The limousine smelled sharp, like wood polish and liquor. Jerome's mouth fell open as I ducked my head and climbed into the chamber, just it time to see his cocktail glass tip precariously to the side, the skewered olive threatening to roll over the rim. 

Sticky liquid slapped the cabin floor, splattering up the hem of his navy pants. For once, the Parisian werewolf didn't flinch at the prospective stain. 

"Piper," Jerome blurted out. "You look..."

Isaac's fingers tightened on the door frame as he stepped in after me. The metal popped as it dented. 

"... like a girl," Jerome finished crudely, settling back in his chair with the lazy poise of the rich.

I snorted. "Thanks, asshole."

"And Ivy," Jerome went on, already smirking at his own joke. "Dare I say you look rather manly in this light?"

Isaac exhaled slowly through his nose, his chest rising and falling as he tried to look civil. "How does my sister fare?"

"That depends." Jerome's dark lashes lowered, shuttering his blow-torch blue gaze. It flicked between the two of us before searing through me. "How much do you trust him, Piper?" 

Isaac stiffened, as if expecting a blow, but my answer came easily. "You can be candid. I trust him with my life."

Jerome shrugged, that strange intensity giving way to indolence again. "I was never great with state secrets, anyway. Long story short, we had a run in with Mischa the Mad Witch. Nora showed her what for, but the snake managed to slither off to the Incantum, and now everyone is looking for her. Waters is still recovering, and Ivy..."

"She isn't dead," Isaac said abruptly. An image of the pathway between their minds flashed through mine, a strangely vivid picture considering how long it'd been since I visited Ivy's subconscious.

Back then I'd looked upon the doors to Isaac's mind with trepidation. Now I longed to open one and see what waited on the other side.

Fool, came the cutting thought, an echo of what my mother would have said. 

Jerome belched, beat his chest to clear it, and then juggled some imaginary scales. "Comatose, dead; to-may-to to-mah-to, as your people say."

I was taken aback by his insensitivity. "How much have you had to drink?"

Now that I was looking for it, I could smell the sour hint of alcohol in his sweat. He must have consumed a ludicrous amount to be this intoxicated, given his metabolism.

"I'm hoping if I drink enough I'll pass out spontaneously," he said cheerily, belying the bloody spiderwebs in his eyes. Some of the vessels had burst, riddling the whites with angry patches that offset the blue of his irises.

"What's the matter with you?" I hissed, leaning forward in my seat, half of a mind to strike him. It felt like he was trying to get through to me, to drill some hidden message straight into my skull, but what? "Speak plainly."

Jerome leaned forward too, letting the now-empty martini glass slip through his fingers. It didn't shatter, but it did roll across the floor as the driver made a turn, the rim emitting a low whine until Isaac stopped it with his foot.

"There's no point," Jerome whispered, fingernails splitting the leather upholstery of his seat. "I could scream and nobody would hear." 

If I hadn't known better, I would have thought he was a hybrid soldier, censored by a sire-bond command. But he wasn't; there was no excuse for this unprofessional behaviour. "Stop being a defeatist prick and sober up. The place we're going is dangerous. You'll need your wits about you." 

"Going?" Jerome's sloppy grin widened as he grabbed the russet fur on the bar. It remained as he slipped the hooded mask on over his head. "We're already there."

I glanced out the window and was surprised to realise he was right; the tunnel we'd driven through on the freeway had opened onto another place entirely. A small castle, by all respects, that seemed to be fashioned entirely from gold. I wondered how many mountains had given way to the greedy squeeze of Megan's hand to produce this garish monstrosity, fashioned entirely in her image. Then my frown deepened, for there was no way to contact Bjorn now that we were in a pocket dimension. I would simply have to keep an eye on the Lady Nightshade's advisor and report his strangeness on our return.

Assuming we ever returned.

A curious mixture of horse-drawn carriages and sports cars lined up in the gilded courtyard, skirting a fountain of liquid amber. A few patrons smoked cigars, each one looking like they were cutting a model's pose, but those who made wishes tossed no mere coins. Sapphires and rubies flashed through the air as they emptied their pockets, as if the precious jewels were petty change. One woman, giggling on the arm of an alarmingly glazed-eyed gladiator, broke apart her Swarovski crystal tiara and tossed the pieces in all at once, rainbow chips scattering from her palms as she screwed up her eyes and pursed her lips.

