Chapter Seventeen

“I’M GOING TO throw up.” Harry enunciates each syllable as she yanks at her metallic satin shirt, trying to pull the edges closed. Since it’s so deeply cut that her décolletage is displayed right down to the navel, her attempts are very much in vain. “This was a bad idea. Why didn’t I just wear a stupid fucking dress? Why did I listen to you and go rogue? I just had to pick this ‘Fuck off, I’m the Chosen and I’ll wear a sexy lady-suit if I want to’ thing? Fuck, I can’t remember a single fucking word of Hindi, what the fuck have I been doing?”

“You’re not going to throw up, and you don’t have to speak any Hindi.” Ravi steps up and adjusts the flowing strip of necktie under her golden collar. “And you look great. Stop freaking out.”

In fact, Harry looks like a model, the outfit she chose evoking the suggestion of a classic suit while delivering a louche, undone air of ease and confidence. The wet look black of her jacket glimmers in the light, and her dark hair is clipped back sleek over one ear while the rest piles over the other side in loose waves that brush her shoulder.

“Who’s freaking out?” Harry bats his hands away. “What’s to freak out about? Just some white trash snapping up both the favor of The Trust’s patron goddess and their most eligible bachelor slash heir apparent in one night! It’s all very cool and chill and in no way is Durga going to strike me dead with fucking lightning or something the second I step in there.” The whites of her eyes widen around blue-green irises, voice edging into a high, panicked squeak.

Ravi places both hands on her shoulders. “McAllister. Stand up straight. Shoulders back. Head high. Pretend like you own the place. Don’t let them see they get to you.”

Harry closes her eyes and takes a breath. She calms, nodding once, spine lengthening. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. Is that how you get through all these formal things?”

Ravi smiles ruefully. “Pretty much. Sometimes I’d pick a stretch of wallpaper and try to camouflage into it. Not going to be an option tonight.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Look. Rav.” Harry adjusts her ring, nibbles her bottom lip, then says in a rush, “I have no idea what I’m doing, I’m a complete disaster, this whole thing is a huge mistake—”

“Harry…”

She grabs his wrists, shaking her head insistently. “No, look, it’s absolutely absurd that I’m some magical Chosen warrior thing, it’s somebody’s idea of a prank or some shit, and Durga’s probably furious with my pasty ass, and—”

“Harry. You’re not a mistake.”

She goes still, her eyes snapping to his.

“It’s not absurd. You’re a natural leader. Look…I’ve been raised since birth to be in your place.”

“I know, dude, you think that doesn’t tear me up?”

“No,” he cuts in quickly, “that’s not what I’m saying. What I’m saying is, I would follow you anywhere you lead, Harry.” Her lips part as she stares up at him. “I think you’re good enough to be in that place. Who would know better? Durga doesn’t Choose wrong.”

A hollow laugh. “I don’t believe that.”

“Okay, then I don’t choose wrong.” He smiles crookedly. “This is my world, my legacy, my family’s sword, and I think you should have it.” Cayenne stole the urumi away from Ravi’s bloodline and hid it far away in the future, but even so, despite the vast distance of time, it still came to Harry. Someone pretty important must think she’s right for the job. “I have faith in you. I’ve got your back, Harry.”

Harry stares at him. She sniffs hard and grabs Ravi in a full, clinging hug. “I’m not great at letting people into my personal space,” she mutters into his shoulder.

“Me neither,” he says, linking his hands around her back.

“But we’re doing this anyway.”

An amused huff. “Yes, we are.” Ravi hates these formal events worse than she does, hates being the center of attention. Knowing that his best friend is going to be there beside him is a huge relief.

Her body swells in his arms with a deep, bolstering breath. “Okay. Okay. We can do this. Fuck, I need a drink. Tell me I don’t need a drink.”

“You don’t need a drink. I’m going to be with you the whole time. The whole team is with you. A powerful witch, a brilliant professor, and your own personal guardian angel. We got this.”

He wishes the rest of the team were here now, but they’ll be inside the party awaiting the Chosen’s entrance as she sweeps in, consort on her arm. McAllister’s monster-fighting crew, forged in the fires of many a battle, now facing down their greatest challenge yet: black-tie required.

“Yeah. I know.” Harry gently pulls away. “I might still throw up though.”

She is a little paler than usual. “Go splash some water on your face.”

“But my smokey eye with the cut crease,” she grumbles, nevertheless heading toward the bathroom, shooting a resolute smile over her shoulder.

He smiles back until she disappears around the corner, then goes to the living room to wait. The empty, sumptuous suite is quiet enough that he can hear the rising wind brushing the leaves of the potted plants outside against the balcony doors.

