Chapter 45

This night was feeling like a bad dream I couldn't wake from. The one-way glasses in front of my eyes were private spectacles, allowing me to stare at anyone I wished without their knowing. Their eyes were shameless anyway, watching us as we entered, as if they could smell our remnants wafting off us like reeking street dogs wandering into their party.

I supposed we carried an air about us unknowingly, because Finn assured me there were no suspicious thoughts spurning from our late arrival. We let a staff member show us to a high-top table on the far side of the room, giving us a clear view of the entire floor, and before we made our next move, I waited until Milla's brother perched himself near the balcony on the second floor. His escort offered him a cigarillo, which he accepted quickly.

Luther finally joined us. "There are watchmen at every exit. The western stairwell is guarded as well, only letting in a few men on an approved list. I'd bet they're hosting their meetings up there."

"It'd be a shame if they lost their list."

He handed me a folded piece of paper. "I thought the same."

I took it and slipped the list inside my suit jacket for later. How he snuck it off them so quietly was anyone's guess.

It was difficult to eavesdrop on the conversations surrounding us, even more so with this fucking mask that made it hard to breathe so close to my face. More than once did I catch Finn rubbing his temples like he was getting a headache from it all.

"Hanging in there?" I murmured, bending to speak near his ear.

"Is it obvious I don't do well in crowds?" His shoulders lifted with a forced laugh. "I'll be alright. Just need to focus on someone to drown out the rest. Some thoughts are more intrusive than others."

I understood that better than he knew. Scanning the floor, my gaze caught on an archway I'd noticed the servants using as they filtered in and out of the party. A woman stood there in a deep green dress and a silver mask, her hair loosely curled and twisted in an updo to show off her slender neck and scarred shoulders.

Milla had been hesitant to reveal them, insisting a modern lady in the Districts didn't have such marred skin. I thought it was worth the risk of reminding them all of her resilience.

"She's looking for you," Finn said beside me.

So she was. I reached out with my remnant and barely skimmed her face to turn in our direction. Her shoulders relaxed some as she noticed us.

"She's relieved we made it past the guards," he translated her thoughts.

I scoffed. "Likewise. Anything else?"

He paused. "She thinks you look very handsome tonight. She likes your mask and—" Finn stiffened beside me.

"And?" I asked.

"I... don't think I can say it out loud."

"Shitting saints, don't you fucking dare." Luther groaned, shaking his head as if he could guess.

"That's not very professional of you, Finn," I teased. "I hired you for a job, and you're not being completely transparent."

He cleared his throat. "Fine. She imagined you wearing your mask while you were on top of her in bed. A fantasy I could have gone the rest of my life not seeing. Happy?"

A slow smile spread across my face despite the situation as Luther whispered a string of curses. I patted Finn lightly on the shoulder. "Very much."

"Fantasies? What a stimulating topic of conversation." A woman appeared in front of our table with her silver gown and black feathered mask, blocking the view of my diabolical wife.

Vanya.

"Was wondering when you'd show," she murmured. "Where's the rest of you?"

I placed my forearms on the table to lean forward, shortening the distance our words had to travel. "I have an ill family member the cousins needed to stay with. Magrahel is notorious for stealing the sick and weak from their tether to this world."

"My condolences," she replied. "But I wasn't talking about your cousins."

She was looking for Milla. I wondered if the two had struck up an unexpected friendship the other day when they met in secret. "She's here, looking for the book."

She made a strange sound in reply, and her dark eyes swept over the two men standing beside me. "What do you need help with?"

"I want to know what they're discussing upstairs." Removing the note Luther snatched, I unfolded it and showed her the names. "Anyone you recognize?"

Her mouth pulled down in a frown. "Felix mentioned something about important guests, but I've been in enough meetings the last month for my skin to crawl at the mention of attending another. These are the Isle's richest families; each come from a different Third. Most of them should be upstairs already, but I think I saw a Blavatsky chasing a few skirts in the study. Perhaps you could fill in for him. He's far too drunk to be of any worth to the Firenzes upstairs."

