The Grand Foyer had been transformed. An enormous wagon wheel chandelier supporting stage lamps hung suspended fifty feet in the air. Above it yards and yards of midnight-blue fabric stretched from the ceiling to the walls and dripped to the floor, imitating the inside of a big-top tent. Strings of golden lights curved from the chandelier to the sides of the room where the walls met the ceiling, glittering like summer stars against the night sky. Colored lamps tinted the fabric with splashes of lavender and turquoise. Soft music played from hidden speakers, a complex modern interpretation of the circus theme performed with a full orchestra.
A round stage dominated the center of the room, level with the floor, smooth, and shimmering with flecks of gold. Rings of round tables surrounded the stage, each covered with a golden tablecloth and set for ten.
A pair of tall metal golden supports towered on the opposite sides of the foyer. A high wire stretched between them. Two female acrobats twisted in the air, suspended by lengths of blue ribbons. To the left, on a small raised platform, a contortionist in a black bodysuit ripped in strategic places bent backward, touching his elbows to the floor. To the right an animal trainer strolled through the crowd, two lions in tow on absurdly thin silver chains. The lions followed him, oblivious of the onlookers. He had to be an animal mage.
The sights, the sounds, the colors, and the hum of the crowd combined into a fairy-tale opulent circus. Reality ceased to exist. If I turned, I could still catch a glimpse of it through the giant window, the dark winter street, but here only fantasy existed. I could wander through it for hours, making up stories and watching people.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, as the current of people carried us to the right.
“Eh.” Alessandro shrugged. “The Melbourne Christmas Gala was better.”
I punched him in the arm. I didn’t punch him hard, it was more of a tap, but his eyes sparked with orange. “Careful. I’m a bad man, remember? Who knows what I might do when provoked?”
“If you decide to get provoked, let me know, and I will bring you back to Earth with the rest of us mere mortals.”
He lifted his hand and a waiter appeared as if by magic, wearing a blue vest over a black shirt, black pants, and a red clown nose, and carrying a tray with champagne flutes. Alessandro took two glasses off the tray and held one out to me. “Champagne, tesoro mio?”
My tolerance for champagne was about two sips. Any more, and I lost coordination. If I finished two glasses, I would fall asleep in my chair. But he was holding it out to me and I didn’t want to cause a scene.
I took the flute and sipped. Linus materialized next to us. “Children, work now, bicker later. Follow me.”
We trailed him to a table in the outer row. We didn’t have the best view of the stage, but we had an excellent perspective of the room and the crowd. Alessandro held my chair out. I sat. Alessandro was a touch slow to take the chair next to me. I glanced in the direction of his gaze.
Benedict De Lacy raised his glass at me from across the room. He sat in the back row almost directly opposite us. I raised my glass and offered him a pleasant smile. Alessandro laughed next to me.
I scanned the crowd. Cristal sat to our left in the front row on the opposite side of the stage. An older woman in a silver-green dress with blue-black hair and harsh features sat on her left. I remembered her from Alessandro’s hired killer gallery. The woman had an Armenian first name, Yeraz, and Alessandro’s database had listed her as a Magus Sagittarius, which meant she never missed. It was highly unlikely that she could have smuggled a gun through security, but MS magic came in many forms, my own included. Maybe she would throw forks at us.
The white man in the chair to the right of Cristal looked like he had jumped out of a pro wrestling match. Sitting down, he still towered over everyone else at the table. His impossibly broad shoulders strained his tuxedo jacket, and when he raised his glass, I thought his sleeve would rip. He had the face of a street brawler: a misshapen nose that had been broken too many times, scar tissue chewing up the skin around his eyes, and a heavy square jaw that would break your hand if you punched it. His haircut, a short, blond stubble, did nothing to soften his impact. His eyes, sunken deep under heavy brows, scanned the crowd, looking for someone to hit.
“Of all the idiotic things,” Linus growled.
“Yes, you’d think Benedict would have more brains,” I murmured.
Alessandro had caught us looking at the giant. “Who is that?”
I leaned toward him, keeping my voice low. “Frank Madero.”
House Madero included five brothers, and of those five, the oldest two looked so alike, they could be twins. But Dave Madero had a permanent scar on his left cheek.
“And what does Frank do?”
“His skin and bones harden, his muscles swell up, he grows to seven and a half feet tall, and then he punches through furniture. Or walls. Or people. Whatever is in his way.”
“House Madero is what happens when you breed for strength instead of brains,” Linus said, his voice dry. “In a couple of generations, they’ll have to hire handlers to help them put their pants on in the morning.”
“There are more like him?” Alessandro asked.
“There are five brothers total and a grandfather,” I explained. “They’re mean, stupid, and they hold grudges. And they’re for hire.”
In theory, hiring one of the Maderos as a bodyguard made sense: they were huge and scary even before they used their magic and they served as an excellent deterrent. But the Maderos had a temper. Bringing Frank here was like dragging an enraged bull to a toddler’s birthday party.
Alessandro pondered Frank. “Do your families have a history?”
“His brother, Dave, tried to kidnap Nevada, and Rogan broke both of his arms. Frank also tried to kidnap Nevada and ended up in the ER. If Frank turns, bullets and knives won’t work on him and the only way to fight him is to dodge and hope his body gives out from the strain before he gets his hands on you. The Maderos can’t sustain the combat form for too long. They overheat and pass out.”
Alessandro narrowed his eyes. “Does he still have to breathe in combat form?”
“As far as I know.”
“Excellent,” he said.
“Remember, be discreet,” Linus warned.
“We may not have a choice. Benedict brought friends.”
I surveyed the crowd, trying to pick out faces I had seen on Alessandro’s laptop.
“How many Diatheke employees are here?” Linus asked casually.
“Seven,” Alessandro said. “The dark-haired man to the left of Benedict is an aegis Significant.”
I glanced in Benedict’s direction. A lean, pale-skinned man in his late forties sat by Benedict, picking at the appetizer with his fork. Aegis mages specialized in protection. They could throw a barrier in front of themselves that would absorb physical impact and block elemental magical assaults. An aegis Prime could walk through a modern battle with everything from snipers to artillery shooting at him and emerge unscathed. A Significant would be considerably less powerful, but still, shooting at Benedict would do no good.
“Catalina, lean toward me again,” Alessandro asked.
I turned slightly and tilted my head closer to him.
Alessandro smiled. “Benedict is having a fit.”