As Ravi waits, he smooths the lay of his jacket, likewise second-guessing his sartorial choices now there’s no going back. He’d chosen the suit both to compliment the feminine cut of Harry’s, and to distinguish himself from all the other standard black tuxedos that would be at the Gala. His tuxedo is one in name only, boasting bolder lines and a mandarin collar with gold embellishments capping the corners. Contrasting gold trim angles across the shoulders to emphasize the breadth of his torso. Even his shoes have gold-capped toes. Standing together, the pair of them are going to look sensational.

“Tactical pageantry,” as Harry had put it, before giving him a pair of tiger-head cufflinks. “Symbols are important.”

The wind picks up, the gathering cloud cover sketching the Atlanta skyline in obsidian. Absently wondering if it will rain, Ravi glances out beyond the glass doors only to see the unexpected red glow of a lit cigarette. Fair skin brightens against the stark night sky as Cayenne takes a long drag.

Ravi’s heart stops. Frozen in place, he watches them warily. His hand flexes on instinct toward his absent firearm; the suit is too well-fitted for a gun. But Cayenne doesn’t make any other moves, seemingly satisfied with having arranged themself into a dramatic tableau for him to find.

He sets his jaw and joins Cayenne on the balcony. They barely turn from their relaxed lean on the railing as he slides the door shut behind him. The scent of ozone is thick, the air charged with lightning.

“Bonsoir, mon chéri.” Cayenne turns back to the city and takes another drag of the cigarette.

“You smoke now?”

Cayenne purrs a silky laugh, elbows bracing back against the railing in a long, insouciant lean. “Only when I’m in a time period where it would be suspicious to not be smoking, my sweet.” They flick ash over the edge to be carried away on the restive breeze. “Before you were born, darling. But you have to admit, the look of it creates quite a film noir ambiance, does it not?”

Ravi rests his arms on the railing, carefully staying out of easy reach. “What do you want, Cayenne?”

They snort, something between a laugh and a sob. “The question I have lived my life by.” They contemplate the cigarette between their fingers before dropping it off the edge, eyes following the path of the glowing cherry as it falls.

Ravi in turn watches them, the way someone expecting sharks watches dark water. “That could fall on someone,” he says mildly.

“It hardly matters now, does it?” Cayenne presses the heels of their palms into their eye sockets. They drop their hands and turn to him, green eyes plaintive with urgency. “Don’t go through with this, Ravi. You don’t have to go in there.”

“What happened the last time we saw each other?”

Cayenne grins in a sudden bright flash. “Ah, clever, my love. You want to know how linear my narrative is, compared to yours? You think I should be angrier about you luring me into your ineffective little trap, oui?”

That is what Ravi had been thinking; he’d thought maybe this was a Cayenne who’d skipped ahead from the path, unaware of Ravi’s attempted betrayal. Their calm, almost resigned demeanor makes no sense otherwise.

“Aren’t you?”

They flap a dismissive hand. “No, mon tigre. I am many things, but not a hypocrite.” They make a little face, eyes rolling. “Okay, yes, a hypocrite too, but in this case, I can’t complain too much. No matter what else I do, I’m still the same selfish asshole who caused the grisly deaths of your two closest guardians even when I had the chance to undo it. A bit of payback is honestly reassuring. I don’t think I’ll ever manage to drag you down to my level, but it is nice to know that heroic luster of yours can get a little tarnished.”

Cayenne pushes themself upright and holds out a beseeching hand. “Don’t go in there. You don’t have to go through with this farce. Come away with me, Ravi.”

“Cayenne…”

“I’m doing you a favor!” they yell, hands raised. The line of their posture goes tense, their movements jerky. Ravi tenses, adrenaline tart on his tongue, readying for an attack. “Are you so fucking proud that you can’t… Ugh, this is so typical. You’re making so much more work for me.” They push a hand into their hair. “Look. I’m sorry. But this…this party, this engagement, it’s… Don’t go.”

Ravi moves into reach, standing with his feet firmly planted under him. A challenge. “Why? Tell me what’s going to happen in there.”

“Nothing at all, darling, if everything goes to plan. Truly. Some dancing, perhaps.” A slow, sultry smirk spreads as Cayenne slides an appraising look up and down Ravi’s frame. “This is quite the ensemble. Flashier than I’d expected. J’adore, tu êtes délicieuse.”

“Cayenne…”

They bite their lip so hard it goes white. “Why can’t you see that The Trust is broken?” they whisper, like they’re continuing a conversation Ravi can’t remember having. “Why can’t I ever make you see that, no matter how many times I try?”

They’re rewinding him. The knowledge makes him feel sick. Helpless. Bound and unarmed. Nevertheless, he keeps his eyes locked on theirs. “You liked me best when I was broken.”

