Aunt B hadn’t said anything at all, but the look in her eyes had told Sebastian she knew he was downplaying things and she wasn’t happy about it. She was even less happy when he asked for a personal ward to lend to Trista—aka Mallory, as he’d had to explain for the second time. They’d had a staring contest over it, and Sebastian wouldn’t back down. He knew Mallory wasn’t the safest person to be allied with, but she clearly had her own set of rules, and he felt confident she would return whatever item his aunt lent them.
In the end, Aunt B had given him two clay pendants strung on leather cords. She had placed them into his palm, saying “One of these is for you, just to be safe. The other is for Trista—Mallory—to keep. All I ask is that she return it once the ward fades or the pendant breaks.” Sebastian had promised to pass on the message, then had needed to fight off a surge of emotion as his aunt returned his Dee family ring he had left with her the day before. She’d slid it onto his finger with weathered, bony digits, her expression fierce as she’d explained the tweaks she’d made and the protections she’d recharged in it. But her stern look wasn’t able to hide the tremble of her lips as she had bade him to “be off and try not to do anything too terribly foolish.”
It was a piece of advice he fully intended to follow—at least until things went sideways, as they inevitably did. Then all bets were off.
He fingered the clay ward pendant under his shirt where it now lay beside his triangular seeing stone. He’d kept the stone on all this time, even though he hadn’t needed it to see the fae for years, because it reminded him that the fae were not human. No matter how comfortable he might become around them, they were not his kind, and he couldn’t expect them to act like it.
A lot of good that had done him. In the end it had been he, the faithless human, who had let them down, not the other way around. Curse him and his stupid, foolish promises.
“You know, there’s no guarantee Romano will even be there tonight,” Sebastian commented into the darkening silence, needing something to get his mind off the fae. It had been an hour since he’d forced down the cardboard sandwich, and full night was upon them.
Mallory gave no outward sign she had heard him, but he waited patiently anyway.
“My sources are rarely wrong,” she finally said, keeping her eyes on their target. “But it doesn’t matter; we have a contingency plan. Whether we break in and copy the hard drive ourselves, or con Romano out of it in person, it doesn’t matter. Either way, we’ll get the alias. Mr. Silvester said you needed the best, and I am the best.”
Her expression and tone remained neutral, but all the same, Sebastian got an impression of smugness as she put down her binoculars and swung her gaze his way. “It’s almost time. You should get changed.”
“What? Here?” Sebastian looked around, aghast.
“Less risk than finding the bathrooms.”
“But—” Sebastian stopped himself before he said something stupid. He wasn’t a prude by any stretch of the imagination, but Mallory’s leaden gaze would have made even a nudist self-conscious. “Sure, whatever,” he conceded and gave a shrug, then forced his shoulders to relax. He doubted his casual act fooled her, but she wasn’t the type to call him on it. She, of course, had come already dressed the part, utterly professional in all black from her turtleneck sweater to her loose-cut slacks that would give her full range of movement. Coupled with her rubber-soled shoes and midnight-black hair the whole ensemble made her pale skin seem ghostly white in the dim office.
With affected ease, Sebastian turned and gathered what he needed from his backpack, then snagged the tuxedo hanging from the back of the office chair and retreated to the far side of the room. For a moment, he could feel Mallory’s eyes follow him, then the itchy feeling on the back of his neck faded and he assumed she’d gone back to watching their target.
Not wasting any time, he stripped down to his underclothes and started pulling on the tux. In a rare act of forethought, he’d carefully cleaned and hung it after his last date with Lily—all except the jacket, of course, which he had maybe-not-quite-so-accidentally left with her when they’d parted. They’d had to make a detour on the way to their stakeout to pick it up. Fortunately, Sir Kipling had been able to let him into Lily’s apartment so he didn’t have to pick her lock. Despite his usual scorn for fashion and propriety, he felt oddly sentimental toward the stupid monkey-suit. Perhaps because it reminded him of the impulsive optimism that had driven him to purchase the tux and have it tailored, instead of just renting it as he had the Camaro. Good grief, that seemed like ages ago. So much had happened in the last—had it only been a week and a half? That version of himself felt like a completely different person.
