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Brass hearts, brass hearts...”

Maelin’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh as her friend sang out the chorus in a pure and sensual voice, entrapping just about everyone with its power. The rhythm was infectious, the lyrics delightful, and by the time the second verse came around, almost everyone joined in the chorus.

Looking around her, Maelin had to laugh. No matter the rank, the social importance, the wealth, or the title, everyone was rocking from side to side and yelling out “Brass Hearts” for all they were worth.

She couldn’t see the one man standing perfectly still, since he was on the far side of the orchestra, but he was there, his eyes glued to Alla.

Maelin was doing the same thing...gazing at her friend. It was the perfect song, with the perfect singer. Alla poured her heart into the performance, and although Maelin had heard her sing many times, this was different. Her voice had matured, her confidence along with it.

And she knew that “Brass Hearts” was going to be sung many more times by many more people. But for tonight? It was Alla’s.

And it was magnificent.

Chapter Nine

It had taken Cyrus more than a few minutes to subdue his arousal, calm his body and clear his mind of the sensual haze by one particular young lady.

Maelin of Theryn was a threat to his senses, and he was going to have to decide what to do about her, but at this particular moment he didn’t have the time he needed to work out a plan. Fortunately, he was used to making swift and silent exits when necessary, so other than a few murmurs as he hurried past, the guests at the ball scarcely noticed him leave.

That dance—that damned Velarine. Well if the men found their partners half as alluring as he had found Maelin, they probably wouldn’t have noticed a herd of cattle stampeding from the ballroom, let alone one silent man.

“My Lord.”

A quiet voice caught his attention as he hurried through the cold sea-damp air toward the waterfront, and he slowed, seeing a figure ahead, dimly lit by the few overhead lamps flickering against the night sky.

“Here,” he nodded.

“A message from Bram.” The small fae was dressed in shades of green, dark blue, and grey, making him all but invisible in the murky gloom of the wharf. “He says to meet him below. He has found something.”

“Thank you, friend.” Cyrus took the folded note. “Your job is done, lad. Go back to the warmth. I’m sure this cold night air is not to your liking.”

“Indeed it isn’t, my Lord.” He grimaced. “I bid you good evening.” Turning, he drew small gleaming symbols in the air with both hands, and a glowing gold vortex appeared. He jumped into it and vanished.

Cyrus moved closer to what passed for light and opened the note.

“Come. Shifter dead. Like other.”

Familiar with Bram’s disdain for anything in the way of formal literacy, the point of the note was clear. And it made Cyrus grit his teeth. Another brutal murder, but this time a shifter had been killed. A chill ran down his spine as he walked rapidly across the wharf to the nearest lamplighter’s cabinet. Unlatching the door, he stepped into the little space, doing his best to avoid wick strings, poles, pots of cleaning materials, and other things associated with the lamplighter’s job.

All he needed was the little key secreted in its soft hiding place within his waistcoat, and his feet on the right spot of the floor.

Spotting the small lock, Cyrus inserted the key, removed it, and waited.

Once more he began the descent down to Gloamtide, and what sounded like another very nasty situation. Perhaps this one might yield something in the way of information, clues even, about what the Hellforge was going on, and who or what found it necessary to rip the innards out of a variety of the Gloamtide’s inhabitants.

His journey ended with a rumble and a bump, and he stepped out of the cabinet, closing the door quietly behind him.

Bram was already there. How he knew where Cyrus was going to appear...well, that was one of Bram’s many secrets. And now was not the time to get into a discussion about it.

“It’s bad,” sighed Bram. “Again.”

“Like the other one?”

“Mostly.”

The two men walked side by side, their shadows long behind them as they approached a relatively well-lit spot, where a shop’s three roof lights shone down on the pavement beneath.

“That place open?”