Page 66 of Till Death Do Us Part

I stood up, turning back and brushing my dress down. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Don’t break anything, Petra,” Caitlyn teased, and Petra folded her arms.

“I’m gonna be in the car. What would I even break?”

“Some passing girl’s heart.”

“Eh. No promises. Get a move on, Elaine. Your terrible wife’s in the car.”

“She’s not terrible!”

Petra ushered me along.

Petra’s car was nice, by all appearances a sleek luxury sedan on the outside, retrofitted and decked out with a mobile tech lab on the inside, tinted windows and a hidden compartment where Vera was storing her handgun when I got in the backseat next to her.

She wore a stunning black tuxedo suit with a deep crimson bowtie, her hair styled back sleekly, and dark makeup that made her gaze look sharper, the long pinkish line of her scar cutting through it. She looked appreciatively at me when I got in the car.

“Aren’t I lucky to be showing up with a wife like this?” she said, her voice low. I put a hand on her knee.

“You flatter me, Constance.”

“You’d better not spend the whole night saying it with that emphasis.”

I laughed. “I can be inconspicuous.”

“Enough flirting,” Petra said from the front, starting the car. “We’re moving.”

“Do we know what we’re looking for in there?” I said. Vera nodded.

“I was able to pin down the information buyer, as well as track down his costume. He’s going to be wearing a mask with a lion design. His name’s Peter, but he’s going by Scarborough tonight. I’ll get you an opportunity to eavesdrop on their conversation.”

Soon, we pulled up to the convention center, an old building in the city center with a classical style. Banners hung down over the front columns advertising the event tonight—on the face of it, a fundraiser gala for the Renaissance art museum. Petra drove us around to the back, where she turned around and clapped Vera on the shoulder.

“You mess up in there, and I’m gonna kill you,” she said. Vera snorted, putting on her mask, a simple one that covered her scar and her eyes.

“I’m not going to mess up. Be ready to drive the instant we’re back in the car.”

“I’m on it. What do you think I’m here for?”

“Okay, you two, enough arguing,” I said, and I stepped out of the car. Vera joined me, leaving her weapon inside—secret metal detectors, she’d warned me. No guns. But Vera herself was already a deadly weapon.

She took my hand, leading me towards the back entrance, and a security guard in a neat uniform nodded when Vera flashed an invite, gesturing us upstairs. We went up a red-carpeted staircase and into a glimmering ballroom that took my breath away. The lights were low, glimmering chandelier glows that danced on polished wood floors, and people in stunning outfits filled the space, talking and laughing together, each with their own mask.

My amazement must have been obvious even behind my mask, because Vera squeezed my hand.

“Remember, act like you belong here,” she whispered.

“It’s beautiful, though.”

“Never liked these kinds of things.” She paused. “Might reconsider if my wife likes them, though.”

I laughed nervously, sticking closer to her side as we approached the party. We said hello to a woman in a golden dress and a grand, feathered mask, the organizer, who showed us the rows of food, the dance floor, the quiet rooms off to the side.

“The Centauri room is private,” she said, “but the rest, you may use as you please.”

“How do we book the Centauri room ourselves?” Vera said, and she gave us an apologetic smile.

“I’m afraid you have to have an invitation,” she said, and Vera nodded. Once we were alone at the end of the food table, she whispered to me.