He shook his head, focusing on getting all the pieces of the tux on correctly. He couldn’t let himself be distracted by memories. He needed to focus, not think about the way he’d dreaded stepping into Lily’s apartment to find the jacket, or how the sight of it hanging, cleaned and pressed, on her closet door made his chest hurt so badly he’d had to sit down on her bed to catch his breath.
Lily wasn’t dead. Sir Kipling would have known if she was. He would have known. He hadn’t lost her yet, and he couldn’t let the tsunami of chest-crushing fear at the thought paralyze him.
When he was finished dressing, he shoved his street clothes and shoes into his backpack, straightened his tux jacket with a tug, then ran a hand through his unruly dark hair.
“How do I look?”
Mallory got up from her seat by the windows and approached, giving him a once over with a critical eye. She straightened a cuff here, smoothed a wrinkle there, and dusted something off one of his shoulders. Then she stepped back.
“You’ll do.”
“Gee, thanks, I feel like a million bucks now.” Sebastian’s words were sarcastic, but he couldn’t help the little quirk in his lips. For a moment there, she’d acted like a carbon copy of Lily, ensuring every detail was just so. The thought sent a pang through Sebastian’s chest.
Either missing his sarcasm, or more likely ignoring it entirely, Mallory turned away to gather up her own things. “It isn’t what someone like my father would wear to a business meeting, but it is plausible that one might stop by to see a partner after attending some formal event. If he comments on it, say you just came from the Atlanta Opera. They’re performing La bohème right now, if he asks.”
“Uh, okay,” Sebastian said, hoping Romano wouldn’t ask, since he had no idea what La bohème even meant, much less what it was about.
“It’s almost eleven. Late enough for most of the diners to be gone, and early enough that the nightclub shouldn’t be too busy yet. You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be. Kip?” Sebastian called softly.
A dark gray shape detached itself from the shadows underneath the desk and the cat sauntered over.
“You ready to do this?” he asked the feline, who rubbed against his leg in reply, leaving a “gift” of cat hair behind. “I hope that’s for luck,” Sebastian muttered, and picked up his backpack. “Lead on Mallo—wait a minute, what should I call you in front of them?”
“Last time we met my father introduced me as Ms. Jian, his bodyguard.”
“Ms. Jen?”
“No, Ms. Jian,” Mallory corrected him, pronouncing it slowly with the vowels separate so it sounded like “jee-en.”
“Um, right. Okay,” Sebastian said, closing his mouth before he could say that’s a weird name. He eyed her face in the dim light as she grabbed the last of their things. He assumed the name had something to do with her glossy black hair, small stature, and the way her eyes skirted the line between oval- and almond-shaped. He wondered who her mother was, and if John Faust had been feeling sentimental when he’d chosen the name, or if he’d just been trying to be clever.
“Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” she asked, oblivious to his thoughts. “I’m the bodyguard, and bodyguards don’t talk. I can’t lead you around like a lost puppy. Do you remember everything we went
over?”
“I’ve got this, Mal. Stop worrying. It’s not like this is my first rodeo. I talk my way out of trouble for a living, remember?”
Her expression darkened. “What did you just call me?”
“Er, Mal?” Sebastian gulped. The nickname had rolled off his tongue without a thought. He improvised quickly. “It sounds more impressive than Mallory. Tougher, you know?”
“It sounds like a scruffy cowboy who’s always getting into trouble and doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. My name is Mallory.”
“Right. Got it. Got the name, got the job—we got this.”
When Mallory didn’t say anything further, simply headed for the door, Sebastian let out a quiet breath and followed silently after her.
He did have this, really, despite his seeming penchant for sticking his foot in his mouth around his stone-faced accomplice. There was no other option but to succeed. Lily’s life depended on it, and he’d be damned if he let anything get between him and Lily ever again.
Even yourself? his own mind whispered at him.
Sebastian shook his head and focused on the task in front of him. He would deal with all that after Lily was safe. Maybe she would know how to handle the mess of a man that was Sebastian Logan Blackwell—because he certainly didn’t.
