by Tess Adair
“You always were stubborn,” she said, brevity spilling over. “And you’re not the only one.”
The hand that clasped hers gave a small squeeze.
“The second I saw you again, at the opening ceremony—it was like I had forgotten us, and then suddenly I remembered.” His eyes searched her face, though she was hard-pressed to say what they searched for. “I think I—I was mad about all the wrong things.”
Logan glanced around the room, checking to see if anyone was listening. As she had at the opening feast, she spotted a number of Adepts stationed around the room, and at least one of them seemed to be watching her in particular. Of course, he was far enough away that he couldn’t possibly eavesdrop on her with unaided human hearing. But who knows what ability he may have been bound with?
Still, she needed to communicate. She lowered her voice and opted for vagueness.
“Phillips?” Her right eyebrow quirked.
Alexei seemed to catch her intention, casting his own glance around the room.
“Yes.” He matched her volume. “I think I should have stumbled over that, but…if anything, I was—” eyes wide with uncertainty, he shook his head, “—I’m not sure I can say it out loud.”
“If it helps…I do know how to keep a secret.”
A laugh passed through his eyes, though it didn’t escape his lips.
“I was happy about it. Bad as it was…you did it for me. It was proof that you cared.”
“Alexei, of course I—”
“I mean, seeing you jump to my defense that passionately…” he shook his head again, smiling at his own expense. “I knew it was wrong, but there was no part of me that could condemn you. The only thing I was upset about was…well, it wasn’t even the lying. It was the sense that maybe I’d overestimated how close we actually were. How important to you I was.”
“You didn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “Alexei, you’re one of my closest friends.”
He gave her a rueful smile.
“But only a friend, right?”
Something caught in her throat, and she had the curious feeling that she’d missed a step somehow. For just a moment, the world seemed to stand still for the two of them. Then another couple rushed by too fast, pressing past Alexei’s back and pushing him into her. Out of instinct, she held him tighter, protecting him from a fall that would never come.
After half a moment too long, she righted herself again, creating a small gap between them.
“Sorry,” she said quietly. “Guess I’m wound a little tight at the moment. You good?”
Alexei blinked and glanced away.
“I’m fine. Shall we resume?”
Alexei’s hand came back to her waist, and his feet launched them back into the dance. Within a moment, she was swept up in the movement again, the hypnotic rhythm of keeping pace with him, and with the music. Apart from the sudden lightness in her chest, she could almost forget their little moment had happened at all.
Eventually, the current song came to an end, and they paused to catch their breath.
“So,” said Alexei, doing his best impression of nonchalance, “I guess it goes without saying, but it looks like you changed your mind about coming to this.”
Logan’s mind flashed to Atherton and her conversation with him. She couldn’t help but wonder what the High Prophet might be willing to do to win, to hold onto his own power.
“Decided it was time I see what all the damn fuss was about,” she answered. Her eyes swept the architecture of the room, with its vaulted ceiling and giant windows, and the centerpieces of red-and-black flowers set at every table, the deep maroon tablecloths under the expensive glassware. “They do love a spectacle here, don’t they?”
The next song began to play, so they resumed the dance.
“Well, who doesn’t love a spectacle?” His smirk came through in his voice; he leaned in conspiratorially. “You haven’t even seen the best part yet.”
A reluctant smile pressed its way onto her lips.
“There aren’t any more godforsaken ceremonies, are there?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a workaholic? I meant the afterparty, of course.”
“There’s an afterparty? Here?”
“Best afterparty in the world,” he answered easily. “You are going to it, by the way. That’s not a question.”
Logan let out a sigh.
“I assume Sasha already knows about this afterparty?”
“Sasha Ren? Of course she does.”
“Then I suppose my fate is sealed.”
“Good. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be.”
They twirled and passed by another couple on the dance floor, and he flashed them his most dazzling smile. Logan did her best to match it, with no way to measure her own success. In a moment, they had twirled in another direction, so it didn’t matter much, anyway. For the next few moments, they danced in silence, and Logan took the opportunity to let her hearing expand, searching for the now-familiar tones of Eliana Blake’s voice.
There. She caught her mumbling something, then laughing.
“Another one?” Blake said to someone Logan couldn’t see. “Guys, I’m gonna get tired eventually.”
“Last one, we promise,” said the other unseen speaker.
Logan heard a shift in the air, like someone passing over a heavy object. As her own body spun in a new direction, she caught a glimpse of Blake holding something over her head. It looked like a watermelon. A moment later, Logan heard a crunching, squelching sound, followed by applause.
Blake was crushing watermelons in her bare hands. Logan felt the omnipresent tension in her shoulders ease.
“Something on your mind?” Alexei’s voice floated into her ear, his lips not terribly far behind. “Care to share?”
Logan tilted her head toward him.
“I would,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper, “but I’m under the impression you don’t want to work tonight.”
She felt a low chuckle in his chest.
“For tonight, that’s true. Work can wait for tomorrow.”
“Let me know when you clock in.”
