What if he’s not in a stuffy upper-crust club sort of mood this weekend?
I gnaw on a granola bar and ignore the way it hits my stomach like chunks of stone. My gaze sweeps over the road below, but I haven’t seen anyone passing by except what look like regular pedestrians.
If Salvatore’s been following me around, he shouldn’t have been able to tail me here. I left the house under a concealment illusion and only dropped it to get in a ride when I was several blocks from the house.
One worry less out of the hoard I’ve been amassing like a neurotic dragon.
The purr of a particularly refined car engine carries from down the street. I watch the white sedan draw to a halt outside the club. My heart leaps at the sight of Grady’s tall, dark-haired form easing out of the back seat.
Fate must be smiling on me today. I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation, but if I’ve been paying off the karma of some horrible past life, that previous me did one or two things right.
I gather myself, running through the strategy I’ve planned while I give my schoolmate time to settle in. The more relaxed he is when I approach, the easier it’ll be to influence him.
Messing with people’s minds has never been one of my main strengths, but nudging them on a slightly different course is ahell of a lot easier than pushing directly against their instincts like I had to do with Josie.
When I decide it’s been long enough, I slip down the fire escape the same way I came up and cushion my final drop to the ground with a padding of gathered ephemera. Sliding on the ring I imbued and tugging my silk gloves over my fingers, I will the illusion of Chuck the club attendant into existence around me.
As I cross the street, my pulse kicks up a notch.
It should be fine. Top management isn’t likely to be around on a Sunday. I know from my spying that Byron hasn’t stopped by today.
As long as I make my visit brief and inconspicuous, I can complete my personal mission without anyone raising a fuss.
It isn’t hard to find Grady. I pick out his smug voice amid the other chatter in the main lounge room. I drift over, sedately picking up emptied glasses and crumb-scattered saucers, watching him from the corner of my eye.
He’s laughing it up with a couple of the other Luminary students I’ve seen him with before. It seems like a good setting to do my digging.
I draw a little of the room’s energy to me and cast a trickle toward him.Club. Business. Elevation.
I do my best to flavor the prodding with the tone of Elodie’s note, hoping it’ll stir up the right sort of response.
“Did you get anywhere with that Bounty business?” Grady asks one of his friends. “Are they going to let you head the sports committee?”
Ugh. Wrong kind of club, wrong kind of business.
I wait while his friend rambles on about some asshole he’s annoyed with and then risk another nudge of magic in Grady’s direction.
He sighs before a sly smile crosses his face. “It’s been a while since we went out to Groove Garden. What do you think? A littledancing, a little drinking, get your head in the game to take your skills to another level.”
The friend makes a noncommittal sound. “I didn’t get anywhere last time.”
“I hear they’re pretty picky. But if you keep showing up, showing you’re committed… It’s worth a shot, don’t you think?”
“And we’ll have a good time either way,” the third guy says with a laugh.
Groove Garden? That name doesn’t ring any bells—but then, if it’s the kind of place where lucents like this bunch go to party, I’d never have been invited in my reality.
But who is being “picky”? What are these guys hoping to get picked for?
I continue my slow circuit around the trio. The first friend is grimacing. “I’m not sure I even believe the rumors anymore. Maybe it’s just a way to drum up?—”
I lift my eyes, searching for another tumbler I can clear to keep up my ruse.
With a tug in my chest, my gaze collides with Byron’s in the doorway.
We stare at each other for two heavy thuds of my heart that drown out anything else Grady and his companions might be saying. My arms jerk out, setting down the few dishes I’ve gathered onto a side table with a sudden clinking of glass and china.
Byron steps forward, his mouth tensing into a flat line. Cursing silently, I dart toward the room’s other arched doorway.
