I looked up at the security cameras tucked into the garland on the second-floor balcony. The devices were almost invisible, except for the gleam of their glass lenses against the thick evergreen branches. The cameras covered the entire ballroom, although most of them were focused on the Nutcracker Ruby. With any luck, the guards monitoring the feed in the castle’s security center would also be focused on the jewel.
“Yes, the mission is still a go,” I said, finally answering Desmond’s question. “I just need to wait for the right moment to slip away.”
He nodded, but I kept glancing around the ballroom, my gaze darting from one group to another. Guests ogling the Nutcracker Ruby. Guards watching the chattering crowd. Katarina and the rest of the ballet troupe signing autographs and posing for pictures.
Everything was the same as before, and much of the red had faded from my vision. But for some reason, the little voice in the back of my mind started whispering even more urgently than before.
Danger-danger-danger.
CHAPTER TWO
DESMOND
Charlotte grimaced, and her aura dimmed, as though she was suddenly worried. She reached up and poked a finger into her auburn hair, scratching her scalp.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
She dropped her hand and shook her head. “I’m not sure. Just be careful, okay?”
“You’re the one sneaking around the castle, so you’re the one who should be careful. All I have to do is keep an eye on the guards and kill the lights for a few seconds. Easy as Moondust Diner pie.”
I winked at Charlotte, hoping my light, teasing tone and pie reference would ease her concern, but she stared out over the ballroom again. Her grimace melted into a thoughtful expression, but her aura dimmed a little more, as did her dark blue eyes. Even her skin grew a bit paler, despite the pink spots painted on her cheeks.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
“Miriam,” Charlotte confessed in a soft, sad voice. “She loved going to parties, especially holiday parties.”
Miriam Lancaster had been a charmer—a paramortal gifted with charisma—which she had used to ingratiate herself with people so she could learn their secrets and then turn that information over to Section 47. Miriam had been Charlotte’s closest—and only—friend in the Washington, D.C., station, until Charlotte had realized that Miriam was one of Henrika Hyde’s moles. Charlotte had exposed Miriam, along with another mole, Trevor Donnelly, who had been Miriam’s lover, the charmer supervisor, and one of my closest friends. I had killed Trevor and Miriam to save myself and Charlotte during a tense standoff at Section headquarters.
Lie, Charlotte would have whispered if I’d voiced the thought. That wasn’t the truth, at least not the whole truth. I had shot Miriam to save Charlotte when the other woman had taken her hostage, but I had killed Trevor because I wanted to—because I wanted vengeance for how Trevor had sold me out on the Blacksea mission.
An old-fashioned bulb in a silver wall sconce off to my left flickered, betraying my turbulent emotions. I exhaled, flexed my fingers, and released the electricity I had been unconsciously gathering up like it was a shield that would block all my horrible memories.
Several months ago, as part of the Blacksea mission, I had been sent to kill Adrian Anatoly, a terrorist who had been hiding on an island off the coast of Australia. My mission partner had been Graham Walker, a Section cleaner who was my best friend. But thanks to Trevor’s betrayal, Anatoly had known we were coming, and he had rigged the beach with Henrika Hyde’s Redburn explosive.
The images flashed before my eyes one after another, like I was watching all those bombs denotate yet again. Graham yelling, then tackling me and driving my body down into the sand. The intense force and searing heat of the explosions slamming into us both. The whites of Graham’s eyes standing out against the shiny red burns that covered his face. The sticky sensation coating my skin like I was drenched in boiling honey that was relentlessly scorching through one layer of my flesh after another. Then, worst of all, Graham hoarsely begging me to take what little energy, what little life, he had left so that I could heal myself, so that I could live, even if he couldn’t . . .
The bulb in the wall sconce flickered again.
Charlotte touched my hand. “Desmond? You okay?”
I shoved the memories away and concentrated on the aura burning bright and steady over Charlotte’s heart. I drew in a deep breath, breathing in the blue of her, and let the cool, soothing sensation flow over the jagged wounds that were still stinging and smoldering deep inside me. Graham might be gone, but Charlotte was here, and I needed to focus on the mission.
I would not lose her like I had lost my best friend.
Charlotte kept staring at me, and I had to clear a hard knot of emotion out of my throat before I could answer her.
“I’m fine. Just thinking about Graham and everything that happened.” I paused, struggling to put my turbulent thoughts into words. “Is it weird that I miss Trevor? I know he was a traitor, that he took money from a terrorist, and that he didn’t care what happened to me or Graham or all the other agents who died on the Blacksea mission. But we were friends for a long time, and I still think about him quite a bit. Missions we went on. Things he said. Jokes he told. Sometimes I just . . . miss talking to him.”
Sympathy filled Charlotte’s face, and she squeezed my hand. “I feel the same way about Miriam, especially on a night like this.” She jerked her chin out at the rest of the ballroom. “Miriam always said this was her favorite time of year. That everyone let their guard down during the holidays and made her job as a charmer so much easier. That people ate too much and drank too much and especially talked too much. She always said Christmastime was the most wonderful time of the year for spies.”
I nodded. It was amazing how much someone could haunt you after they were gone, even if you were the reason they were gone in the first place.
Charlotte squeezed my hand again, then released it. “What was Christmas like with your family?”
I was grateful for the change in subject, although talking about my father was almost as painful as remembering Trevor’s friendship—and his betrayal.
“Well, the General was usually out of town, off overseeing some Section mission, so it was only my mother and me. I didn’t mind, though. Christmas was far less tense and stressful that way.”
Charlotte huffed in agreement. “Sounds like my childhood. My father never took a break from being a cleaner, not even for Christmas, but Grandma Jane always made the holiday special. We would get the biggest tree that would fit in her apartment and decorate it while the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade was on TV. Grandma Jane collected crystal stars, and they always made the tree sparkle like it was covered with diamonds. My father bought the ornaments for her for years, and then, after he was killed, I started buying them for her.” A wistful note crept into her voice. “I had to sell them all, though. After she got sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve made my peace with it.”
Lie, I wanted to whisper. I didn’t have Charlotte’s synesthesia, but her aura dimmed yet again, revealing just how much she missed her grandmother, along with all the cherished mementos she had sold to help pay for the older woman’s medical care.