I took in the stunning mansion again. “Yeah, I can tell they totally suffered.”
Nigel turned and regarded me critically, lifting his hand to tuck a wayward hair behind my ear. “Inside voice,” he reminded me.
I grudgingly kept my mouth shut as we made our way up the line and into the house. Ordinarily, I wouldn’t stroll in the front door of a house I planned to case, but tonight, subtlety wasn’t needed. The Odermatts might not have been high-level Connected, but their wealth evened the playing field, and they practically shimmered with the arrogance of the entitled elite. Plus, they were beyond delighted to have a member of the Arcana Council at their little party. These people were friends—in the way that wasps have friends—of a long-time compatriot of mine, Jean-Claude Mercault. He’d made formal introductions for me and assured me of a warm welcome.
That warm welcome now strode toward us, setting all my nerves on edge.
“Justice Wilde. Nigel Friedman. So good of you to grace our modest home with your presence.”
The man who made this falsely humble remark paused regally in front of us, resplendent in his dark tuxedo, blond hair, and shrewd hazel eyes, his aristocratic face arrested with interest as he glanced over Nigel and me. I was confident in my clothing. I’d been dressed by the best. But I still breathed a tiny sigh of relief as Count Augustine Odermatt continued with enthusiasm. Clearly, we’d passed the believability test.
“It is my deepest honor to share the evening with you,” he said. “Please. My house is yours.”
“Thank you,” I murmured, trying to look as innocent as possible. It was a struggle, but people saw what they wanted to see—and in the Arcana Council’s acceptance of his invitation, Augustine Odermatt saw a high psychic society coup, nothing more. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt us.
Nigel and I entered the house and were immediately ushered toward a series of ballrooms, each accessorized by elaborate bar setups and string quartets. Men in tuxedos, women in tasteful cocktail attire, some of the doyennes rocking floor-length gowns. Nigel strolled off to secure us both drinks, and his face was unusually grim as he returned to me.
“This is a very odd guest list,” he said. “I can’t figure out if it’s intentional or opportunistic.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t recognize these faces from your past client roster?”
I arched a brow at him. “I generally preferred the anonymous clients. They paid much better.”
“Well, it’s an impressive Who’s Who of Connected glitterati, many of whom are eyeing us with decided speculation. I’m curious to know if they consider the Council a threat or a potential collaborator.”
I snorted—then was forced to pause and truly consider the question. Nigel had a point. My personal circumstances had certainly changed of late. Not all that long ago, I would have been hired by these people to find them treasure or artifacts, whatever they coveted most. Now they might be thinking I could help them in an entirely different way.
“What’s in it for Count Odermatt?” I asked. “Some of these people are his competitors.”
Nigel shrugged. “Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. He definitely doesn’t think you’re here to steal his baubles, though. We’re not being watched by his security team, so far as I can tell.”
“Let’s try to keep it that way.”
“Justice Wilde! And Mr. Friedman. What an unexpected surprise.”
Both of us froze as we heard a voice that had become seared into my limbic system over these past few months, evoking an immediate, viscerally negative response outstripped only by damp Spanx. With a jackal’s smile and a feral glint in his pale blue eyes, the slender, blond-haired Jarvis Fuggeren strolled up to us. European jet setter, arcane black market drug dealer, and international moneyman, Jarvis was also quite likely the front man for the Shadow Court, a rival syndicate of Connecteds who’d recently made a bid to become Arcana Council Enemy Number One. We hadn’t quite proven that last bit yet, but seeing him here did not make my day.
I inclined my head. “Jarvis. I didn’t expect to find you anywhere in public for a while.”
“Truly? I would think you should expect me anywhere it is interesting to be. Which certainly would encompass anywhere that you are, Justice Wilde.” He gave me a deferential half bow.
So many accusations sprang to my mouth, I nearly gagged. I wanted to throttle the guy, but I couldn’t. I was Justice of the Arcana Council, and justice needed proof. Furthermore, any concession that Jarvis was driving me crazy with his damned near-impenetrable shadow organization would be foolish. I had to play it cool, here. Frosty with icicle sparkles. Even if it killed me.
“Always a pleasure,” I assured him instead. “Are you only in town for the day?”
“I’m afraid so. My duties are never-ending—much like yours, I’m sure. I’m here to drum up support for one of the many causes I hold so dear. The Odermatts were kind enough to give me a forum to state my case.” He pointed to one of the multimedia displays set up around the room—it seemed that screens were ubiquitous everywhere now, even for the rich and psychic. One screen displayed a tracery of supply-chain lines through central Europe. The image was branded with a company logo that I recognized as a front for technoceuticals—drugs laced with psychic-activating components. Another screen showed apparent recent coverage of a coastal city devastated by a hurricane, with a clearly concerned man in a white lab coat speaking to a reporter. Yet a third screen appeared to be pitching a time-share for an exclusive community somewhere very expensive and very tropical. Hopefully not the same resort that’d been flattened by the hurricane.
Jarvis caught me lingering on the screen that captured the aftermath of the brutal storm. “Fascinating, isn’t it?” he asked. “Despite all we can do in today’s age, humanity remains so fragile. It always feels like we should do more. Could do more, if only we bothered ourselves to care.”
“Uh-huh.” I tried to appear interested in Jarvis’s blather as the lab guy’s name flashed beneath his image, Dr. Sebastian Rindon. The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place him. On the screen, Dr. Rindon continued to express deep concern, his brow furrowed intently above his safety goggles, and I glanced back to Jarvis. “So will you, then? Bother yourself to care?”
Jarvis spread his hands with a benevolent, all-encompassing gesture that took in the rest of the room. “Care about people who can make the world a better place, the True Connecteds whose abilities and resources truly matter? I can think of no higher calling. You showing your solidarity with the Odermatts, Justice Wilde, goes a long way to encouraging the generosity of everyone attending this gathering. You should be commended for coming here tonight. You are welcome, despite the lowly circumstances of your upbringing. Unlike the madding crowd of so many of the Connected community, scraping along with party tricks and sleight of hand, you are special. You belong.”
I curled my lip. This was exactly why I hated parties like the Odermatts’—and people like Jarvis Fuggeren. They didn’t make me want to belong. They made me want to throat punch someone. Both for my own sake and for the sake of those Connecteds whom Jarvis and company were so absolutely certain didn’t belong.