I turned to see the angel behind me, the crowd parting for him. He towered over the mortals around him. His hair was long and gold, and he wore a cape of deep blue. His dark eyes pinned me.
“Are you not enjoying yourself in my home?” he asked.
How did he know that? I was sure my expression had looked serene. “Lord Armaros. It’s a lovely home. Beautiful, really.”
“Who did you arrive with?”
The silence rolled out for a minute, then I answered quietly. “The count.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Is that right? Count Saklas? With you?”
Not sure I liked the disdainful tone, but admittedly we were a weird pairing. “I’m his new ama—his secretary. He just hired me.”
A woman with bright red hair and pale skin sidled up to Lord Armaros and wrapped her arms around him. Mortal, like me, with the raven tattoo. “Come play with me.”
He hardly looked at her, holding up a finger instead. “In a moment.”
She pouted and skulked away.
He took a step closer to me, purring, “Why don’t you tell me what you really want to ask me?”
“How do you know I have a question?”
“You have as many questions as I have wives.”
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. But I had so many questions: Where was Alice? Why are they murdering women?
I had to keep it simple, of course. Not betray too much. And on my mind right now was the question of which of these bastards had signed his name on the wall, next to the body of a woman with her lungs ripped out.
I smiled at him. “Which one of your friends is called Samael?”
Lord Armaros leaned down and brushed my hair off my neck, his fingers curling around the back of my throat. “Little dove. I think you already know who he is. And you’d better be careful. Samael is terror incarnate. If you ever happen to see his true face, your sanity would never recover.”
15
Lila
That warning rippled cold up my spine.
Lord Armaros pulled away from me, straightening to his full height. “Try to enjoy yourself, little dove.”
I took a sip of my champagne, blending unnoticed into the crowd once more. I couldn’t drink too fast. I had to stay sharp here. If I failed to get the information that the count wanted, I’d be well and truly buggered.
The music had changed to a jaunty tune, and the crowd broke into a dance called the Salton—a wild quadrille of shifting partners, with hands and legs swinging in the air. In most circumstances, it was fun as hell.
And perhaps I could use it. It wouldn’t be a bad way to move from one person to another, while still looking like I was enjoying myself.
I dropped the champagne off on a passing waiter’s tray, then caught the eye of a blond man—an Albian bloke with the raven tattoo on his neck. I held out my hand. In the next moment, I was smiling at him, my feet moving fast over the dance floor. Now, my laughter was nearly genuine, and the music compelled me to move.
He spun me around, and I found myself with the next partner, a dark-haired man in a silky shirt. Despite the dancing, I was staying sharp, scanning the crowd for anyone who seemed amiss.
I needed to see a sign, someone who looked nervous, perhaps. Someone lurking around the edges. When my partner spun me on to the next dancer, I quickly ascertained he was too drunk to be useful, swaying, the sweat pouring down his temples. But beyond him—
The man sipping his gin gimlet by the wall looked far too alert for the occasion. His dark hair was slicked back, his shirt perfectly pressed. Although he was trying to look casual, leaning on a mahogany cabinet, his jaw was rigid.
Laughing, I spun away from the dance, in his direction. He was so intent on the crowd around me, he hardly looked at me. And he was pulling one of my tricks—dress in the most boring, dark clothes possible so no one would notice you.
But my keen thief’s eye caught a glint of something important: a gleaming silver cufflink. I’d seen that before.
Smiling like an idiot drunk, I let one shoulder of my dress fall down. Maybe I wasn’t as stunning as all the glittering women around me, but I had boobs. And boobs could get nearly anyone’s attention.
So I let my cleavage show, and I pressed against him, smiling. “Why hello, darling. You all right?”
He smiled down at me, but the look in his eyes was disdainful. “Are you enjoying yourself?” His voice was crisp and aristocratic.
I had no doubt he’d gone to the finest boarding schools Albia had to offer. And something in his tone definitely suggested that I shouldn’t be enjoying myself at all.
Immediately, he reminded me of my ex, Cassius—the posh wanker who never wanted me to meet his family. I didn’t like the look of this man, the faint judgment in his eyes. But I forced myself to grin at him like I was wholly besotted with him.
I gripped him by the wrists, giggling like a halfwit, wiggling his arms. “Don’t you want to dance, you grumpy Gus? It is a party, and everyone’s doing the Salton. Don’t you know how? I can show you.”
His jaw clenched tighter, eyes darting around the room. He was definitely on edge, and he wanted to get the hell away from me. He jerked his wrists out of my grip, but by the time he pulled away, I had what I wanted: one of his cufflinks. As soon as he’d slipped away through the crowd, I peered down at it.
Just like the man who’d been executed, the cufflink featured a tiny gold lightning bolt. Now that was information the count would value.
I shoved the cufflink into my bra, then turned to see if I could catch sight of the man again. I wove through the crowd until I spotted him—dark hair slicked back, the crisp black shirt.
I followed him a few paces behind, feigning drunkenness. He was walking to another part of the hall. When I peered around his shoulder, I saw a banquet table.
He was heading for a table set with strawberry tarts and a fountain of champagne. When he reached it, I stayed out of his sights, slipping behind the table while he leaned against it, sipping a glass of champagne.
I plucked a tart from a tray—all part of blending in, of course. I bit into layers of flaky pastry with custard and berries. Bloody hell, was this how rich people ate all the time?
But despite my delight with the pastry, I was staying sharp—watching as another man sidled up next to him. A blond in dark clothes.
They weren’t speaking. The dark-haired one slipped a folded piece of paper behind his back, and the blond snatched it, shoving it into his pocket. Casually, he plucked a glass of champagne from the table. With a sip of his drink, he sauntered off.
I dropped my pastry on the table—which I regretted deeply— and slipped through the dancers after the blond.
I’d been pickpocketing since I was a kid, and it would give me no trouble at all to pinch something in a crowd. It was all about the subtle arts of distraction and sleight of hand.
I picked up my speed, walking past him so I could head him off. When I’d passed in front of him, I turned and stumbled into him.
“Oh dear!” I let that strap slide down from my dress again, and one of my hands was in and out of his pockets before he noticed.
He grabbed me by the shoulders, his lip curling a little bit. “Do be careful,” he cautioned in a plummy accent. He smoothed back his hair, then pushed past me.