***
Cleverly recessed spotlights bathed the upper stories of Midtown Castle in an impressive golden glow, leaving the stone base in relative darkness and giving the illusion that the house was floating in an ocean of light. The exception to the darkness at its base was the outside staircase decorated with strings of small, glittering bulbs that led up to the entrance of the restaurant.
Sebastian and Mallory did not take that way.
Instead, Mallory led them to the back of the building opposite the street, where a short flight of stone steps descended to a heavy wooden door bound in black metal. Sebastian guessed it was supposed to look like wrought iron, but doubted it actually was. Having spent years full to the crown with fae magic, he knew for a fact that the vast majority of metal adornments painted black to look like wrought iron were fake.
He’d done a little research on the metal after he’d left Melthalin, just out of curiosity, and found that wrought iron was no longer made except in a few select locations, mostly so it could be used for historical restoration. People had stopped forging it because it was so crazily labor-intensive to make, while steel was far cheaper, stronger, and more versatile. Most people didn’t even know there was a difference. Of course, mundanes didn’t regularly need wrought iron to protect themselves from fae, demons, or out-of-control wizards, otherwise they might have worried more about being able to identify the real thing.
There was no doorman or bouncer to be seen, but Mallory did not pause as she descended the few steps and grasped the door’s large, ornate knocker. She lifted it and let it thud against the door once, twice, then she paused and repeated the motion. After a few seconds, Sebastian heard the scrape of metal as if a bolt was being drawn back, and then the heavy door swung slowly inward.
The open door revealed a wood-paneled corridor decorated with expensive-looking artwork, a sight which surprised Sebastian—he’d half expected the lower floors to be all stone, like a castle dungeon. While he was busy being disappointed at the lack of manacles hanging from the walls, Mallory had stepped back. It was an obvious invitation for Sebastian to enter first, seeing as how he was playing the rich employer and all. Only then did he notice the doorman in the shadows, standing against the wall and holding the door open for them.
Resisting the urge to nod at the man, Sebastian tore his eyes away and gave each jacket sleeve a straightening tug—hoping that would cover his odd delay—then stepped forward into the belly of the beast. He almost faltered when he crossed the threshold and his Dee family ring warmed, sending a tingle up his arm. Aunt B had said she’d added physical signals to the passive wards in the ring, which would enable him to feel something like what a wizard might sense when magic came into contact with the ring’s defenses. The tingle made him nervous, and he wondered what in the world they were walking into. But he managed to keep his movements smooth and expression relaxed as he strode down the corridor with confident purpose. He felt Mallory fall into step behind and to his left. Sir Kipling, of course, had left their group as soon as they’d hit the street, and Sebastian could only trust the cat had a workable strategy for infiltrating the building. Earlier at the apartment, Sir Kipling had used Sebastian’s notebook to assure them he would be able to follow in his own mysterious way. Sebastian had no idea if that meant the crafty feline was now tailing them, somehow hidden from mundane eyes, or if Sir Kipling planned on poking around until he found some out-of-the-way crack to slip into. He tried not to worry about it as he set his mind to the task at hand.
The corridor wasn’t long, and at the end they were halted by two men in matching suits. Their stature, assessing gazes, and discreet earpieces made it obvious they were security.
“Welcome to Club Magia. May I please see your membership card?” the closer of the two men said to Sebastian, ignoring Mallory.
“I’m not here to play. I want to see Romano. He and I need to have a little chat.” Sebastian smiled coldly at the man, letting some of the pent-up ferocity inside him show through. He didn’t want to look like a threat, just someone to take seriously.
The security guard paused, obviously doing some quick thinking. “I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Romano doesn’t conduct business after hours. I’d be happy to connect you with his secretary if you’d like to make an appointment.”
“Why don’t you call Romano and let him decide who he wants to see,” Sebastian said, eyes narrowing and voice dropping to a dangerous croon. “Tell him Mr. Blackwood is here.”
