“Oh, the catering company is one of the best in the city. They do our holiday parties throughout the year, and their food is always delicious.”
Spencer got the name of the catering company, admissions receipt, and timed-entry ticket for the special exhibit. Fatima had already wandered off into the museum, invisible to everyone but Spencer. He went after her, Fatima magnetic north to his magic’s compass. He always knew where the psychopomp was, whether nearby in the mundane world or breaking through the veil.
He found her in a gallery containing early twentieth-century artifacts, standing on her hind legs with her front paws pressed against the wooden base of an old-timey coin-operated mechanical fortune teller. She was beyond the thin security rope keeping visitors from getting too close, nose pressed to the glass as she stared at the faded paint and fabric of the fortune teller. The actual crystal ball glowed with a soft, continuous light that didn’t look as if it were powered by electricity.
It is sad, Fatima said.
Spencer slid his sight sideways, the glow becoming distinct in the way of spirits. He made a face as he realized the remnants of a ghost trapped inside the crystal ball were what gave the artifact its glow. He blinked his vision back to normal, studying the protective containment wards delicately carved into the framework of the fortune teller machine. He’d have to break them in order to guide the spirit onward.
“We can’t help it cross over,” Spencer said quietly. Doing so would trigger the wards, draw attention to themselves, and bring in the local police. Spencer didn’t really need that distraction right now.
Fatima dropped down to all fours, growling low in her throat.I could.
“Not today.”
She chuffed at him before stalking off. Spencer went where she wandered, taking his time to explore the museum and the local coven history it put on display. He spent close to two and a half hours in the museum’s four floors and dozens of galleries, absorbing it all and paying particular attention to references about the Cascade Coven. He lingered longest in the large gallery where the public casting circle was located beneath the museum’s glass cupola. When they finally left, Spencer could do with some lunch, but work came first.
He pulled out his cell phone when he was a block away and called Levi. “Hey, Ross, it’s Bailey. I have an idea, and I’m going to need some help getting hired for a catering company. Who do we have on-site that can handle that setup for me?”
CHAPTERTHREE
Spencer stoodat the back of the group gathered around the catering manager, who was giving what he probably thought was a pep talk but sounded more like a threat to his workers.
“—and watch where you walk when serving guests. Make sure you don’t touchanything. There are wards all over the museum, and the owners will know if there’s any tampering that happens.”
Spencer tuned the rest of the speech out, more interested in the people beyond the employees-only section of the museum. The gala was set to start in thirty minutes, and Spencer was going to spend the next few hours carrying a tray and offering up glasses of champagne to people who had spent thousands of dollars to schmooze.
The SOA had managed to facilitate his hiring by the Fly-By-The-Night Catering Company at the last minute through some not-quite-legal hacking and not-quite-accidental sickening by way of a potion for half a dozen workers. Spencer felt a little guilty at giving people what amounted to a mild bout of food poisoning, but they’d get over it.
Eventually, the group broke up at the urging of the manager, the servers picking up trays and loading them with flute glasses of champagne and heading out into the museum proper. Once Spencer left the brightly lit utilitarian back hallways for the mood-lit glow of the museum galleries, he headed for the long gallery that extended from the ticketing area into the heart of the museum. He wanted a good spot to see the attendees arrive, but not so close that his drinks would be the first to go.
He’d raised his shields before stepping onto the premises, not wanting anyone to know he was a magic user, much less a mage. Most magic users didn’t walk around with their personal shields locked down tight—Patrick had been an exception to that only through the interference of a goddess—simply because the expenditure of magic was too draining. Spencer could handle it easily enough for an evening, running under everyone’s radar.
Spencer found a marble pillar to stand beside, careful not to brush up against the floral display wrapped around it. The benches he remembered in the long open gallery had been removed to make way for round dinner tables large enough to seat eight people. The centerpieces were a mix of flowers and ice sculptures kept from melting by way of cold charms. Tiny witchlights danced above the tables, providing a soft illumination for everyone to converse under.
The spring décor was definitely more inviting than the cold weather outside. The guests that trickled into the space from the ticketing area all had removed their coats, mingling in expensive suits and fashionable cocktail dresses. Spencer let his sight slip sideways, vision flashing briefly from normal to a surreal brightness lit up by auras. Mundane humans actually numbered less than magic users tonight, and Spencer was glad he’d opted to shield his magic.
Fatima was still off wandering, invisible to everyone but him. She was a quiet presence in his head but always there. Her silence didn’t worry him as Spencer kept a smile pasted on his face and watched the glasses on his tray disappear at a steady pace. He ended up going back to retrieve more glasses, letting guests who’d finished their drinks already put their empty ones on his tray.
A constant flow of servers came and went from the back prep area to the galleries. Spencer carried his second tray with him through some of the side galleries, where there were currently fewer people, but he figured the small tables offering up finger foods would soon draw the crowd. Not having to stop as often meant he was able to slide into position in the side archway, covertly watching as Caitlin Adler greeted newly arrived guests, surrounded by men and women who all wore a gold broach or medallion that flickered with magic when Spencer slipped his sight sideways again.
The passive magic was the same on each piece of jewelry, a mark representing their coven, he assumed. He blinked his vision back to normal, not overly worried about it, and focused his attention on the whole reason he was there tonight.
Caitlin Adler was difficult to miss, decked out in a metallic gold floor-length sheath cocktail dress, blonde hair slicked back over her skull before falling down her back in Old Hollywood-style glam waves. The diamond jewelry she wore doubled as casting stones, carrying enough magic in them that Spencer would’ve been worried about an explosion if he’d been back in the Mage Corps.
She was beautiful in a way that came naturally and from money, charming those around her and appearing to greet everyone by name. Caitlin made an excellent host and an even better sorceress if her aura was anything to go by. The brightness in her soul was only a few shades dimmer than a mage when Spencer looked for it. She was strong but would never have the ability to tap a ley line only because of a quirk of genetics.
Despite a cultivated background as a reclusive socialite heiress, Caitlin seemed at ease amidst the crowd of guests. She moved gracefully, a ready smile on her face, with no stilted pauses others not used to public speaking might fall into. Another sorceress in a rich burgundy gown stayed by her side, dark hair done up in a chignon and wearing enough diamonds to blind someone when the light caught the stones at the right angle. The way they stayed close spoke of an intimacy that could have been read as friendship or something more. Either way, the dark-haired sorceress was certainly devoted to Caitlin.
Spencer slipped back the way he’d come, the crowd in the side galleries having grown while he got eyes on Caitlin. His tray still had glasses full of champagne, which he offloaded to guests as he drifted through the museum.
Spencer had gone back for a third tray of drinks, wandering the other side of the galleries and passing out champagne, when someone spoke up behind him, causing all the hair to stand up on the back of his neck.
“Long way from New York City, aren’t you?”
Spencer rocked to a halt, pasting on a smile before turning to face the speaker and mentally swearing all the while. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The master vampire of the Seattle Night Court stared at him with hooded brown eyes, Takoma’s attention like a weight Spencer found impossible to shrug off. “Don’t you?”