A breath punches its way out of Cayenne, and they sag against the balcony railing. “Merde. Mark that down for yet another thing I should have never told you. It is a long list.”

Unnervingly candid, for Cayenne. Like they don’t think anything they say is going to matter.

“I’m not going with you. I have to do this. I want to.”

“I know, Ravi.” They suck in a shuddering breath, setting their shoulders as if bracing for a fall. “I just want you to be happy. That’s what I’ve always wanted.”

Ravi remembers the soft play of their hair through his hands, ardent words brushing his lips as they murmured praise and adoration into him. All those relived days the pair of them spent together in a tumult of wild, reckless freedom. The nights Ravi spent yearning for them after. And he remembers the day it all came crashing down.

Despite everything, Ravi doesn’t doubt that they want him to be happy. One of the few truths Cayenne has always woven into their patchwork of lies. He offers softly, “If that’s really what you want…I think I can be. Happy.”

“Without me.” Cayenne’s voice bristles like dry stalks on barren fields. They sink down until their chin rests on arms folded over the railing’s edge. “That’s not going to work for me, my beloved. You’re it. The one thing in my life I’ve ever wanted to keep. The only thing I haven’t run away from, that I haven’t left a smoking ruin. The only person who I’ve ever let know me. C’est que je n’ai jamais aimé avant, et que je n’aimerai plus jamais. I can’t…I can’t,” they croak, the angry wind whipping their hair across their brow. A distant roll of thunder haunts the horizon.

Ravi licks his lips. “Please don’t take everything I’ve worked for away from me.”

“Ravi…”

“It’s not just me you’ll be affecting. It’s…it’s the team, and so many more people beyond counting. I’m going to be the next Director. I can do so much good there, Cay. Changing that isn’t just taking it away from me, it’s taking it away from the whole world.”

Cayenne’s eyes harden, brittle as flint. They reach for him, and Ravi allows it, fearing they’re on the knife’s edge of doing something irreversible, going as still as he would before a rearing cobra as Cayenne strokes along the arch of Ravi’s cheek.

“The whole world can burn. We’ll build something better from the ashes. You have to trust me, Ravi. I know I’ve given you no reason to do so. But next time, I will.” They let their hand drop limply to their side with a bright, bleak smile, terrible with self-loathing. “I’m a chronomancer, darling, which means I get to make the same mistakes over and over again and never have to learn a thing.” They take a step back from him, lightning briefly shrouding them in white. “Enjoy the Gala, mon amour. Be happy, tonight.” Their tattoo flashes and they’re gone.

Harry finds him out there. How long after, he’s not sure.

“Hey, there you are. Getting some fresh air?”

Ravi continues staring out into the night. “Just talked to Cayenne.”

Harry groans, unknowingly taking the place Cayenne had just been occupying. She steps up onto the bottom rung and leans way over the railing, looking down the many stories without any evidence of discomfort. “Oof, that sucks. You need a magical restraining order. You good?”

“Good is such a relative term.”

She joins him in a brief, biting laugh. “Ain’t that the truth. They say anything useful? My ‘visions’ have been a muddled mess. We got a clue what kind of hell they’re going to drop on us tonight?”

“Again, useful is relative,” he sighs, finger-combing his windswept hair back into place. “They made it sound like they’re not going to do anything. They said to enjoy the Gala. Have a dance.”

Gears turn behind Harry’s eyes. “How kind of them. Giving us a calm before the storm?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe we’ll be lucky and our mysterious benefactor will keep any shenanigans at bay.”

Ravi snorts. “I’m going to be on high alert for any attacks anyway.”

Harry smirks as a loud peal of thunder cracks overhead, the air heavy with the promise of downpour.

“Speaking of storms,” he adds, offering his arm. Harry lays her hand on it, the fiery pearl of her engagement ring prominent on her slim hand. “Ready?”

She lifts her chin. “Let’s make some history.”

*

ONCE IN THE penthouse elevator, Harry takes out the enchanted key Padme had given her and inspects it closely. “It’s indicative of how weird my life has gotten that I’m actually disappointed this magic key looks so normal.” Without waiting for a response, she inserts the key and turns it. The elevator shifts, and a strange but brief disorientation washes over them, tingling from scalp to toes as the elevator begins to rise. “I guess going up when we’re already at the penthouse is kind of cool,” Harry concedes. “Hey. Rav.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For back there. Pretty good pep talk.”

“That’s what generals are for.”

“I got your back too, you know that?”

“I know.” He hesitates, then leans in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Harry punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Save it for the wedding night, stud.” They both try and fail to stifle their laughter as the elevator doors slide open.