After a brief moment of hesitation, the guard reached up and pressed a button on his earpiece. “Apologies, Mr. Romano, but a Mr. Blackwood has asked to see you. He’s at the club entrance.” There was a pause while the man kept his hand raised to his ear, as if listening to someone talk, then his eyes flicked up. Sebastian followed his gaze and spotted a discreet camera lurking in the ceiling corner. He gave the camera a brilliant smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes, and he felt Mallory shift behind him.
“Yes, sir. Ah—yes. Very well. Thank you, sir.” The security guard lowered his hand. “Mr. Romano will see you, sir. Someone will be coming to escort you in a moment. Before you enter the club, however, I need to do a security check. If you would raise your arms, please?”
Sebastian did as directed, keeping his expression bored even though his heart was pounding in his chest. They had cleared their first hurdle, and he’d barely had to threaten anyone at all, much less bribe or cajole them.
That was either very good...or very, very bad.
While Sebastian stood there trying to breathe normally, the security guard was slowly moving his hand-held metal detector up, down, and around. It didn’t worry Sebastian, since he’d left his little revolver in the car and otherwise had no weapons. The metal detector let out a soft beep at Sebastian’s ring, which the guard ignored, and then another beep when it crossed over his pocket. Sebastian dug out his truth coin, porthole mirror, and Lily’s charm bracelet to show the guard. He’d wrapped the bracelet in a handkerchief to keep it from clinking in his pocket and giving him away at a crucial moment. It was impractical, but he hadn’t been able to bear leaving it behind. It was the only piece of Lily he had to hold onto, and so he held onto it with a vengeance. A true professional, the security guard didn’t even blink at the oddity of the objects, simply gave them a cursory glance and then nodded at Sebastian.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, then turned to Mallory and repeated the procedure. He went over her more slowly, as if looking for something and seeming confused when he didn’t find it. Perhaps he had expected her to be armed, since she was obviously a bodyguard or escort of some kind. Sebastian had wondered the same thing when they were packing back at his apartment, but Mallory had
pointed out that weapons wouldn’t be allowed into the club, so there was no point taking a weapon that she would probably never get back.
Finding nothing on her body, the security guard moved to her head and paused at the beep his wand gave. Mallory turned and showed him her hair, which was pulled up in a fancy twist and held in place by two slender hair sticks, one white and one black. Sebastian had noticed her fixing her hair right after they’d dropped off their bags in Aunt B’s Buick parked several streets away, but he hadn’t really paid attention.
The security guard hesitated, eyeing the sticks, but then he stepped back and replaced his metal detector. At that moment, there was a click and the door behind the two guards opened to reveal a third man in identical suit and earpiece. Sebastian twitched, almost jumping in surprise—not because of the man’s appearance, but because when he’d opened the door, they were suddenly assaulted by the deep thump of club music. Sebastian could feel the bass vibrating through his chest even this far away, its palpable beat offset by a counterpoint rhythm woven cleverly through by the DJ’s mixer effects. The completeness of the silence before the door had been opened told Sebastian beyond a shadow of a doubt that magic was involved—no mundane soundproofing was that good.
“Come with me, if you would, sir,” the newcomer said, having to raise his voice to be heard over the music.
Sebastian glanced back at Mallory and, at a subtle nod from her, started forward after their guide. Entering the club was almost like stepping into Thiriel’s underground court, except the fae court had lacked thumping club music and gyrating bodies. Sebastian made a mental note to suggest such upgrades to the fae queen, then remembered she would sooner curse him than talk to him. Forcing his mind away from that painful thought, he examined the room as their guide led them around the outer wall. The club was decorated with dozens of recessed lights near the ceiling, and their colorful luminescence gave the room an otherworldly feel. His eyes were drawn to the go-go dancers on strategically placed platforms, their mostly bare bodies beautifully painted with some sort of glow-in-the-dark paint that showed off their sinuous forms as they undulated in time to the music. With his eyes focused upward, he stumbled on an unexpected rise in the floor. Only Mallory grabbing his arm from behind steadied him and prevented an ungraceful faceplant.
Love, Lies, and Hocus Pocus Identity Page 15