Page 68 of Heart of Thieves

The crowd surges into the public square, which has been transformed into a scintillating world of midnight.

With Laurel thoroughly distracted taking in the spectacle, I dip my hand into my pocket, palming the chip of voratium from earlier at Forsyth’s and opening myself up to my magic. Secrets thrum around me, lies hover like musk on the air, but I find myself staring at the threads of light only I can see—traces of my magic—strung through the air. Complex, beautiful braids.

Lola has outdone herself.

The town hall’s marble pillars, once white and solid, shimmer a deep blue-black, snaking upward like jets of liquid. Simple bulbs dangling overhead have transformed into floating black candles winking stars on their wicks. The cobblestoned floor beneath our feet has liquified into darkness, eddying with every step, and curlicues of iridescent onyx smoke bear hors d’oeuvres and glittering drinks. Musicians made of stardust play from a raised platform in the corner, and the fountain at the center of the square—usually a marble rendering of Odelia holding aloft the Odelion—has been transfigured into a sweeping ebony depiction of Noctassei, the goddess of darkness.

I can’t help myself. I smile.

Well done, little thief.

I release the magic, letting the threads dissolve from my vision just in case Laurel decides to dip in.

“Oh, look,” she whispers at my side. “Dancing.”

I follow her gaze to where couples twirl, feet scraping over the enchanted floor in time to a haunting melody.

“Would you care to join me?” I give her my most charming grin.

She hesitates, then nods, and I twirl her out among the couples on the floor. Her dress ripples around her, blending in flawlessly with Lola’s sparkling illusions. As we weave between the others, my left hand clasped in Laurel’s and my right hand drawing her close, I breathe in deeply.

And smell orange blossoms.

The scent is everywhere, as though the illusions themselves have been infused with it. Can everyone smell it? Or am I the only one who tastes the way Lola has transformed what once was mine into something entirely her own?

Laurel sinks against me, surrendering any remaining tension between us.

And then I see Lola. She’s watching from the edge of the crowd, hair dyed so dark it’s nearly black, more freckles etched onto her face, and wearing glasses whose frames must be infused with a voratium cosmetic illusion, turning the ice-blue of her eyes more hazel and widening their narrow shape.

Everything in my world tips toward her. My magic yearns forward like I’m being pulled into her orbit. I can scarcely breathe.

Our eyes meet, and pink blooms in those soft cheeks.

Gods, how I’d give anything to go to her now. To explain my rejection, the tournament, the pistol, the conversation at the church.

But Laurel tips her head against my shoulder, grounding me in the gravity of the situation. Reminding me what’s at stake. So, while Laurel is distracted, I slip my hand into my pocket for the voratium chip again, this time to send Lola an illusion. My whisper in her ear.

Your disguise is lovely, little thief. Almost as lovely as what you’ve done to the square.

She stiffens, and I smile at her as I twirl Laurel.

Her voice caresses my ear in return. Her own illusion, mimicking mine. Thank you.

You and your attempts at politeness. I hold her gaze as I grin. You’re getting better, but it’s still not entirely convincing.

What are you doing, Nic?

My smile falters, the bite in her tone grounding me back to reality.

You need to be careful, I tell her.

Elaborate, please.

Stay away from Laurel.

Her mouth curls. Afraid I’m too much for her?

I keep my expression grim so she knows I’m serious. She’s dangerous.