The sounds of the party had changed.
The music had stopped, replaced by raised voices and what sounded like?—
“Is that applause?” Viggo said in a low voice as he hastily readjusted his clothes.
Tension knotted Evander’s shoulders when they slipped inside the ballroom through the back door. He stopped and stared, startled.
Fairbridge was concluding what appeared to be an impromptu magic demonstration. Champagne flutes floated above the small whirlwinds dancing above his palms, drawinggasps of delight from the assembled guests. Brassard stood nearby, his expression one of wonder.
Solomon was a few feet away from Fairbridge, the only sign of his nerves his white knuckles where he’d fisted his hands by his sides.
Ginny materialised at Evander’s elbow.
“Where the hell have you been?!” she hissed. “We thought we heard crashes from downstairs. Fairbridge had to create a distraction.”
“With a magic show?” Viggo grunted.
Rufus and Shaw arrived in time to catch Evander’s explanation.
“We found their operation,” Evander said tensely. “I’ll tell you about it later. For now, we need to leave.”
Ginny’s eyes widened fractionally before her composure reasserted itself. “Then we’d best not linger.”
Evander caught Fairbridge’s eye across the way and gave a subtle nod toward the exit.
Ginny slipped through the crowd toward Brassard. Evander heard her and Fairbridge make gracious excuses to their host about early morning business meetings.
Disappointment clouded Brassard’s face. He kissed Ginny’s hand and followed her forlornly with his gaze as she and Fairbridge made their way toward Evander and their group, Solomon close on their heels.
They were almost out of the ballroom when a faint disturbance reached their ears.
Evander looked over his shoulder.
Brassard was staring toward the back of the chamber. Surprise widened his eyes. It rapidly gave way to suspicion.
Dread squeezed Evander’s chest when he saw what had captured Brassard’s attention. Viggo cursed under his breath.
A bloodied and battered Guillaume had stumbled through the back door.
The dark mage’s gaze found Evander as a fraught hush befell the ballroom. Accusation twisted his face.
“Get ready to run,” Evander warned stiffly.
The magic that washed across his skin in the next instant made him freeze. It was one he had only ever experienced a handful of times before in his life.
Warm and bewitching, it was a power meant to rob him of his senses. And it might have—had it been directed at him. He stiffened and looked sharply at Fairbridge.
The man’s pupils sparked a dangerous amber where he stood rigidly beside him.
The tension building in the ballroom faded. The guests started milling about again, as if under a spell. Guillaume had gone slack-faced where he stood, his expression glazed and his arms limp at his sides. He twisted mechanically on his heels and left the ballroom. Brassard ignored him and began talking to a group of men.
“What the hell just happened?” Shaw said dully.
“Let’s go,” Fairbridge snapped.
They didn’t have to be told twice.
The night air was blessedly cool after the cloying atmosphere of Brassard’s mansion. They hurried down the street and around the corner to where their carriages waited, the drivers looking bored until they spotted them.
