Moriarty.'
Outrageous delight sparkled behind the monocle Daisani sported, its presence his only nod toward a mask. He wore a top hat and a fingertip-length black cloak lined in red silk that lent bulk to his slight form. Beneath it was a suit cut in a fashion over a century old. Margrit saw clearly that the finely cared-for fabric was aged, worn to a lighter shade of black at the seams, and that it looked soft with wear.
'The Phantom.' His eyebrows rose, shifting his monocle so it caught the light and glittered. 'Why did you think that?'
'I don’t know.' She found herself smiling. 'Because what better costume to make it clear that this is your party, and that you’re in control?'
Daisani turned to the ballroom below, his cape swishing with the motion. A ripple ran across the dance floor, voices stilling and bodies pivoting toward him, heads tilted upward. He turned back to Margrit almost instantly, and the flicker of attention faded, leaving no doubt that he’d commanded it. 'Do you really think I need the Phantom’s extravagance to dominate this dance hall, Miss Knight?'
'Evidently not.' His smile stayed in place, though sorrow crept through her as she studied the vampire. On impulse she asked, 'You wore this the night you met Vanessa, didn’t you?'
Daisani canted his head in surprise before he gave her a brief, acknowledging bow. He offered his elbow again in an elegant gesture, and Margrit tucked her hand into it. 'I would be honored to accept your escort.'
Surprise filtered through his expression again, and this time it was he who hesitated. 'Are you afraid of nothing, Margrit?'
A genuine smile blossomed. 'I’m afraid of lots of things, Eliseo, but not you. Not tonight.'
'An unexpected gift.' Daisani tucked her fingers into the crook of his elbow and escorted her down the stairs. People made space and offered greetings as he spun her onto the floor. Skirts swirling, laughter on her lips, Margrit put care and politics aside, and gave herself up to the joy of dancing.
He had only seen her dance once before.
That time had been in a club, the raucous music there nothing like the strains of a string quartet, one of three groups spelling one another in Daisani’s ballroom. She had worn less formal clothing then, and had ridden the pulse of music like it was lifeblood, lingering in his arms without a care for her own safety. Taking freedom where the world offered it, just as she demanded it from her nighttime forays into the park.
She wore gold, a color he’d never seen on her. The sheath shimmered with her movements, following her hourglass curves. Thin straps tied at her nape, their length helping to create an illusion of height. A handful of loose curls trickled around her shoulders, high-lights of copper playing up the color of her gown. She wore no mask, only a glittering makeup that brought an exotic touch to her coffee skin tones. Everything about her was warm and full of life, a direct contrast to his own cool silvers and whites.
Tony Pulcella, maskless and clad in a simple black tuxedo, moved through the dancers, disturbing their enjoyment with his purposeful strides. Margrit had yet to notice him, but she was clearly his quarry. Alban fell back a step from the balcony railing, unexpected envy making fists of his hands.
'You can’t back out now, Stoneheart.' Janx’s voice came from behind him, dry sibilance. 'You’re here and you’ve been seen, but more important, I’m sure she’s expecting you.'
Alban scowled over his shoulder. In the ballroom lighting Janx’s costume was even more impressive than it had been at the House of Cards, red and gold patterned to subtle scales that gleamed and shimmered like a living thing. The cut was traditional Chinese, though his knee-length coat was built of fluttering layers instead of being fitted and stiff. Even the pants were loose enough to flow, and the turned-up toes of his shoes were bedecked with fanciful claws that matched long, painted nails on his fingertips. His mask was a wisp of dragon whiskers-thin ribbons of blue and silver that floated and tangled in the shock of red hair that fell over his jade eyes. The end effect was subtle and elegant, except to one of the Old Races. To Alban’s eyes, Janx’s costume was a statement of intent to dominate, such a blatant challenge that even he was inclined to rise to it.
Instead, he shook his head and turned his attention back to the dance floor, quelling jealousy that had no place in his heart as he watched the crowd below.
