Which worked out, since her cell at home was currently occupied.
I crouched down—not very far—and scratched at her ears and sides. She leaned her head forward to rest on my shoulder. “I know,” I whispered. “You hate being left behind. But it’s just two nights, and you’re right here in the same building, see?”
I gave her one last hug and left, feeling guilty. Then again, I also had no doubt that Shadow could break down the ancient door if she really wanted to. I was just hoping she’d choose to destroy the beanbag chair if she needed to punish me. Dashiell had paid for it.
I found Kirsten downstairs in the largest dressing room, tapping thoughtfully on her lower lip as she looked over a pile of spell materials that was spread over the vanity counter. She was dressed in a cream-colored silk blouse, loose but cropped at the waist, covered in itty-bitty sequins. Her satin skirt was an earthy brown, tight at her waist and flaring out at her thighs, and her white-blonde hair was braided around her head, with tiny blue rosebuds embedded in the braid. They were the same blue as her eyes.
I suddenly felt greasy and poor, like I’d wandered into the Oscars in yoga pants. “Wow,” I said without thinking. “You look amazing. And very . . . you.”
Kirsten glanced up and gave me a frazzled smile. “Thank you.” She eyed my outfit, her lips twitching in a “not bad, could be better” kind of look. I fought the urge to look down at what I was wearing. “I like your necklace,” she offered. “What’s happening with the boundary witch? Any change?”
I’d left Kirsten a voice mail after we captured Katia, but I hadn’t known if she’d actually gotten it. I gave her an update about Katia, and Lex’s prediction that she’d be dead through the night. As Kirsten listened, her eyes kept flicking back down to the spell materials. It was a big-ass ward, and I knew she was a little nervous about it.
“Where do you want me?” I said when I finished explaining.
She directed me to the downstairs ballroom, where a few early arrivals were already starting to mill around. I didn’t know anyone there, so I went over to the refreshment table. Because all of the staff had to be from the Old World, and most of them wanted to see the Trials, we had decided to forgo waitstaff in favor of one long table of hors d’oeuvres and pre-poured beverages, which could be supervised by one or two people trading off. The setup was a lot like a high school dance refreshment table, if your high school had a lot of money, expensive tastes, and access to beer and wine. We had discussed serving blood for the vampires, but it was eventually decided that they could eat before they arrived. Tonight was about keeping the peace, and watching vampires drink blood isn’t exactly a peaceful experience.
I nodded at the petite witch behind the table, who was currently making sure the little rows of food were lined up with a precision that would make any OCD sufferer proud. I actually felt kind of bad about grabbing a small container of popcorn, but I did it anyway, because it was the fancy kind dipped in white fudge. And if a fight broke out, I might not get a chance later.
While I was snacking, Kirsten was setting up the wards outside. They involved two complex pieces of magic: first, a go-away-humans spell on the entire block, which would also compel any humans who still lingered to want to leave. Then there was a second, more protective spell that would prevent anyone from entering the building with intent to take a life.
During our planning meetings, I’d asked if she could block anyone who intended to hurt someone else, but Kirsten said that was nearly impossible. It was already very difficult and complicated to determine the difference between someone who wanted to do something and someone who intended to do something. Plenty of the attendees would sort of want to hurt one another, and a few of them would maybe even be planning on it, and the difference was particularly slippery. It was much easier to block murderous intent, because that would hopefully be rare.
Of course, magic tended not to work very well against itself, which was why witches couldn’t usually spell vampires or werewolves at all. I had mentioned this concern to Kirsten too, but she’d assured us that she’d been experimenting on potential wards for months now. She said she’d figured out a way to blend gravitational magic with witch magic, and she was confident that she’d cracked the problem.
I’d dropped the subject, but inwardly I was still worried, mostly because I couldn’t see how Kirsten could have tested her new spell. How many people could she know who truly intended to commit a murder?
At any rate, the bad guy wouldn’t be able to send gun-toting humans in here, and hopefully he wouldn’t be able to enter either, not if he was planning to kill someone. But just in case, each of the theater doors was being guarded by one vampire and one werewolf in wolf form. These guards had been carefully selected for their temperament, as well as their willingness to miss the main Trials, and they were being paid very well for their time.
Kirsten came back inside half an hour later, looking tired but pleased. I wasn’t sure how to ask her if she’d been successful without insulting her, so I just showed her a thumbs-up with my eyebrows raised, from across the ballroom. She grinned and nodded. Then she pointed toward the side door. I turned. Two humans in catering uniforms, who’d been unloading crates of beer, suddenly put down their loads, turned, and beelined for the exit at a near trot. I relaxed. So far, so good.
“Scarlett!” cried a familiar, cultured voice behind me. I turned to see Beatrice, Dashiell’s wife and the official hostess for the party portion of the Trials. Like everything else in the Old World, this was a calculated decision, like a vampire couple version of good cop/bad cop. Dashiell would be the stern, rule-abiding leader, and his wife would soften the blow by charming and entertaining everyone afterward.
I truly liked Beatrice, who was one of the few vampires I knew who didn’t hesitate to be near me. She was still smiling as she hit my radius, and adjusted so quickly that I only noticed a slight tottering on her stiletto heels as she lost her supernatural ability to balance. She kissed me on both cheeks. “I like your dress,” I said, making her beam.
“Thank you, my dear,” she said, looking down at the tight, white sheath. Beatrice was the only person I knew who always dressed like she was at a fancy cocktail party, but for once it was more than appropriate.
We chatted about the party for a few minutes, Beatrice’s eyes darting around checking on things the whole time. It was so strange to see her actually nervous. I was accustomed to her natural confidence.
“How’s his mood tonight?” I asked, keeping my voice light. Beatrice wasn’t the kind of wife who gossiped or complained behind her husband’s back, especially considering how much power and influence he had in the city. But she also recognized that Dashiell could be a wee bit abrasive, and there were things that she was allowed to say that he wasn’t. Like “Hey, Scarlett, maybe you should avoid Dashiell for a couple of days. He’s a bit touchy about you.”
That had only happened a few times. Really.
“Actually, he seems pretty positive,” she said, her face brightening. “I think he’ll be relieved when the Trials end.”
Beatrice’s eyes suddenly flicked toward me like she was avoiding something, and I instinctively glanced toward where she had been looking a moment earlier. A plump Latina woman in a black dress was glowering at me like she could set me on fire if she squinted hard enough. I expanded my radius a little, until it encompassed her. She was a witch.
And Beatrice had tried not to draw my gaze to her. “Who is that?” I asked. “Why is she giving me that look?”
“Her name is Manuela,” Beatrice said in a low voice. “She has a wife, Daphne. And Daphne’s daughter Louisa was one of Molly’s roommates.”
I took a subconscious step backward. Louisa was the Friend of the Witches.
I hadn’t given much thought to the connection; I’d been too focused on Molly. But now that I was looking at the stepmother of one of the girls who’d been taken, guilt and sadness twisted my stomach around like it was being wrung out. Louisa was likely to become a vampire, and her parents had no idea.
I stepped closer so we wouldn’t be overheard. “Dashiell told you about what’s been going on?”