“Ah, hark, our worries were unwarranted, mine friends! They are in excellent spirits,” Constance remarks to Nate and Val. Constance is adorned in uncharacteristically witchy fashion, hugged by a midnight dress, iridescent black feathers trailing up over the high collar, contrasting with a plunging neckline that shows off her significant assets. Gilded ribbons weave through her upswept hair, and she’s traded in her usual leather satchel for a tiny golden handbag. When she moves, Ravi spots her sturdy boots peeking from under the hem of her gown.

“Ayyyy, there’s my squad!” Harry steps out, arms wide. “Thought you were supposed to be in there already?”

“Ravi’s aunt suggested we trail in after you,” Val says, muscular arms crossed over her chest. Ash-white hair braided up into a crown, she wears gold-hued sunglasses and a slinky, black-sequined strapless number with a thin golden hem tracing the slit up to the thigh. Stiletto heels adding to her already imposing height, Val looks literally dressed to kill.

“Hell, yeah, an entourage,” Harry exclaims, exuding confidence and ease. If Ravi hadn’t been privileged to witness her earlier uncertainty with his own eyes, he would have doubted she’d ever experienced a moment of trepidation in her life. “I’ve always wanted one of those.”

“Can I just say”—Nate gives Harry and Ravi an appreciative sweep of his eyes—“that you both look incredible?” He follows this with a wink aimed solely for Ravi to catch.

He’s one to talk. The way Nate fills out a fitted tuxedo makes Ravi’s brain completely short out. All broad shoulders, narrow waist, and charming smile, Nate wouldn’t be out of place in a Hollywood movie, especially with the gold accents on his bow tie and pocket square. Ravi admires him so openly that Nate flushes red, looking away with a pleased cough into his fist.

“That’s us! Your prom royalty.” Harry sketches a mocking bow. “We all clean up pretty good.”

“A witch-hunter’s ball.” Constance sets her hands on her hips, features bright with mingled nerves and excitement. “And bold as brass, we are just going to swan into the thick of it.”

“Fear not, mistress! I shall guard thee most attentively, lest any of yon knaves think to accost thee.” The ringing, strident voice seems to emerge out of nowhere. Constance sheepishly twists her hands in front of her, smiling innocence.

Harry presses her knuckles hard into her lips, then removes them just long enough to say, “You brought Griswold.”

“I’ve made him invisible,” Constance answers with practiced breeziness, the hem of her dress fluttering as an unseen shape presses against it. “Mine familiar is most canny and shall not be underfoot. No harm done!”

Harry taps her foot a couple of times, then throws up her hands in an expansive shrug. “An invisible talking cat is literally the least of my worries tonight. Knock yourself out, Griz.”

A faint, pleased purr emits from near Constance’s feet.

Ravi rolls his head side to side as if loosening up before a fight. “Val, you’ve got a lock on our weapons cache?” If the situation gets out of hand, Val alone will be able to arm the team with a quick teleport out and back.

“I do. What form do we expect tonight’s threat will take?”

Using the intel he’d received from his aunt along with his own experiences, Ravi already briefed everyone on the basics, marking all the attendant families and the handful of Branch Directors high up enough to get an invite into The Trust’s inner workings. “New intel says that there might not be any threats,” he says, his doubt audible. “Apart from the standard, run-of-the-mill, feeding frenzy of sharks that is high society.”

“Aw,” Nate mock-pouts. “No fun monster fights. Just hors d’oeuvres and awkward mingling. Sorry, Val.”

“Regardless, we should remain vigilant.”

Harry nods emphatically. “Oh, yeah, my dudes, obviously. I want everyone on highest alert. And be polite to these folks, but don’t be too polite. We’re making a statement here. New sheriff in town.” She jerks both thumbs back at herself with a cocky grin. “Let’s hobnob and mingle but keep an eye on one another’s backs. We’re trying to suss out who’s got designs on snatching the reins away from Ravi’s fam. Eyes peeled for anything fishy.”

“There will be fish?” Griswold pipes up.

Constance sets both hands to the sides of her intricate updo as if worried it might topple over. “My niece, do you wish a dramatic entrance? I believe I can assist in that regard.”

“Hell yeah, do it, doll.” Harry links her arm through Ravi’s and heads toward the double doors. “Everyone ready to rock and roll?”

Ravi looks around at Nate, hoping his smile is more reassuring than nervous. Nate answers with a broad, sunny grin, accompanied by an encouraging thumbs-up, to all appearances ready to dive into unknown danger once again. How can Ravi do any less? His shoulders straighten, and he takes a deep breath. As ready as he’ll ever be.

At Harry’s signal, Constance mutters a spell that sends the doors flying open, and they all stride into the Gala.