Tony stalked past Margrit and Daisani, jaw set, with no greeting for either of them. She slowed her movements and Daisani released her hand, an easy action hinting of long rehearsal. Dancers stirred and parted ahead of the detective, then closed ranks again to continue their revelry. Only Margrit and Daisani remained still among the swirl of people, Margrit watching Tony as he disappeared beneath the balcony, and Daisani’s gaze on Margrit. A brief patter of applause rippled out across the floor as dancers turned toward the balcony, their attention directed forward, not up.
An arrowhead contingent wedged its way through them, led by Kaimana Kaaiai. His thick dark hair, cropped short, seemed to capture rainbows from the crystal chandeliers, but his masquerade costume was indefinable from above. Tony flanked him on the left, body language stiff as they strode forward. Others followed behind, a stream of selkies and humans. Cara Delaney walked among them, her pale shoulders left bare by a velvet gown as deep and soft a brown as a seal’s fur.
The formation broke as Kaimana stopped to greet Daisani. His escort washed around them, moving forward, smiling, nodding hellos, promising dances. For a few seconds the order on the floor became elegant chaos, dancers no longer making patterns dictated by the music. Once more, the core remained still: Margrit and Daisani, the latter clasping hands with Kaimana as they exchanged pleasantries. Daisani ought to have been overwhelmed by Kaimana’s bulk, but the slight vampire exuded confidence that belied his size and let him stand easily with giants.
Margrit watched Tony, vitality drained from her expression and quiet regret left in its place. The detective barely acknowledged her, his gaze skimming the room, so intent on not seeing the woman before him that she, out of all the partygoers, could most easily present danger to the selkie lord.
Kaimana clapped a hand on Daisani’s shoulder, chuckling at something, then turned to Margrit, who pulled her attention from Tony to offer a tense smile that blossomed as Kaimana bowed over her hand. Alban, attuned to her voice, heard amusement in it as it broke through the general buzz of revelry: 'You’re all very good at making a girl feel like she’s on a pedestal. It’s nice to see you again, Mr. Kaaiai.'
Kaimana replied, his deeper tone more difficult to pick out, and Margrit laughed.
Then Daisani, his voice lighter and, like Margrit’s, more easily distinguishable, murmured, 'I believe we’ve all arrived now.'
Even Tony turned to see where Daisani’s gaze had gone to. Alban stepped forward again, even knowing that doing so was foolish. More than foolish: he stood first among the three races on the balcony, taking the position Kaaiai had held among his people. Taking the position that Janx would most naturally fall into, but instead the dragonlord came up on Alban’s right, and Malik on his left. Gargoyles did not put themselves into positions of dominance, and yet. And yet.
Tony’s expression tightened and turned to displeasure, the glance he cast at Margrit holding betrayal. Alban kept his hands loose on the railing, unable or unwilling to fall back and concede a place of command while the human detective watched.
Janx, at his elbow, murmured, 'My, my, my, what have we here,' as open an acknowledgment of Alban’s stance as might be had. Interest glittered in Daisani’s gaze as he took in the trio on the balcony, and Kaimana’s eyes lingered curiously on Malik a few long seconds before turning to the gargoyle.
But it was Margrit who moved forward a few inches, Margrit who smiled up at him, Margrit whose attention was drawn away from Tony and fixed on Alban. Stepping forward had been rash behavior, human behavior, but it felt startlingly good, reflected in Margrit’s smile and the surprise of those surrounding them.
'My, my, my,' Janx murmured again, this time with a note of curiosity. Then light humor filled his voice, playful and mocking as usual. 'Come, my friends. It seems we have a party to attend.'
CHAPTER 24
It was easy to see, because she knew to look for it. Janx wore red: dragon colors, with whiskers of blue silk dancing around his face. Malik, on Alban’s other side, wore colors of the desert: shimmering soft gold that moved so lightly it seemed like sunlight on sand, and hard pale blue that did incredible things to his long-lashed eyes. He’d
