Page 129 of Winterveil

Deckard cleared his throat.

“Chane is glad you’ve come,” he said. “Please continue to make yourselves charming and agreeable. He’ll be taking the stage at eight.”

Nadiya gave him a dark stare. “Does this mean he’s going to fix your stupid server?”

“If all goes well tonight.”

“Great,” said Nadiya. “So this isn’t just a seduction attempt; it’s a humiliation ritual.”

“You should hope that all humiliation rituals involve dressing up in designer clothes and rubbing elbows with some of the richest and most powerful people in the world,” Deckard said. A vein that Julian hadn’t noticed before throbbed on his left temple.

For the first time, Julian felt almost sorry for Deckard. Some higher-up at the CIA clearly harbored a grudge against him. Julian couldn’t imagine another reason why he’d been given the undignified job of babysitting four mouthy teenagers.

He glanced at Klaudia again. Her expression was placid, remote. He’d almost forgotten how good she was at that. Maybe he was the only one who saw the slight quiver of her chin as Deckard marched them inside.

The dining room had been transformed for Chane’s purposes. Most of the tables had been cleared away and the remaining ones were arranged against the far wall, leaving the floor open for dancing and mingling. An orchestral song interspersed with jarring electronic beats poured from the speakers. There was a stage ahead, with a single microphone stand. Empty, but not for long.

Guests milled around in tuxedos and glittering gowns. Julian recognized several faces immediately: Chane’s old friend Bill Brooks, leaning heavily on his cane; Erik Mansch, House Speaker and record holder for the most DUIs ever served to a sitting politician; and a sweaty, adolescent-looking T. J. Byrne, junior senator from Ohio who had once sent death threats to Julian via his Aurapix account.

Byrne caught his eye, and his nostrils flared. He elbowed the man next to him and they began to whisper frantically to each other, lifting their heads every so often to stare at Julian.

Almost by instinct, Julian pressed closer to the group, his shoulder brushing against Nadiya’s. She met his gaze and gave him a single, silent nod. Then she pointed with her chin to something behind him. Julian turned to see one of Chane’s security guards, now dressed in a tuxedo but still obviously wearing a bulky Kevlar vest underneath. He had placed himself covertly among the stretching fronds of a palm plant. The rest of the guards were posted around the room in similarly unobtrusive places. A quick glance about and Julian counted twelve.

All part of the plan, Julian thought. But his palms were slick.

“Go on,” Deckard said. “Mingle.”

The four of them shuffled around, so that Nadiya and Giselle were standing together and Klaudia was at Julian’s side. All part of the plan. His mouth felt dry.

“See you on the other side,” Nadiya said. There was a slight catch in her voice.

“See you on the other side,” Julian echoed.

“It’s just a bit of socializing,” Giselle said, a little shakily. “Nothing we can’t survive.”

“As long as we’re not doing it alone,” said Klaudia. Was there a tremor in her voice, too?

Klaudia smiled a slight, rare smile, and Nadiya and Giselle slipped off. Julian watched them until they vanished into the crowd. This, too, was part of the plan, but splitting up made him nervous. Somewhere along the way he had come to believe that the four of them were stronger together. It seemed Deckard had made a team of them after all—only not for the purpose he had hoped.

Satisfied, Deckard left Julian and Klaudia and wandered over to the bar. Julian couldn’t blame him for wanting a drink.

“Twenty-three minutes,” Klaudia murmured.

Julian turned back to her. “What?”

“That’s how much time we have before Chane goes up onstage,” she said. “How much time we have to cause as much commotion as possible.”

“How did you . . . ,” Julian started. And then he realized that the sleeve of his jacket had gotten snagged up, exposing his watch. Now Klaudia was looking down at it. “Oh.”

“It’s a nice watch,” she said.

“It was my brother’s,” Julian replied. He didn’t know how the words had snuck into his mouth, or how they had flowed out so easily. He hadn’t spoken about Aurelian to anyone outside of his immediate family in months, not even a passing mention. “It’s nothing compared to that necklace, though. You look—”

Whatever strange force had made him mention Aurelian now made him suddenly fall silent. As if he hadn’t complimented dozens of girls before, as if he didn’t know how to make them swoon and blush. But with Klaudia all his instincts felt wrong. He felt like she deserved more than what he had given those other girls before.

Klaudia lifted a hand to touch the necklace, worrying the central diamond between her finger and thumb. “I didn’t wear it by choice.”

Julian was confused until he followed her wandering gaze. She was staring across the room at a small crowd of guests, gathered in front of the stage. They were circled around Chane, who was wearing his tuxedo with a pair of black-and-neon-orange sneakers. He gesticulated wildly, while his audience tittered and laughed.