Though his aunt bemoaned the necessity of paring down the rushed Gala from a white tie event to a less formal black tie, Ravi can’t discern any other evidence of corners being cut or expense being spared. Looks like dozens of other formal soirees he’s attended—crystal chandeliers dotting a vaulted ceiling and full-length windows looking out over the city skyline. An expansive ballroom edged with a band of conversational nooks by clever use of floral partitions. A sea of black suits and gowns glittering with gems, the monochromatic throng here and there enhanced by the odd colorful sari or salwar kameez.

One significant detail makes this Gala different: not one single server weaves through the crowd with trays of refreshments. Instead of caterers, a massive buffet table along the south wall showcases a central multi-tiered champagne fountain flanked by two intricate ice sculptures of rearing tigers. No live musicians line the dance floor, instead replaced by a speaker system subtly hidden among decorative pillars and bouquets. No doubt one of the tightened security measures to limit potential infiltrators, in addition to the enchanted keys, overlapping layers of counter-spells and anti-hexes laid everywhere, and the high-tech scanners at every point of entry.

Steeling himself against the onslaught of eyes turned their way, Ravi assesses the crowd for immediate dangers and threats. Mostly familiar faces, all composed into polite, restrained surprise with a few notable exceptions of shock, admiration, or disapproval. He’s a little impressed at the turnout. Despite the short notice, he expected a fair showing from Bhagavatis, Katarajus, Prestons, Harbridges, Cattanos, and Eatons. But he can also pick out several faces from other families, desi and non-desi alike. Even one or two of the nearly died-out Portuguese family tottering around on canes.

Nothing sets off any alarm bells. Not yet.

Padme approaches the team in an elegant high-collared gown, steady on impossibly high heels and with a flute of champagne in hand. She locks eyes with Ravi for an instant of silent communication, and he relaxes even further. No signs of infiltration or attack on her end either.

His aunt draws herself up, and the crowd goes utterly silent and attentive. She places her palms together and gives Harry an exactingly correct formal bow of respect. Padme doesn’t raise her throaty voice, but nevertheless it rings out clearly.

“Namaskaar, Chosen One, and welcome to you and yours. For too long, we of The Trust have been bereft of our Chosen. A sword without our blade. It is with great honor that we formally welcome you into our fold. May you be as a bright beacon, standing unflinching before the darkness.”

She turns to face the crowd and declares with a sweep of her hand, “I present you with your Chosen: Angharad McAllister, her fiancé Ravi Abhiramnew, and her comrades-in-arms.” Padme raises her drink. The crowd raise theirs as well in a solemn, silent salute. She lowers her champagne flute and begins to applaud. The other Trustees follow suit with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Ravi can discern the tiny victorious slant of his aunt’s brows. Engagement announced, saluted, and cemented. She’ll be thrilled.

Next to him, Harry clears her throat, and another expectant hush falls over the Gala as the sea of faces wait on tenterhooks for their Chosen’s first official words.

Harry waves. “Hi! Thanks. It’s just Harry. Ooh, champagne.” And she leans into Ravi and steers him toward the south wall, the team close on her heels. The crowd parts for them, murmuring in a low, shocked buzz, soon dispersing into smaller conversational rings.

Harry murmurs, “How was that?”

“Perfect,” he whispers back, biting back a wild grin.

“Stars and saints!” Constance stops stock-still in her tracks.

“What?” Ravi’s eyes dart frantically, scanning for danger. Val likewise stands alert at Harry’s shoulder, her fingers spread as if waiting for orders to summon her massive maul.

“Hath ye e’er beheld anything so uncommon fair in all of thine days?” Constance dreamily drifts away from the group, weaving past a knot of older mustachioed gentleman until she reaches the extravagant buffet table. Standing before the heaped table with all the solemnity of a pilgrim throwing herself at the foot of a sacred reliquary, Constance opens her golden handbag and starts dropping delicacies into it. Far more shrimps and pineapple wedges go into the little bag than it should be able to contain, almost as many as get popped into Constance’s mouth. Nearby, a few elegant ladies in saris stare at her in aghast disbelief.

Harry snorts with mirth, loosening her grip on Ravi’s arm. “This is gonna be a fun evening. I can already tell.”

Nate snags a couple of glasses and tips them to the flowing champagne pouring from the fountain. He hands the first to Harry and the second to Ravi. “Lots of mixed reactions from the crowd.”

Ravi murmurs agreement, taking an absent sip of champagne while scanning the crowd. “Judging emotions is one of your strengths. Keep an eye out for anything suspicious?”

“Course I will. You two want me to mingle? Looks like there are some folks waiting to talk to Harry.”

Harry glances back over her shoulder. “Yeah, good idea. Hey look, it’s little baby Callum. Must be the Harbridge clan.”