As if she needs a wish, I thought, eying her fangs and her illustrious clothes with no small amount of contempt. The woman had enough money to be whoever she wanted, but it was her immortality I resented most. Isaac and Ivy were probably going to live forever, assuming hybrids took after lamias (and why wouldn't they? They ate, they drank, they breathed and they wielded magic like an extra limb). I, on the other hand, was destined to grow old and wither away while they stayed in the prime of their lives.

One day my body would fail me. And it would fail to turn a certain man's head.

The chauffeur opened the door, releasing a floodgate of sound. Jerome stumbled out first, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. Isaac offered me his arm again, a silver prince framed by a palace of gold, the refreshing douse of reality I needed in this surreal place. Even the sky was trapped in what I suspected was an eternal sunset, that distant, burning star always weary, never permitted to die.

My fingers tightened into a fist at my side. These people thought themselves in command of life and death, but I would undo every last one of their ties to power if it killed me. Especially Megan Harlow's.

We followed Jerome into the foyer, where a white-robed servant declared our arrival — using our pseudonyms, of course. Jerome was apparently referring to himself as the Gallant Wolf, while we were introduced as Hades and Persephone, to the immediate intrigue of those gathered inside. The orchestra — because of course Megan would only be content with a full ensemble, no paltry quartet would do for an event like this — played their classical renditions of modern music devoutly on stage, while a troupe of performers twisted their bodies in impossible knots, the amber beads on their bikinis and loincloths rustling with every masochistic motion.

It was a strange space; an odd mix between a theatre and a ballroom, with a stage at the head and tiers of galleries fanning out on either side. Most were empty, though some owl-like patrons perched and watched the festivities unfold, craning their necks at eerie angles to track our every move. Many had come down to sample the food and blood-laced wine, dressed in every jewel tone imaginable, freckled with hints of white and black. I noticed that not a single person dared to wear gold, nor did they stoop to silver and bronze, which would imply that they were below the Golden One.

We stood out not only for our reputations, but for our audacity. My eyes narrowed in vicious satisfaction; it felt uncannily like I'd stuck someone with a blade where they were least expecting it. The Golden One glared down at us from her perch on high, looking decidedly brassy in the light of the chandeliers, more like a statue than a figure of import. Intriguing, yes, but easily overlooked. 

"You there," Jerome barked, snapping his fingers at the closest white-robed servant. "I am in dire need of a drink and good company."

If she was upset by his brusque demeanour, she was wise not to show it. Bowing gracefully to acknowledge us, the servant took Jerome's hand and led him across the ballroom, to the lavish tables set up in the antechamber. I noticed Isaac's attention linger on the ruby fountain in the middle of a stomach-churning carnivorous spread, the apple in his throat bobbing as he wrenched his gaze away, finding mine instead.

"I wouldn't eat or drink anything here," I said. "Corrine probably spiked it."

"I wouldn't want to anyway," he said gruffly, his eyes flicking to the scars on my neck. "It couldn't possibly compare."

My skin tingled as warmth spread up my neck, something I was certain he noticed. A distraction was in order — for both of us.

"Let's dance," I said, pulling him towards the floor. People were already shifting towards us, circling like the predators they were, waiting to see who would be strong or stupid enough to strike first. "I need to get a lay of the land."

"You know how to dance?" he asked, sounding surprised as I towed him along.

"No, but how hard can it be?" We fought on a daily basis, and that required careful synchronisation, did it not?

Isaac chuckled as the song changed, a haunting rendition of something Sail used to play in his room over and over again. It made my heart ache, not for better times, but for the girl whose sweetest memories were found on the fringe of somebody else's, soaked up through plaster walls.

"What is this?" I asked, blinking a little more than usual.

"Four to the Floor," Isaac said, turning as he found our place on the floor, right in the heart of it all. It would be hard for anyone to interrupt us now. "There are a few different versions, but I daresay this is my new favourite."

"I like it," I declared, forcing my shoulders back. "So, how does this work?"

"Well, you relax for starters," he said, only to stiffen up, contrary to his own advice. "And you follow my lead, for once."

