Page 3 of Emerald Malice

“I thought we’d do a little recon,” she explains as though we stumbled our way into some sort of bizarre spy movie. “Let’s split up and?—”

“‘Split up’?” I nearly shriek. “Have you seen, like, any horror movie ever?”

She pinches my arm. “Lower your voice! We’re trying to go incognito here.”

“I’ve got news for you,” I say, dabbing my forehead with the back of my hand. “We’re the only ones in here with knockoff dresses and costume jewelry.” Instinctively, I clutch the small gold pendant that used to belong to my mother. “We’re gonna be noticed.”

“Not unless we do something dumb! It’s all about confidence. You need to look like you belong.”

“First of all, this whole thing is ‘something dumb.’ And as a matter of fact, I don’t belong here. I can’t believe I let you rope me into another one of your?—”

“We don’t have time for another Nat Lecture. Let’s split up and compare notes later.” Before I have a chance to respond, she gives me a wink and shimmies into the crowd.

“Okay,” I mutter under my breath as I try to avoid eye contact and find a spot to hide until this is all over. “This is good. This is fine.”

“Ma’am?”

I whip around and find myself looking up at one of the scary bodyguards. This one has a knotted scar across his lower jaw and a nose that looks like it’s been broken several times in each direction.

Not good. Not fine at all.

I try to smile, but all I manage is a wince. “Er, yes?”

“Can I see your invitation?”

I take a quick, panicked survey of the rest of the wedding guests. None of them seem to be holding anything apart from bespoke clutches and glasses of champagne. They look perfectly at ease.

I, on the other hand, am sweating like a whore in church—and it’s very, very obvious to my new friend here that I do not have an invitation.

Instead of going through the indignity of being caught out as a gatecrasher, I go for what seems to be the most graceful of my limited options.

I run.

Admittedly, not one of my finer moments.

This dress deserved a better night out. Hell, I deserve a better night out. A better best friend, too, now that I’m compiling a list.

For the moment, I’d settle for a better sprint time than the burly security guard on my tail.

Thankfully, I’ve got an advantage. The security team following me at a brisk pace across the ballroom seem unwilling to break into a full run so as not to ruffle the invited guests. It gives me enough time to slice through the hall and make it to an elevator.

God must finally be done playing mean tricks on me, because for the first time tonight, I get lucky—one set of doors opens just as I arrive.

I plow into the elevators and start smashing the button that will take me down to the ground floor and to freedom. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, you bastard…”

The doors slowly groan closed. Through the gap, I see the security golems rumbling towards me.

“Close faster, goddammit!” I cry out. “You have one job!”

The guards come closer.

The doors keep closing.

The guards come closer.

The doors are almost closed…

I’m on the verge of letting out my pent-up exhale—there’s only an inch left before I’m scot-free—when, suddenly, a huge hand shoots through the gap.

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