“Get ready. You’re about to be very popular, Harry.”

Ravi isn’t kidding. As Constance and Nate spread out and strike up conversations, Harry and Ravi are at the center of a slow, shifting maelstrom of introductions. The Harbridges are effusive with both their thanks for being saved, and congratulations on the engagement. They’re halfway through an offer to visit their manor on holiday when an imposing older man wearing a monocle pushes to the forefront. He possesses both a surfeit of casual arrogance and exceedingly bushy eyebrows.

“Hrm, so you are the latest Chosen. Charmed, I’m sure.” He regards Ravi with cool indifference. “Abhiramnew.”

Harry turns to Ravi, not bothering to lower her voice. “Who’s Eyebrows here?”

The man visibly bristles. He’s an impressive bristler.

Ravi utterly adores this woman. “Sir Alisdair Preston. Head of his family.”

“I didn’t think you were being literal about the monocles. Yikes.” She turns back to Preston with an upbeat smile. “Yep, that’s me, the Chosen! I see you already know my dashing bit of arm candy here. This dame behind me with the killer gams is Val. She’s an angel.”

Preston manages to look down his nose at all of them, even the looming Valkyrie that is Valiance. “Hrm. We’ve been apprised of this angel situation. It would appear the powers-that-be have decided you require divine intervention to successfully execute your duties as our Chosen.”

The champagne flute cracks neatly in two in Val’s hand, and blue-white flame licks out past the frames of her sunglasses. Preston takes a step back, jowls blanching.

“My apologies,” Val intones. “I often do not know my own strength.” She shoves the dripping pieces of glass to Preston, giving him no choice but to reach out to take them lest he get covered in champagne. “Be careful that you do not cut yourself.”

Harry claps Preston on the shoulder in clear dismissal. “Thanks awfully for throwing that away for us, Al, bless your heart. You’re doing a great service for the Chosen. Such a pleasure to meet you.”

Blinking, Preston drifts away like a rudderless ship.

Elation bubbles under Ravi’s skin, finding its way into a barely bitten back grin. “Okay. That was pretty great.”

“You can knock down the next one who starts getting all snippy.” Harry’s eyes are bright, color high in her cheeks. “Go nuts, dude. They can try to stick a knife in me, but guess what? I’m fucking invulnerable. Nice assist, Val.”

Val nods, but her gaze drifts toward a knot of chatting Harbridges.

“Do you want to go talk to them?” Ravi asks gently.

The angel’s stance shifts. “I would not leave Harry unprotected.”

Harry bumps her shoulder into Val’s. “Aww, big gal. I’m good. I’ve got Ravi, I’ve got my urumi, and we’ll still be in the same ballroom. If I need you to be somewhere, I’ll text you. Go ahead.”

Val turns an inquiring look to Ravi. Solemnly, he vows, “I’ll protect her with my life.”

Harry rolls her eyes. “Can you warrior types take it down a notch? Look, there’s Ikshana over there. If something were going to go down, you think a seer would be standing around eating…little tartlets, it looks like? Mini quiches? I love me a mini quiche.”

Ravi twists his head, peering over the crowd. “They let a seer be in the same place as the heads of the consortium and the Chosen?”

“Yeah, that’s sloppy. Something to fix when you’re running this gig, huh?”

“Another one for the list,” he sighs wearily, then looks back up at Val. “Seriously. Go ahead and tell them you knew William. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you.”

Indecisiveness is not an expression any of them are used to seeing Val wear. It only lasts a moment before she nods, glancing at Harry one last time to check. Harry again rolls her eyes with a fond smile and shoos her away. They both watch Val make her way over to the family. “Our little angel, going out there and making friends,” Harry says with a fake sniffle.

Ravi snorts a laugh. Movement stirs in his peripheral vision, and he quickly gets very serious again. “Heads up. Katarajus. Very old family. Traditionalists. They’re constantly trying to prove they are worthy to be Chosen instead of the Abhiramnews, but that hasn’t been working out for them for the past few centuries. They’re less than thrilled about that.”

“Ah, douchebags. Gotcha.” Harry plasters on another bright, American grin as a cluster of stern-faced men approach them.

“Chosen.” The first to speak is Jihan, unsurprisingly. The man loves the sound of his own voice. “Ravi.”

“She prefers Harry,” Ravi tells him with a bland smile. It’s surreal to think that before too long, he’s going to be this guy’s boss. He can afford to be gracious. “Harry, this is Jihan Kataraju. Eldest son of his family. He was a field agent for a time.” Not a very successful one, despite extensive martial training. Couldn’t take orders. Couldn’t work with a team. Cared more about his own glory than helping people.

Jihan inclines his head a small fraction. “An honor to finally meet you. Congratulations on your engagement. How comforting that you’re going to marry before having your heir.”

