Page 69 of Shadows of Perl

Every corner of the room fills with shadows. Dancing turns to scattering. Lights flicker as people dash in every direction, away from the cloaked Draguns swarming the dance floor. People crash into tables, vases shatter, candelabras hit the ground. Shouting drowns out the music. Chaos erupts as Draguns attack—who or what, I’m not sure. I bite the inside of my cheek, my anger boiling as party guests flee to the fringes of the ballroom, the dance floor now a storm of shadows.

Gazing through the haze, I spot her.

Quell.

Wavy ringlets of hair drape over her narrow shoulders, freckles cover her face, trailing down her smooth skin and disappearing into the neckline of her dress. Her deep brown eyes are an abyss. One I used to long to drown in. The gentle curves of her face. The fullness of her lips. That mole near her jawline. It is her. I can’t move, afraid to shatter this moment, if this is actually happening.

She stands in the midst of the chaos and time ceases to exist. She wears the fine red gown of the girl I just danced with. It punches the wind out of me. She stares and it has a hold on me. My throat is dry; the mayhem is silent, and all I can hear is my thudding heart. All I can feel is hers, too. It was her. The truth unsteadies me. The Draguns are after…her. They’re here for Quell! I clench my fists. But before I can summon my toushana or say something, she vanishes in a dark mist.

Bodies jostle around me. The world is hollow of sound. I danced with her. I danced with her! She was right there. In my arms. My heart squeezes so tight I fear it might shatter my ribs. I storm up to the ringleader of this disruption.

“How did you know it was her?!”

“Jordan. I—I mean, sir.” He struggles to tear his gaze from the mayhem on the dance floor. “The target…” His head swivels, brows dented. “Where did—”

Someone nearby gasps, hands cupped over her face.

“Abby?” I say. It’s been months since I’ve seen or even thought about Quell’s old Housemate. Abby chokes on her tears and runs off, scared to death, like half the people in this place.

“You’re Abby’s guy,” I say to him, realizing why I know his face. Last I saw him he wore a stitched talon at his throat.

“Mynick.” He flashes me a silver coin before pressing it to his collar. And I shove him.

“Right now, your name is imbecile.” I drag him aside for a private word. “Why didn’t I know about this raid? Her disguise? Any of it?” The ballroom is a field of wreckage. “This is not how we do things.” I shove him. Not only was I kept in the dark, Quell slipped right through their hands! The Draguns in the room re-form around us. “Fall back.”

Mynick is too stunned to respond. On my periphery, Audubon slips out the door, his suitcase tucked under his arm. She came here tonight for a reason. He could be working with her…

“Shut whatever this is down,” I tell Mynick. “Get to my office and wait there before I rip that coin from your throat and brand it into your skin.”

I hustle out the door after Audubon, the stain of disappointment on Quell’s face as she took in the chaos seared into my mind. I’m firing off a message to Charlie when I spot a closed door at a stairwell exit. Help me on the south stairway. I shove my phone in my pocket, grab the icy magic from the air, and cloak. Audubon flees at full speed. The world shifts, darkening at its edges as I nose-dive through the stairwell from the penthouse floor. I re-form in front of a panting Audubon.

Sweat rains from his brow. His arms are empty. “Who’d you give the money to?” I ask.

His eyes dart to the entry door of the second level of the hotel: it’s propped open by the suitcase. As swiftly as I turn to snatch the suitcase, it is gone. The door swings closed.

I dash through the door to the second floor but find the hotel hall empty—except for a woman in a fancy wheelchair, warming herself under a blanket, waiting for an elevator. I search the halls in both directions, as well as the fire escape outside the window. Nothing. No one.

The woman rolls herself to the elevator. My mind whirring, I walk over to the call buttons and request a car going down.

“Very kind,” she says, tugging her blanket tighter over her lap, pushing her white knotted hair off her shoulders before resting her hands on her wheels.

I send a message to the others as the elevator doors open. The woman rolls forward, catching the corner of her blanket under the wheel of her chair. It slides half off her lap, revealing…the corner of a suitcase.

Her heart races and I feel it, my senses awakening. Her icy blue eyes meet mine.

“You!” I grab her by the throat before she can respond.

* * *

Once my captive is securely off to Headquarters, I duck my head back into the ballroom to ensure the Draguns are gone. Thankful that at least this happened at an Order-exclusive ball. If this were a public ball, with Unmarked, this place would be a bloodbath. Still, the relief doesn’t allay my thoughts of Quell. She knew she was dancing with me. Why would she come here? She’s working with someone. She has to be. The crowd has thinned considerably, but the place hasn’t been completely cleaned up. The Dragunhead won’t be happy about this.

“Mr. Wexton, hold it right there!” Mr. Cartier, host of the Veil of Mums Ball and the mayor of Fairfield, marches toward me.

“Sir, I’m very sorry for the disruption tonight.”

“Is this what the Dragunhead had in mind when he put you in charge? You have any idea how much time and funding goes into this annual ball?” His thick mustache twitches. “Not to mention the fundraising we’re doing. All that money for kids—lost.”

All that money to ensure his reelection, he means.

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