The thought of getting into that meeting had my pulse racing. It was risky but too good to pass up. "I'll need someone to keep him busy."

She pursed her lips. "You'll owe me for this."

I smirked. "Just add it to my tab, Vanya."

She offered me the ribbon hanging from the eagle pin on her dress, a type of pass that was given to the important guests she mentioned, to slip by the watchmen.

"I'll need that back, so don't make me regret this," she said and slipped away toward the front entrance of the main room.

"Wings on the roof," Luther murmured under his breath.

My eyes lifted to the third floor, where a young man stood clad in a simple all-black suit that was clearly not made for the standards of this society. A gold handkerchief peeked from his vest pocket. One of the Canary Boys already had news to report.

"Finn?"

He paused, reading the young man waiting in the shadows. "The first car is halfway through. The second is on the way. Routes have been clear so far."

I nodded, and the runner disappeared once more, far more acquainted with this house than any of us. Everything was going smoothly. Our enemies were ignorant of our infestation—and hopefully would remain so until it was far too late.

"I'm going upstairs. Keep an eye on things, cousin."

Luther nodded once, and I slipped away, carrying the cigarillo that had been left burning at the table. It wasn't my usual blend, but it gave my false hand something to fixate on before I throttled the first Firenze I crossed. It also prevented anyone from grabbing that hand and feeling the solid metal beneath the glove, which would be difficult to explain myself out of.

A single guard stood at the end of a staircase as I rounded a corner in the hall branching from the main room. He rolled his head, stretching his neck as if he'd been posted there far too long with far too little entertainment. I adjusted the lapels of my jacket to show off the pin and ribbon as I approached the guard, who held a hand up before I could pass.

"Name?"

"Blavatsky," I said curtly, hoping I'd pronounced it correctly.

The watchman reached in his back pocket, cocking his head when something he was looking for must have been missing. He began patting his person, muttering to himself as he searched for something I knew to be missing.

His list.

"Is there a problem, sir?" I asked him. "Should I go get another officer?"

"No, no, no," he blurted. "That won't be necessary. Blavatsky, you said? Go on ahead. Second floor to the left."

The stairs led to a loft, splitting the space between two rooms. Velvet couches and leather ottomans furnished the floor while a hearth blazed heat and light across the sitting area. To the left, where the guard below had directed, a pair of doors with a golden wood grain were shut with another guard in front of them. Noticing me, he stepped to the side and opened one of them to let me through.

I glanced across the house, towards the opposite railing where Milla's brother lounged on a stool. He was watching me, his mask level with mine. I shirked off his attention before anyone noticed our connection and entered the private meeting.

Conversations fell silent as I took the only empty chair at the end of a long table with eight others; Lavern Firenze sat the head on the opposite side. Each attendee was the designated figurehead of their family or business. Each wore their mask to conceal their own identities for various reasons—possibly from each other.

The door shut and locked behind me, committing me to my decision. But I smiled behind the metal pretense; they had no idea what they had just allowed into this room. In a house full of rats, I was the snake from the garden they should've killed when they had the chance.

Lavern startedthe meeting with a lengthy speech, and I thought the shadows might take him before he had the chance to finish, the way he struggled to speak. His barrel chest would inhale a massive gulp of air between talking points and struggle to get out all his words. I might have felt pity for him had he not been a piece of shit.

"Firstly, thank you all for coming to our city this evening. The pride and concern you show for your country does not go unnoticed."

There were murmurs of acknowledgement from the table.

"Some of you are familiar with the history of our foundation," he went on, "but we have a few new families I'd like to brief. Our roots date back fifty years, when the first descendants came to this Isle and we were forced to make room for their kind. My grandfather, Dante Firenze, was High Overseer at the time."