Okay, maybe graciousness isn’t on the table after all.

Jihan lifts a single brow in inquiry. “May we take this as a favorable sign that you are committed to a return to tradition?”

Well. Harry said he should take the next one. “What tradition is that, Jihan? You being a complete prick at every opportunity?”

Harry’s face splits into a broad, delighted grin.

The corner of Jihan’s eye twitches, and in Hindi he mutters sotto voce, “Since when did you learn to speak, mulligatawny?” He switches back to English with a painfully tight smile. “What interesting choices in attire. Surely not your usual style, Miss McAllister. I do hope your betrothed hasn’t pressured you into wearing it. He always did have quite the talent for overly conspicuous apparel.”

Ravi levels a smile at Jihan, likely for the first time in history. “I could have dressed down and tried to blend in. But what would have been the point? People were always watching me no matter what I did. I must admit, Jihan, I’ve always admired one thing about you.”

“Oh?”

“That your plainness must allow you a peaceful anonymity.”

Harry gives a heavy, unladylike snort.

Jihan glowers. “Arrogant as any Abhiramnew, I see.”

Ravi turns to Harry, giving Jihan his shoulder. “Speaking of arrogance. Jihan lost a cricket match once, and he threw such a fit about it that the families had to institute a ban on the kids playing it anymore.”

Picking up on his tone, Harry nods in mock sympathy. “Well, kids can be little shits.”

“He was nineteen.”

Harry presses her fingers over her lips, suppressing a full laugh. “Mm. Mm. Interesting. Say, you happen to have any more fun stories?”

“Dozens.”

Jihan splutters, his shoulders rising. The back row of Katarajus begins to shift, murmuring protests as Constance barrels right through the knot of them, elbowing a few out of her way as she goes. On her bent arm she leads a tiny, wizened woman wearing a luxurious sari through the middle of the Katarajus and right up to Harry.

“A thousand pardons, my good fellows! Harry, I have simply the most delightful lady to introduce you to!” Constance grins down at the elderly woman. “This is the matriarch of the Bhagavati clan. We’ve been having such an enjoyable conversation about the myriad applications of saltpeter within magical remedies.”

Ravi dips into a respectful bow. “Pranaam, Mihika-ji.”

“Baap re, you’ve grown, child.” Mihika Bhagavati looks up at Ravi crankily, as if his height is a personal annoyance. Her hand snakes out and snatches his shirt sleeve. She pinches a cufflink between a gnarled thumb and forefinger. “Tigers, eh?” Though ancient, her eyes are still eagle-sharp. “Subtle. And this is your bride-to-be?”

“A genuine pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” Harry extends her hand. Mihika bats it away. Several gasps sound out from onlookers in the ensuing silence. Ravi goes very still as Mihika steps right up to Harry. The old woman raises herself up on her tiptoes, mere inches away from Harry, and peers straight into her eyes with a narrow, piercing glare.

Harry, for her part, blinks once in surprise, but returns the stare.

A long, long moment passes with the breath stuck in Ravi’s throat. Mihika Bhagavati is one of the oldest and most respected members of the consortium. Her opinion carries enormous weight, especially with the Indian families. Jihan looks downright gleeful.

Ten seconds pass like an ice age.

“Acceptable,” Mihika declares, dropping back onto her heels and turning her back. She takes Constance’s arm again. “Now, let’s go feed more canapés to your invisible cat.” They amble off together, chatting amiably.

All the Katarajus look as though they just swallowed live scorpions. Jihan, scowling, performs the smallest, least heartfelt bow on Earth, and fades back into the crowd.

“Uh.” Harry blinks again. “Why did that feel like a bigger deal than your aunt’s welcome?”

“It was,” Ravi murmurs, shocked and delighted. “That was a ringing endorsement from the most powerful sorceress in The Trust.”

A surreptitious glance around places all their allies and double-checks for trouble. Val is surrounded by a throng of Harbridges, a small smile on her face. Nate appears to have made some friends, which is no surprise. He’s incredibly easy to like. Ravi wishes he were over there too, listening to Nate relate some amusing anecdote.

Aunt Padme catches Ravi’s eye from across the room. She tips her glass with a barely concealed smirk, indicating she’d witnessed the whole affair. He returns one of his own and turns back to Harry. “No one is going to dare gainsay Mihika Bhagavati. I think we can safely assume no more barbed comments.”

“That’s almost a shame,” Harry says, “I was having fun. Nate is going to be so bummed he missed you being catty. What was that Jihan called you? Mull-something?”

So, she’d caught that. “Mulligatawny.”

“Oh my god, what a prick. I can’t believe he called you that. The nerve. That’s so offensive. Mulligatawny. Unbelievable.”

