“Thank you, sir,” she said in falsetto. “Oh, thank you so much.”
The man quickly yanked away his hand. Then he ran off into the night. Zofia watched after him, then she looked at her hands. The gel was Streak of Sia, a Forge material first developed in ancient Egypt that retained the shape of prints. Specifically, handprints. Normally the gel was bright blue and frigid to the touch, but Zofia had altered the formula, turning the gel colorless and warm as human skin. It was said the Fallen House could do more with the Streak of Sia. That they could Forge the gel not just to remember handprints, but toleaveprints on a person that would allow them to be tracked. But such technology, if it had ever existed, had died with the Fallen House.
At the entrance of the Forging exhibition, Enrique stepped out of the shadows. His beggar costume had been shucked off for a plain, dark suit and top hat.
“Got it?”
She held up her hand. Enrique kept an eye out as she pressed her hand to the windowpane. It glowed a dull blue.Match. On the heavy doors, the iron locks unbraided, falling into a noisy pile.
The inside of the Forging exhibition was far larger than the outside suggested. The gallery stretched into a long row of darkness, lit up by occasional points of light in front of glass display cases. Though the outside looked like steel and glass, the interior allowed no natural light. Instead, large murals covered the windows. All along the back wall stretched panels of brocade fabric. They were so silky and bright, they looked almost wet.
Enrique pulled a Forged spherical detection device—one of her own inventions—from his pocket. He tossed it in the air. As it slowly spiraled downward, light burst from the sphere, illuminating the room’s contours.
The place seemed empty enough to Zofia, though she didn’t like how it looked. Too closed off, despite the space.
“There’s no one here,” she said. “And there aren’t any recording devices. Come on—”
Just as she stepped forward, Enrique grabbed her from behind and quickly pulled her against his chest.
“Getoff—”
“Easy, phoenix, easy,” Enrique said, low in her ear. “Look at the floor.”
The sphere had rolled to a stop near one of the many podiums. A spiraled grid of red light radiated out from the object, netting across the entire floor.
“They hid the recording devices in the floor?”
“Rather clever of them,” said Enrique, releasing her. “We’ll have to go slower than I thought.”
Zofia glanced at the front door, the pile of iron chains just on the other side. Enrique had slipped extra cash to the madame of a brothelthe next night guard frequented, so the man wouldn’t arrive for at least another twenty minutes. That should have given them plenty of time.
But they’d planned their time assuming the recording devices would be on the wall. Not the floor.
“As long as we don’t touch any of the red light, it’ll be fine,” said Enrique.
He took the lead. He stepped carefully and completely within the bounded space of red light. Zofia followed, matching him step for step. Within five minutes, her calves started cramping. Every space became narrower. She could hardly fit the whole of her foot into each one. Zofia rose on her tiptoes, hands out to the sides for balance. Enrique did the same.
“Nearly there,” whispered Enrique. “We just crossed the seventh podium, and I marked it at the ninth.”
Zofia didn’t look up from her feet. The darkness cinched tight around her. She knew it wasn’t a locked room. She knew it, and yet, she thought she could feel the air touching her. Soft as a feather dragged across her skin. Bile reared up in her throat.It’s open. It’s open.She looked up. She had to see the sky. Had to know it wasn’t a wall. That the podiums weren’t students. That the electric whirr wasn’t laughter.
Enrique stopped a foot away from her. “We’re here! I can see the artifact—”
Her shoe slipped.
The red line across from her snapped in half.
Beams of light shot down from the ceiling. Outside the exhibition hall, sirens screamed into the night.
Enrique turned to face her. “What did you do?”
Zofia looked up wildly, but her gaze went not to Enrique or theblack column where the artifact sat, but to the man leaning against the wall behind them. In the dark, he had melded in with the shadows, but the light revealed him. His eyes narrowed, lips pulled in a sneer as he raised his hand. Light glanced off a raised blade.
“Watch out!” screamed Zofia.
The man thrust the blade. Enrique pivoted out of the way. Instinct took over. When it came to socializing, Zofia had difficulty knowing the right moves. But fighting was different. It was all patterns, anticipation of the movement of muscle.Thatshe could do. Zofia reached for her necklace. At her touch, the Forged pendants shifted.
Enrique jumped to her side.
