to the surface and completely agitated.
“Well?” Bastian asks me. “Is she telling the truth?”
Erik makes a scoffing sound. “The Norm girl hasn’t said anything,” he says. “She merely implied that she’s a thief. Griffith is a fool.”
“I don’t know about that,” Bastian quips, a rare glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Consider the facts. The four of us are keeping each other company, while Rhys is kissing a pretty girl.”
Casius rubs at his wrist. “She’s probably telling the truth” he replies, “I just looked it up. That convenience store that Aria visited in Harlem is owned by a Creole shifter called Mariana Dupree. She’s a fence. Deals with gemstones mainly.”
A look of relief flashes over Bastian’s face. “That’s not a problem then. We can retrieve the gems she steals.”
“No.” My own wrist is sore too. It’s been irritating me all week. “I think there’s more to this. If she knows enough to be able to access a rune that disguises her as a shifter, she knows enough to stay clear of this party. Only a fool would rob us, and Aria didn’t strike me as a fool.”
“A fool, or someone who is desperate,” Casius says. “You think she’s working for someone.”
I hope not. I haven’t been able to get Aria out of my mind. I really hope she’s not mixed up in anything bad. “Maybe.”
Bastian seems to reach a conclusion. “Mateo, you can trace her, right?”
“Yes.” Aria’s light, floral scent is etched into my mind.
“Then I’m going to pull Tomas off. I want to see what she does when no one is watching.”
22
Aria
When the band finishes the song, I pull away from Rhys. “We made a deal,” I warn him. “You said you wouldn’t get in my way.” My lips are still tingling from that kiss. My pulse is still racing, and I have to fight an overwhelming urge to melt back into his arms and spend the rest of the night dancing with him, without a care in the world.
But at five in the morning, Drakkar Raedwulf expects me to show up at the carousel with the contents of the dragon princes’ safe. And if I don’t, Silas’ life is in danger.
There’s a wicked glint in Rhys’ eyes. “Fuck the baubles, love,” he growls. “Let’s go somewhere private so I can rip that dress off you.”
Any other day, I’d have been tempted. “I can’t,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”
He takes the rejection gracefully. His lips brush against the back of my hand. “I’m sure I’ll run into you again, Aria Archer.”
I really hope so.
I wait until I lose sight of him on the crowded floor. Closing my eyes, I reach into my senses, letting my instincts take over. Everyone is eating and drinking, laughing with their friends, dancing, celebrating. No one is watching me.
Good.
I leave the ballroom quickly, heading down the hallway to the bathroom where I stashed my tools. “You wouldn’t believe the line for the washrooms inside,” I tell the desk employee. The first shift must have ended because this isn’t the guy who gave me a job application.
He gives me a polite smile. “There’s another washroom down the hallway, ma’am.”
I nod in thanks and continue down the empty corridor. Even the most suspicious person watching this interaction wouldn’t think anything of it. A loud cheer goes up in the ballroom, followed by almost perfect silence. “Ladies and gentlemen,” a man’s voice fills the room. “Thank you for attending the Valhalla Ball.”
That must be one of the dragon princes. Things finally appear to be going my way. I quickly enter the unoccupied stall and lift the toilet lid. My backpack is still there. Making a face, I pull it out of the tank and unzip it. Thankfully, it’s waterproof, and the contents inside are perfectly dry.
In a matter of minutes, I remove my red dress and slip into the hotel uniform. I wipe my face free of makeup—maids that work at the Park Hyatt are unlikely to be wearing blood-red lipstick—and swap my stilettos out for sensible black shoes. I undo my hair from Beatrice’s elaborate hairdo—sorry, Bea—and twist it into a knot at my neck.
I’ve studied the blueprints. The employee locker rooms are in the basement, and the elevator accessing it is around the corner. All I need to do is lurk in the bathroom until a member of the hotel staff walks by, and then follow them downstairs, telling them I forgot my key.
I get lucky. I don’t have to wait too long before an exhausted-looking waiter walks down the hallway. Perfect. I slip out and fall into step with him. “Mind if I tag along?” I ask, giving him a friendly smile. “I left my key at home.”
“Sure,” he says wearily. “What a fucking zoo. I can’t wait for this ball to be over.”
“Tell me about it.” I enter the elevator and let him press the button for the basement. I wiped the bathroom clean of fingerprints, and in the dragons’ penthouse, I’ll be wearing gloves. �
�Still, the tips are good this close to Christmas, right?”
He grunts in agreement. I follow him to the breakroom and veer off to the right as soon as we enter, heading to the women’s locker rooms. I’m between shifts, and there’s no one around, no one to get suspicious as I pick the dollar store locks and rummage around the contents, looking for an unattended access card.
Once again, Lady Luck is smiling down on me. The third locker I open has an access card in it. I glance at the name. Maria Kaminski. Thank you, Maria. I really hope you don’t get fired because of me.
Next stop, housekeeping station. Someone’s been industrious, and a neat row of carts are lined up near the door, ready for use the next morning. I grab a cart of towels, sheets, and supplies, hide my backpack in a nest of linen, and wheel it down the service hallway to the staff elevator.
So far, everything has gone my way. Will my luck hold, and will the rest of the job be as easy?
Slipping a pair of latex gloves over my hands, I press the button summoning the elevator. It arrives quickly. I take a deep breath and enter, holding my stolen access card up to the reader.
The red light turns green, and with barely a lurch, the elevator begins its ascent. The building soars a thousand feet above Central Park, but it takes less than a minute to arrive at my destination.
The dragons’ penthouse. I can’t help feeling like I’m stepping into the belly of the whale.
The elevator opens into the apartment. I step out into a small foyer and lights flicker on automatically, almost making me jump out of my skin. Get your head in the game, Aria.
“Hello?” I call out. “Anybody home? Housekeeping.”
Nothing.
The penthouse sits eerily silent and still in front of me. Unease trickles down my spine. The ease of which I got to this point is making me a little twitchy. It’s as if the dragons couldn’t be bothered to secure their private chambers, which doesn’t make any sense. This place should be locked down tighter than Fort Knox on steroids.
I pull the electronic sensor from my backpack—this piece of equipment significantly more high-tech than the laser pointer I used back at the mall—and check the readings. Nothing.