He gives her a look. “You don’t know what mulligatawny is.”

“Not even a little. By his tone, I’m going to guess a really horrible slur.”

“It’s soup,” Ravi says.

“It’s…what?”

“It’s a British influenced South Indian dish with a lot of variable ingredients.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. “So, it is a slur.”

Ravi sighs. “Jihan has a talent for making anything into an insult.”

“Joke’s on him, our talent is saving the fucking day and looking great doing it.” She takes his arm again and winds through the crowd toward a slim figure in white. “Speaking of, we should say hi to our fashion-forward future-seeing buddy.”

Ikshana smiles as they approach, setting aside their plate. “Hello, Chosen. Hello, Scion.” They’ve eschewed the standard dress code for a pure white tuxedo, platinum hair sheeting down straight and loose. Ravi has to admire the commitment to their aesthetic. “I wish to express my admiration of how you handled that potential situation in Borobudur. Neatly done.”

Using Ravi like a wall, Harry leans an elbow against him as she kicks one ankle out over the other. “Happy to help. Thanks for the tip.”

“And congratulations are in order.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess it’s not every day a girl gets a debutante ball and an engagement party all in one.”

“Ah, indeed, there is that,” Ikshana says serenely in their smooth, Icelandic lilt. “However, I was speaking to you, Ravi.”

Ravi straightens without dislodging Harry from her nonchalant perch. “Me?”

“Word is you are to be the next Director. It is a sound choice. We see many favorable possibilities as a result.”

Harry claps Ravi on the back. “Hell, yeah, it’s sound as fuck. My dude here’s gonna whip this whole mess into shape. And we, who? Are you doing a royal ‘we’ these days?”

“No. We seers. There are a few of us here tonight. I can introduce you later, if you wish.”

Ravi frowns. “Weren’t there objections to having so many seers in one place? It’s a security risk.”

“There were many, in fact. But an equal number argued that it would be worth the risk to have us present as an early warning system. The vote was split down the middle, and the tie had to be broken by a Branch Director.”

“Branch Directors don’t get votes.”

“Usually true, but in this case, enough of the families agreed to hear Mason’s opinion. He’s been very active lately. There’s some who say he’s aiming for a position in the consortium, when he starts a family.”

Harry purses her lips together. “Javier Mason, I know that name. That’s the guy who runs the Manhattan branch, right?”

“Yeah,” Ravi says. “He’s supposed to be a cool guy. Very dedicated. Rumor has it he killed a yeti bare-handed. I’ve always wanted to meet him. Is he here?”

“I believe so. I can’t say where he is now, I haven’t seen him for some time,” Ikshana says. “The night is still young.”

“Any predictions for it?” Harry asks. “I’ll be honest, we’re half expecting to get jumped any second, so if you could set our minds at rest, I sure would appreciate it.”

“Of course. We’ve been checking periodically, but all seems well enou—” Ikshana’s already pale eyes flash pure white for a brief moment, then they very slowly look over their shoulder toward the buffet table.

Ravi’s pulse kicks into high gear, scanning for threats, but the only thing of note in that direction is Constance talking animatedly with a flock of Bhagavati women.

“What is it? What do you see?”

For the first time since Ravi has met Ikshana, he gets to see that aloof, otherworldly demeanor crack. “Um. Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Harry quirks a brow. “No attacks incoming?”

Ikshana keeps staring straight at Constance as if unable to tear their eyes away. “Uh. No. I don’t know. I don’t see one currently.” Against the backdrop of their porcelain pallor, two red spots appear high on their cheeks. It’s…a blush, Ravi realizes.

He shares an incredulous look with Harry. “Do you want to go talk to Constance?”

Ikshana goes even redder. “I foresee that…talking…is one very likely possibility, yes.”

Harry’s other eyebrow joins its twin, rising nearly to her hairline. “Well, Ravi and I were gonna go dance anyway, right?” She elbows him in the ribs.

“We were? Oh! Yeah.”

“So, you should definitely go say hello.” Harry shoves Ikshana in the direction of the smiling witch. “She’s weird, you’re weird, it’ll be great. Be prepared to have holy water sprinkled on you.”

The seer gives Harry an affronted look which quickly melts into sheepishness. “If that is the Chosen’s wish.” Ikshana clasps their hands in front of their chest and dips into a bow before they approach the buffet table. They fidget with their vest a bit, adjusting an ivory bow tie.

Ravi laughs under his breath and nudges Harry’s shoulder. “Harry McAllister. Private eye. Monster hunter. Chosen One. Matchmaker.”

“Right? I’m getting everyone laid around here.” She links their elbows. “I was not kidding about that dance, by the by. C’mon.”