They kept dancing through the end of the song, and when the next song started, they started up with it again. This one was faster than the others before it; Logan felt the pace change immediately. Her ability to keep one ear trained on Blake faded as a rising elation overtook her, spurred on by each faster and faster spin. If they’d been alone, she might have allowed herself to laugh.
By the time the song ended, both Logan and Alexei were panting ever so slightly, their hands clutched tighter than ever. Logan caught his eye, and Alexei gave her a sheepish chuckle at his own breathlessness.
“Er, I hope I am not intruding,” said a familiar, slightly accented voice from somewhere to her left.
Logan turned to the voice, her right hand still grasping Alexei’s elbow as she did so. Before them stood a pale-haired man with a face she recognized: the one she’d overheard arguing with an Order member earlier that day. He looked a bit different now, in his tailored suit of head-to-toe black.
“You,” she said, blunt in her surprise. “Uh, hello.”
The man gave a sheepish smile, one hand going nervously to his throat to straighten his tie.
“Casimir Volkov,” he said, with a nod in Alexei’s direction. “As I said, apologies if I’m intruding. It’s only—well, I fear I may have made a less-than-optimal impression earlier, Miss Logan. And I was hoping you might allow me the honor of a dance, and a chance to, perhaps, redeem myself.”
Thrown by his sudden appearance at her side, as well as his request, Logan froze. Strange as it would have sounded to anyone she tried to explain it to, Logan really hadn’t come to the ball to dance. Of course, that idea was a little harder to sell now that the entire room had seen her dance circles around it with Alexei.
As Logan hesitated, Volkov gave her a shy smile, then bent himself into a theatrical bow, his hand out
stretched, imploring her to take it. She glanced back at Alexei, feeling an alien panic sneaking up her spine.
“Do you, er, mind?” She kept her expression calm, though she felt anything but. Please mind. Just say you mind.
But Alexei smiled graciously at her.
“Of course not,” he said, giving his own, subtler bow as he released her. “I have a few clients I should try to keep face with, anyway. We’ll continue this at a later time, H.C.”
With a wink that Volkov may or may not have been able to see, Alexei clasped her hand again and brought it to his lips, leaving a light, fluttery kiss on that small patch of exposed skin. Then he spun away from her before she had a chance to react.
Balls.
Logan turned back to Volkov and cleared her throat.
“Well, hi,” she said. She raised her hand and waved at him, feeling her muscles start to tighten.
Volkov, on the other hand, smiled.
“Shall we?”
With a nod, Logan took his offered hand. He stepped in closer to her than she would have liked, though not quite as close as Alexei had been. They resumed the dance.
Logan found that he was unexpectedly graceful—almost, but not quite, as polished as Alexei. Maybe he was raised by a prima ballerina, too.
She adjusted to him quickly, a little surprised by the ease with which it came. As she relaxed, she took a quick moment to take in Volkov’s features up close. His thin lips were softly shaped and framed by facial hair that fell somewhere between five o’clock shadow and carefully trimmed beard. His bright blue eyes seemed to droop a little at the outer corners, giving him the impression of care and sensitivity without him saying a word. Though his pale hair had been combed back from his face, she noticed one lone strand kept threatening to break free.
He cleared his throat and caught her gaze.
“You and your friend make quite a pair,” he said, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “During our conversation earlier, I came under the impression that you preferred to—ah, what is expression?—oh, yes, fly under the radar, no?”
Logan cleared her throat, too.
“You could say that.”
Volkov’s smile widened.
“And yet, when you were dancing just now,” he said in a low voice, “at least half the room turned to watch. You are a lovely dancer, you know.”
Logan felt her left eye twitch involuntarily. She didn’t like the sound of…any of that.
“That was mostly Alexei,” she answered, keeping her voice light.
“Perhaps,” conceded Volkov with a nod. “Of course, you two weren’t the only source of entertainment. There is always the newest Champion of the Gauntlet, isn’t there?”
As he spoke, he flicked his gaze over to the north end of the room, and Logan let her gaze follow. Two red sleeves were now making their slow way over to Blake, a cinderblock held between the two of them. By now, a number of tables had been pushed aside to allow more room for the debris that Blake’s demonstrations left behind. Logan scanned the crowd directly around her, and she was unsurprised to see that Jude had joined them, too.
“Yep,” said Logan, turning her gaze back to Volkov, though she kept one ear trained on Blake. “Can’t forget her.”
“After all,” said Volkov, his voice still low, “she is walking proof of the Order’s blatant hypocrisy, is she not?”
Logan felt her right eyebrow slowly raise and quickly scanned their immediate vicinity. She wasn’t the only one who might be under surveillance.
“That’s one way of looking at it,” said Logan noncommittally, knowing full well that she’d expressed nearly the exact same sentiment herself. “I’m sure the Order would disagree.”
“But you would not.” It was a statement, not a question. Logan decided not to rush to respond. Volkov broadened his smile. “Perhaps now is not the time to discuss. Is not in keeping with good decorum, I think. So, instead, I shall say, if it is not too forward, that I think you look stunning this evening.”
