“Get the artifact,” said Zofia.
He looked between her face and the pendant, brows quirked for barely an instant. The man with the knife made a grab for her. She thrust up her elbow, catching him in the nose. Before he could yelp, she caught him sideways with a right hook. The man growled, backhanding her. Zofia’s face stung as she reeled back. Then, she clicked her heels together. Steel spurs spun out from her shoes. The man lunged once more, and she kicked out, swiping his kneecaps so he fell, writhing, onto the floor.
The second he was down, Zofia raced to Enrique. He was busy wresting the square-shaped artifact off the wooden block. Behind her came a loud groaning sound. The man had pushed himself off the ground. As he lumberd toward them, a gold chain spilled from the collar of his shirt.
“Foolish girl,” he rasped.
He reached for something in his cloak. Zofia ripped off another pendant, flinging it at his face. Chemically speaking, it was nothing more than a metal oxidizer and metallic fuel, but Zofia had Forged it to do more than just flash with light once. She had bent her will tothe object, encouraging it to draw from the very air itself. Now it sparked and burned, hissing against the man’s face. His hands sprung apart as he batted uselessly at the pendant.
“Got it!” yelled Enrique.
Three policemen appeared at the front of the entrance.
“Arrêtez!”shouted the first police officer.
All three of them looked up. The man’s mouth twisted into a grin. He reached for the hat on his head, then flung it toward the police officer. Zofia caught a strange sheen to its brim.
The second Zofia realized what it was, she waved her arms to get the police officer’s attention. “Move!It’s a blade!”
Too late. The brim swept across one of the police officer’s throats. Blood bloomed down the man’s shirt.
“No!” she screamed. “No!”
The man grabbed her wrist. She tried to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong. Instead, she grabbed the gold chain around his neck. The man spluttered as the chain broke off in her hand, the force of it throwing her to the ground.
“You don’t know what you’re stopping,” the man wheezed. “This is the start of something new. Atruerevolution.”
He stalked toward her. The dark shape of him choked off the light. Zofia staggered, crawling backward as she reached for the Forged tape concealed on the underside of her collar. She peeled it off, throwing it between her and the man. As she threw it, she willed it:Ignite.
Flames spurted up from the ground and heat shimmered in the air. Just through the flames, she saw the man’s face. Livid and red in the glow.
Enrique helped her stand, his voice sounding faraway as he rallied her: “Move, move!” The exit was within reach. One step, thenanother, then running. The glass doors flung back. Footsteps slapped the pavement. The scent of fire stung her nose. Her mouth tasted like iron and salt from accidentally biting her tongue, and her ears rang out with the man’s last word: “Revolution.”
10
LAILA
Laila couldn’t find enough breath to pull into her lungs.
Hypnos had sent her head spinning.
Tristan and Séverin will be dead within the hour.
“What do you want me to do?”
Hypnos clapped his hands. “Iadorewhen people ask me that.”
Laila narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you—” she started.
But Hypnos ignored her, crossing the room to Laila’s large, gilt mirror propped up on her vanity.
“Allow me to show you the scene I just left behind on the floor of the Palais.”
Hypnos pressed his hand to the mirror, and the image rippled. The reflection changed from Laila’s dressing room to an eye-level perspective of the audience facing the stage. In the mirror’s reflection, men lit up their cigars. Waitresses weaved through the audience wearing wings made of newsleaf, each sheet covered in the words of the French constitution:Liberté, Equalité, Fraternité. Lailaeyed Hypnos suspiciously. Only the courtesans and dancers of the Palais knew the mirror’s abilities.
He met her gaze and shrugged.
“Please,ma chère, this room is not the first dancer’s room I’ve been invited to.”
