He did not. “Fine,” he relented,” But we tell her as little as possible.”
“Not a problem. She’ll only want to hear as little as possible, anyway.” Miranda left him in the shadows so they wouldn’t be seen entering the ballroom together and sought out her friend.
Devin was quite content to sulk in her absence. Quarrelling had done little to temper his desire. If anything, it made it worse. Now, he not only wanted Miranda alone and wrapped in nothing but his arms, he wanted to see how she vented her anger with nothing to hide behind.
Miranda returned before his thoughts could dive too deeply into scandalous. A pretty raven-haired woman trailed behind her, her face soft and friendly, but her eyes were obscured behind round, blurry spectacles.
“Divine above, the stories weren’t kidding, were they?” Miss Foster said, breathless. Maybe Devin had just hung around diverse crowds for too long, but there was something not entirely human about Miss Foster. He searched for the normal tells and found nothing. Except, he suspected the glasses hid her eyes the way his hair hid his ears.
“Lydia. Shh,” Miranda scolded between her teeth.
“Miss Foster,” he said with a bow, then he continued dryly, “We’re in rather a hurry.”
“Oh!” Miss Foster nodded and she adjusted her dress, twitching her skirts around awkwardly. Even Devin knew ladies didn’t make dramatic shows of fixing their clothing in mixed company. “Sorry,” she whispered as she adjusted her spectacles with the tip of a long, thin finger, “Just, uh, the material is—”
“Tell me you didn’t hide a book in your dress,” Miranda scolded.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Miss Foster said with a sheepish smile. She adjusted her skirts again and three books hit the floor. They were small and thin, but still. Impressive.
Miranda covered her face in her hands.
“Well, you can’t think I would be wasting my entire evening dancing,” Miss Foster scoffed, “Honestly.”
“It doesn’t matter. I need you to create a distraction for the guard. Something…loud. Something that will lure him far enough away from the stairs for us to slip past.”
Miss Foster nodded along. “Not a problem. I’m very good at making a scene.”
“Not usually on purpose,” Miranda mumbled just loud enough that he caught it as she pushed past him. He felt her skirts brush against his legs and he stepped back to avoid her plowing into his shoulder.
He and Miranda got into position just out of sight and signaled to Miss Foster, who gave them a very intentional thumbs up before casually meandering down the hallway toward the guard.
Miss Foster cleared her throat and drew the guard’s focus. “Excuse me, sir, but is that a genuine Martinelli sculpture, or a reproduction?”
The guard blinked. “Uh…I couldn’t say, ma’am, but you’re not supposed to be in this part of the estate—”
“Oh, of course, obviously,” she interrupted, “I was just fascinated by all these elaborate pieces. The theme is rather scattered, these two pictures are at least three centuries apart while the architecture of the building is clearly a nod to the mid-century modernist style founded by Calpernicous Dredge. That's not to say it's not truly lovely! These are amazing pieces and all the details throughout the home would put a museum to shame. I mean, the wainscoting alone reflecting the Faery DeviationEra is,” she paused to take a breath before continuing to babble while the guard’s eyes glossed over, “Masterfully crafted. I’d bet anything this is no Martinelli recreation. You know he used demonic muses in his work? From well before the war when that was still taboo. I've never been able to see one this close, in person, can I just get a closer look?”
“This is her idea of distraction?” Devin hissed, unamused. Unless Miss Foster’s goal was to put the guard to sleep, he didn’t see how this would accomplish anything.
“Just…give it a moment. Any second now…” Miranda watched the scene intently, awaiting something Devin couldn’t sense.
Lydia had reached the sculpture in question, examining every surface with her eyes before reaching out with her hands.
“Ma’am, you’re not supposed to touch that—”
Lydia jolted back, her hand nicking a corner of the sculpture. It wobbled dangerously in place.
“Here we go,” Miranda whispered.
The guard and Miss Foster watched silently as the sculpture tipped and shattered against the floor.
“Oh, no. I’m so sorry.” She bent to scoop up the pieces.
“Wait, don’t touch anything.” The guard left his post to attend to her. Devin and Miranda raced for the stairs.
“Thank the Divine!” Lydia’s voice carried as they ascended to the upper floors. “It was a reproduction after all. You can tell by the cross sections here.”
The hallways upstairs were not nearly as dark and laborious. There were a few guards patrolling, but the pair of them were able to time their movements enough to avoid detection.