With a quick scan of her own relatively simple outfit, Logan chuckled. All around her, women twirled in every direction, each of them wearing long, complicated dresses of various styles and colors. It seemed to her that a few of the guests had taken the concept of a traditional ball to heart, wearing dresses that might better be served in an older century.
That, or Logan was woefully out of touch with the current trends. Either option seemed equally plausible.
“Are you trying to charm me, Mr. Volkov?” She allowed a questioning smirk to mark her lips.
“Only stating the obvious,” he replied. He followed where her gaze had gone, taking note of the rainbow of couture all around them. “Some women, and some men, choose fanfare and spectacle to highlight their beauty. Others know when to use simplicity and strength to stand out in a crowd.” He looked back to her, his eyes earnestly imploring her. “Perhaps my taste is…more in line with yours than it is with theirs.”
He nodded down at his own attire, prompting Logan to look down at his body. Up close, she could see how closely fitted his black shirt and vest were, his jacket barely any looser on his broad shoulders. Suddenly she became a little more aware of their hands, still cupped together as they moved.
“We seem to be matching. I can give you the name of my tailor, if you want.”
Volkov chuckled, his blue eyes lighting up as he did. “That is hardly my aim, but thank you. And I do wish you would call me Cas.”
“Right,” said Logan. “I’ll try to remember.” She was doing her best to ignore the cold beauty of his features, but the ease of his laughter and his slightly odd accent seemed designed to test her resolve.
“You told me earlier to forget all of the nothing that I know about you,” he said, a tease in his voice. “I have done as you asked, and now my mind is a blank slate. So, for the sake of small talk, might I ask you where you are from?”
“Seattle,” said Logan. “But I’ve lived all over. You?”
“It is the same with me,” he said, nodding. “Well, I am not from your city, but I, too, have lived all over. Europe, mostly, but in recent years, I have made my homestead in your country. The nation of immigrants, yes?”
Logan gave a quiet, mirthless laugh. “I’m not convinced we’ve got consensus on that.”
“Consensus on history?”
“Indeed.”
“How depressing. And what is it that brings you here, tonight?”
Danger and probable mayhem, of course, Logan thought but didn’t say.
“I heard the feasts would be beyond compare.” She spoke facetiously instead.
“Sounds like propaganda to me,” said Volkov lightly. “Too bad. Perhaps I hoped that you and I might have come for the same reason.”
“And what reason is that?”
“Why, the Wolf, of course.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Shadows and Whispers
Logan’s mouth closed abruptly, but she kept her face impassive. The music around them slowed to a stop, leaving them standing still in a now-awkward silence. Volkov smiled graciously at her and stepped back, offering her another customary bow. Logan made sure to keep her face pasted with a bland smile.
“Do you know,” said Volkov, stepping close to her once more, “I hear the terrace off this hall is quite lovely. Perhaps you would join me there?”
If he knew anything substantial about the Wolf, she needed to know.
“Lead the way.”
For a moment, Volkov seemed to consider offering her his hand once more, before apparently thinking better of it. Logan let out a silent sigh of relief. She might have made an exception for Alexei, but in general, she didn’t like being led by the hand. Instead, they walked side by side to one of the large glass doors leading outside.
The terrace was chilly, but not as chilly as it should have been. Along with the twinkling lights strung all across the balustrade, the balcony was dotted with stone columns, each one boasting a coal fire of purple or blu
e. Logan guessed the coals within the fires had been bound, allowing them their unearthly appearance, and their ability to keep the entire terrace nearly as warm as the ballroom inside—apart from the cold breeze that brushed her hair back.
No one else had come outside yet, as far as they could see. Even so, Logan made a beeline for the balustrade, which was as far from the door as she could get. Volkov followed her without question. She leaned against the railing as she turned back to face him.
“You know about the Wolf.”
He nodded.
“Rumors, mostly.” He stuck one hand in his pants pocket while the other shot up to run through his hair. The strand of hair she’d noticed earlier popped free, falling right into his eyes. He tilted his head down to peer up at her, his expression sheepish. “Not too different from what I know about you.”
“Right. And what is it you think you know about me, exactly?”
“Mostly, well…” he trailed off a moment, his gaze drifting into space before snapping back to her. “Mostly I hear that you are something of a renegade. A thorn in the side of the great and powerful Order of Shadows. I believe the nickname they give you is…shadow summoner, no?”
Logan crossed her arms over her chest and shrugged.
“Is that it?”
“According to rumor,” he continued, “you have a knack for stealing cases out from under their noses. And to their great embarrassment, you don’t even have the decency to require their help.”
Logan scuffed a boot against the bottom of the railing and sniffed out a laugh.
“Well, that’s not completely true,” she said. “I have my uses for the Order. They’re great at body disposal and general cleanup. Damn near indispensable.”
“Of course,” said Volkov, laughing as well. Then he gave her a mischievous smile. “So, you admit it. When it comes to the Order of Shadows and their claim on ultimate authority…you have a hard time bending the knee, yes? Don’t worry, it does not offend me. On the contrary, I would say…I would say it draws me to you.”
She allowed her gaze to meet his, and she found that same strange, imploring, almost intimate look in his eyes.