He coughed into a handkerchief before pulling his fist against his chest. "Seeing as we couldn't send them back, he saw an opportunity to use the remnants to speed up production in the factories and keep our hands clean. He wisely separated our kinds to protect the natives of the Isle, and we profited off their gifts until they cheated the system and took our land and businesses out from beneath us."

My eyes rolled behind the snooping glass.

Lavern sighed and looked down at the bloody cloth in his hand. "What he didn't foresee was their ambition, and how families like the Bianchis and the Attanos would slowly take our city—and soon our Isle—out of our control." He tucked it inside his pocket and leaned on his cane. "But some of us did foresee this, which is why we founded the Nine. Three families from the Upper Knotch of the Isle, three from the Mez, and three from the Lowlands. Each with substantial wealth and influence over their Thirds. Not just to keep an eye on the descendants, but to make sure those who held our ideals remained in power."

It was a history lesson I'd heard from my father following the horrid acts committed against my family. He'd tried to explain to me why someone would do something so wicked, defining the true motivations of the Nine that sought to keep us under their thumb in a single word: fear.

They were afraid of us. Afraid they would lose their positions because our magic seemingly gave us more power, even when we had earned our place in this city just as any of their predecessors had. The Firenzes couldn't allow an outsider—a descendant—to do better. Be better. I was thankful for the mask now, if only to hide my glare I fixed on the old man.

"But no longer will the descendants have the advantage," he said with a small smile. "Thanks to the funding from your families, we can continue to lay the foundation the OIC has provided. We can establish Order once more."

That wasn't the first time someone from his side had thrown that word around. My skin prickled as a shift in the room had the other members straightening in their seats. Lavern motioned to a guard near the doors, who opened them to let in another speaker.

Neal fucking Caldwell.

"I'd like to welcome the head of the Watch, Neal Caldwell. I'll give you the floor, Inspector."

"My appreciation, Lavern," he said with a bob of his head. He wore a simple mask that covered the left side of his face, hiding nothing about his identity. Like he desired the attention the new title gave him. "But first, let's have a toast, shall we?"

Behind him, two staff members entered with trays of flutes filled with a bubbly drink. They served each of us, placing a drink on a square napkin in front of each attendant. Neal stood where Lavern once had, raising his glass. The room followed his lead, and I lifted my own to fulfill the role I played.

"I raise a toast to the new families joining the cause, and may the ones they replaced rest eternally in the void. To the Marcheses and the Clemontes who could not be here today, but without whom, thanks to their groundwork, this night would not be possible. To Order, and to a new future!"

"To Order," the rest of the room chanted before tipping their glasses to the lips of their masks to consume a long sip. I faked the act, faked a swallow, and replaced the spiked drink back on the table.

Neal's smile was even more irritating with the newfound confidence he must have gathered over the past few weeks. He set down his own glass. "I know many of you have been very concerned about the Hightower Heist and the implications of its destruction, but the research obtained at the facility—and the mines—has been recovered and we have not only replicated the Head Alchemist's results, but we have expanded upon them."

"And what about the descendant we had hostage following the Heist?" The man beside me spoke out of turn, interrupting the inspector. "Did you not give him back to the Attano Benders?"

"We organized his retrieval so that the Iron Saint would be parked at the Main Station, and thus allowing us to impair the locomotive. Our sources have confirmed the train is destroyed beyond repair. The Attanos no longer have that advantage and have been severely weakened."

The group murmured their delight over the fact, but I got hung up on two words. Our sources. Who the hells was feeding the OIC information about us? And was it the same one who got us stuck on the bridge that day Regulus was taken? The one who jammed the coupler that night we were severely weakened?

"Furthermore," he continued, "we have something now that we didn't have before when the descendants came to the Isle half a century ago."

"And what is that?" a deep voice asked. I recognized it—might have been that Halloway character that threatened me the last time I was here.

Neal smirked. "We have the Arcane."