Page 18 of Heart of Thieves

St. James shoots him a dark look. “It was she who brought me the information I wanted, not you. And it was she who saw to it that Hildebard’s betrayal was made known.”

“But it was my idea!” Forsyth protests. “She only did those things because I asked her to!”

“Thank you, sir.” Ostena throws a wink at Forsyth that makes him seethe as she tips her head in St. James’s direction. “It is an honor.”

“Now go. I’ve got things to do.” He waves them away.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, Forsyth rounds on her. “You double-crossing bitch. You did this on purpose.”

“Of course I did, darling.” She grins up at him, ruby-red lips glimmering in the moonlight from the window. He snarls again before pressing his mouth to hers. She winds her hands around his neck and up into his hair.

“Defy me in front of St. James again,” she says between kisses, “and I’ll cut off your balls in your sleep.”

He growls as though that’s the most attractive thing he’s ever heard, his hand snaking around her waist.

Yes, this is exactly the kind of secret that will endear Laurel to me.

I smile as the vision fades and open my eyes. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Lott.” I reach out for a handshake.

He grasps my hand, then yanks me close, pressing a pistol to my chest. “Hand over the die, and no one will get hurt.”

Laurel watches with amusement. She could jump in to save me, but it seems she wants to see what I’ll do.

The show must go on, I suppose.

I force out a silky laugh. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Lott.”

“You think I’m bluffing?” Forsyth angles the gun toward my shoulder and pulls the trigger.

At first I feel nothing, and then the pain hits me, white and hot and fast. I do not flinch, do not cry out. I want to throttle him. Doesn’t he know what he’s done? Laurel will not let an act like that go unanswered. Not when she believes the gods are counting on her to stop people like him.

The least I can do is make sure it is I who punishes him and not her.

I maintain an easy smile and let out an amused laugh. “Hand me another die, would you, Laurel?” I say cheerily, and she drops one into my outstretched palm.

Forsyth has only an instant to raise his brows in confusion before I slam him with an illusion of pressure that sends him shuffling backward to get away from it, tripping over his chair and smacking hard onto the floor. I press into him with more illusion. Not pain, not agony, not fire. Endless weight—the kind that has sweat trickling from his brow as he struggles to breathe.

The tavern has gone silent, everyone staring at us. I rise, retrieving my fedora from the table and setting it atop my head as Laurel slides her arm through my elbow.

“Good evening,” I say to the room before stooping over the young man mewling on the floor. “Let that be a lesson to you next time you try a stunt like that with a seaspawn.”

But then something pulls at my magic from outside, dragging massive amounts away, tilting me like gravity for the second time tonight.

Lola.

The sudden shift jostles the illusion I’m casting, and I lose my grasp on it. Forsyth scrambles to his feet and sprints out the door.

“No,” Laurel whispers, lurching after him.

Panic stings through me. If Lola is out there, the last thing I need is for Laurel to catch sight of her. Especially if Lola is using my magic. Nothing will draw Laurel’s attention like hints of another person stealing power from the stars.

I ram past her through the door, casting an illusion of an empty street so that regardless of what’s out there, she won’t see a thing.

I skid to a stop on the sidewalk, and Laurel catches up seconds later, clinging to my arm as she peers up and down the street. “I didn’t see where he went, did you?”

But I’m looking northward, through my own glamour to where Lola appears to be battling my brother wearing an illusionary disguise I recognize instantly from the papers.

Nocturne.