Prelude to the Stage
Sydney Cossette had stepped into many roles and worn many outfits. But playing someone who usually ended up in the background meant she tended to don ensembles that made her invisible—an attendant uniform in a parking lot, or a forgettable girl on the subway, or the plain black outfit of a security guard.
Not the bodyguard to a pop star who needed to dress for the equivalent to a costume ball.
Now she stared at herself in the mirror of her room, unsure how to react. Her costume for the night of Winter’s concert was a deer, and she looked the part in a two-piece silver Oscar de la Renta lamé outfit, the top half exposing her back down to the small of her spine, the bottom a shimmery pair of pants so billowing that it looked like a long skirt. Her shoes were the same—pointed boots in luxurious dark gray suede, with heels low enough to be practical. Her antlers were elegant, coated in hanging trails of Swarovski crystals, and implanted with surveillance chips. She didn’t know whether she felt more annoyed or flattered by them. They were a practical size, and on a band that Winter’s stylist had pinned to her hair in such a way that she could pull it off with a single swipe if she needed to—but the headpiece still made her feel awkward, less a secret agent and more a Bambi mannequin.
She looked stunning, though. Definitely the nicest secret agent outfitshe’d ever worn. And in spite of herself, she struck a subtle pose, sticking one hip out and tilting her head to see the light shift against the faux skirt.
A light knock sounded on her door, and before she could react, Winter poked his head in. “Our car just arrived,” he said. “Claire says she’s—”
Then his eyes skipped to her, catching the last bit of her pose, and his words died midsentence. The light changed in his eyes, flickering through a dozen different emotions even as he fought to keep them off his face. His lips parted slightly. He took her in with a single long look, the top and the flowing pants, her pale arms and arched neck, her exposed back.
It certainly wasn’t the first time she’d worn something that turned heads—but she also didn’t usually care. Not the way she did now, at least, her bared skin prickling pleasantly under the intensity of Winter’s stare.
Nor had she expected her own internal reaction to his clothes.
He was wearing just one of half a dozen costume changes he would go through that evening—but it didn’t mean he looked anything less than stunning. His inner collar shirt and thin tie were silky black, while the suit itself had a tailored cape fused with the sleeves, the color a shade of deep forest green with silver embroidery at the hems.
His first costume’s theme: midnight.
For a second, they just stared at each other.
Then she tore her eyes away from him and met his gaze in the mirror. “Did I say you could come in?” she said.
The hypnotized look vanished from his eyes, and he seemed to snap back into himself as he held his hands up. “Your door was open,” he said. “I figured that meant you were okay without a knock.” Then a bemused smile appeared on his face. “Or are you just embarrassed to be caught posing?”
Her scowl deepened as she stepped away from the mirror and toward him. “Forget it,” she muttered. “We’re running late.”
Out in the hall, she could still hear his prep team packing up their supplies in the other bedroom-turned-beauty-room. Now that she stoodright in front of Winter, she could see the faint dusting of makeup on his features: a subtle foundation, a light darkening of his already dark brows, and the thinnest sheen against his eyelids, as if they’d been painted with moonlight.
He was very obviously trying not to stare too long at her.
“If it helps,” he said as they walked together down the hall, leaning down to her so that his breath warmed her ear, “you look beautiful.”
Sydney couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or making fun of her, but she was glad that he looked away before the flush rose on her cheeks.
“How do you feel?” she asked him as they stepped out of her room and headed toward the stairs.
He shrugged, but she noticed the way his eyes darted around the corridor, afraid to settle. “No more nervous than I do before any concert.”
Sydney nodded. She could hear the unspoken words in the air, that this wasn’t just any concert. But somehow she knew Winter would pull off his part of the job without a hitch. She, on the other hand, had a Panacea contact she needed to connect with tonight, at a newly approved drop site right outside the concert venue itself. It was a less ideal place, busier and closer to danger, but maybe the chaos of the event would work in her favor.
They reached the top of the stairs. Beside her, Winter offered her his arm. She stared at it dumbly for a second, unsure what to do for once.
“I’m your bodyguard,” she said as they stood there.
“Yes. And?”
“Do you help all your bodyguards down the stairs?” She looked skeptically at him.
“This one, I do.” Winter smiled a little at her. “Look—you cannot dress like that and not expect me to walk you out to the car. I’m not here to start a public rumor that I’m an asshole.”
“If that’s your idea of flattery, I’m amazed it’s worked out this long for you.”
He cast her a withering look. “Just take the arm already, before Claire blows a fuse waiting out there.”
Eli Morrison had rented out the Alexandra Palace for his daughter’s private birthday concert, a sprawling 196-acre entertainment complex in north London. Under the glory of a spectacular sunset that threw bands of purple and pink across the sky’s smattering of rain clouds, even Sydney had to put her cynicism aside and admire the space.