I blushed; I did have a tendency to take charge, both in and out of the arena. Palm to palm, we circled each other like the starving wolves we were, my skirts fanning out behind me with every swirl.

If anything my heart beat faster as the music built to a crescendo. How could I possibly relax when we were standing so close but so far apart?

You're supposed to be working, I admonished myself, scanning the crowd for anything familiar or threatening. My gaze narrowed on Jerome slouching against a pillar, dual-wielding two chalices of red wine, some of which had already found its way onto his white shirt. His eyes were glazed as he talked to a pale man in a snow-owl mask, with a shock of white hair that rivalled Isaac's for its starkness.

"So that's Bjorn, huh?"

Isaac's voice pulled my mind back to the hands on my hips. He lifted me briefly as he spun, and I got a good glimpse of the room before he set me down, as if my skin was stuffed with feathers and not compact fighting muscle. No sign of Corinne or her hounds.

"The one you're always on the phone to?"

"What?" I asked, still distracted. "No, that's Jerome. Lady Nightshade's ex-husband."

"Oh." Some of the tension drained from his stance. "Are you close?"

"Sort of. I promise he's not usually this obnoxious," I said, wishing I was close enough to read both of their lips. Their conversation was taking a heated turn.

"And Bjorn?" he asked, sounding dubiously nonchalant.

I cupped the back of Isaac's neck and pulled his head down. I wouldn't lie to the man who was trusting me with his life. "He's just my handler," I said, barely breathing life into the words. "And a right pain in my ass."

I knew Isaac had already pieced together who I was working for, what my job entailed. This was his opportunity to ask for more intelligence on both, and yet it was something else entirely the silver prince fixated on, catching me by surprise. "He makes you laugh, though."

"I suppose you could say he and I are friends, too. There's nothing more to it, though," I said, my brows drawing together all of a sudden. "At least not on my end, anyway. I'm not the best at spotting that sort of thing." Colden and Mason were perfect examples of my short-sightedness in that regard.

"I'll say," Isaac muttered. I allowed him to rock me back, trusting him not to let me fall, even though it dangerously shifted the centre of my balance. "So when you said you had your eye on somebody else..."

I shrugged, trying to play coy, even though I knew he could hear my heartbeat pushing into a full gallop. It made my veins feel dangerously full, like they were going to burst at the seams. "I wasn't talking about them."

He reeled me back in, slowly but surely, the muscle in his arms straining against the fabric of his coat. "Tell me about him."

"Him? That's a bit presumptuous."

He looked stricken all of a sudden. "Or her."

I chuckled and put his mind at ease. "Well, he's tall. And handsome."

"Oh?"

"A bit of a silver-haired fox, actually," I went on, already grinning at my jab. "And he can sing like..."

"An angel?" he asked, quirking a brow.

"Like a shrieking bat," I finished, surprising a laugh out of him.

"He sounds like a catch," he said, eyes sparkling with humour.

"I guess you could say that."

We started rocking to a new song, slower than the last, shifting back and forth on our feet. I had to be insane to imagine the fire in his gaze, the way his body yearned for mine, like a tree stretching its branches towards the sun.

"I have my eye on someone, too," he admitted, his voice going gravelly.

"Oh? Tell me more."

"She's woefully short," he said, pulling a pitying face. "And very angry."

My mouth ran dry. "Is that all?"

"Her wit is almost as quick as her blade, and her kisses are just as sharp. And she's so beautiful to look at it hurts to breathe."

"Wow. She sounds like a catch, too."

"I wouldn't dream of trying to catch her," he said, shaking his head ruefully. "She's too wild for that. I'd lose a hand in the process."

"If you like her," I said succinctly, "you should make a move. Sometimes wild things stay. Sometimes they seek the warmth of the fire."

I tilted my chin up, daring him to close the gap. To take advantage of my thawing heart, my melting body. I was unravelling at the seams, and it had never felt so good.

But it had to be him that took the first leap. Not because I was afraid, or even entitled, but purely for the fact that I wanted to ensure that he truly wanted it. That Isaac wasn't feeling pressured, as he had in the past. That he wasn't shutting down and going along with it just to make somebody else happy.

I wanted him to want me. Desperately.

So I held my breath and waited.