Cristo burst through the crowd to catch Nova, and out of the corner of his eye, in the last second before he darted in front of her to stop her in her tracks, he caught a blurry image of bright pink, a figure charging toward Potestas on the stage. Not Lien Cassus, though; his instructions had been clear that the assassin had worn black when she fired the fatal shot at the boss.

He should double check on the figure in pink momentarily.

Candra Satiri, perhaps? He didn't really care. Getting into Nova's way, Cristo said, "Aurelian Nova, funny bumping into you tonight. Here." More than one head swiveled around to listen, he noticed.

"Do I know you?" she said.

"I thought the masquerade ball line was, 'Do you know me?'"

"I don't," said Nova. Her eyes in the holes of the mask flicked over his features as if she had never seen his face before. With or without the fox mask, that was impossible.

He lowered the volume of his voice and said, "Want to tell me what you're doing here?" She didn't. Dropping all pretense of politeness, as if she thought he was a crazy person, she tried to duck past him. Trying not to cause a scene, Cristo stepped backwards, moving with her, hoping the steps looked something like a dance move.

"How predictable," he said, and he continued over her feigned protest of "Pardon me?"

"Except that I never expect you to be predictable. So it was unpredictable that you predictably tried to run away to get out of answering me. Nor do I expect you to tell me what you're doing here tonight, but if there ever was a time to be unpredictable, this is it. How about it?"

More and more eavesdroppers shamelessly turned to watch, many of whom shouldn't have been able to hear his quiet words. That made the interrogation difficult. Did any of them have hearing enhancement spells? Was that possible yet? Cristo didn't know, so he chose his words carefully. Which meant he had to be vague. Which was not an interrogation strategy up to Nova's prowess.

What he wanted to say was, "Did you follow me back from the future to stop me from saving Ilan Potestas's life and prevent the reelection of Gaia Solin?" You know, specifics. What he said instead was, "Why are you here?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she of course insisted. "Excuse me, I have to meet someone." Again she attempted to push past him, and he stepped back further with her, without getting out of her way.

"Oh good," he said, "this is as much a waste of your time as it is mine."

"You must have me confused with someone."

He put a hand on her shoulder and pressed close to her. "Do you have somewhere to be?"

"Yes," Nova said, but Cristo didn't stop talking. Lowly. "Did you forget to invite Exequi Marius to your party?"

Nova talked over him and said at the same time, "I don't know who you are."

"Some other aristocrat you haven't said hello to yet?"

"Excuse me?"

"Or do the assassins need you for something?" he said, close to her ear, his voice almost silent.

His words hit her hard. Her tongue tied in a knot, and she was speechless.

"I know you," he said.

Nova found her voice and kept it low too. She whispered back, "What are you talking about, assassins?"

"You know what I'm talking about." Her face changed again. As if Cristo could read her mind, he felt as if he knew she had decided he was insane. Which was impossible, because she was only pretending not to know him. Shit, she was convincing. Stars damn it.

"I swear you have me confused with someone else," Nova repeated, and to prove it, she removed her mask. Behind it was exactly the face Cristo had expected, down to the frown on her celestial purple lipsticked lips and the flecks of gold in her sea salt water formed beer bottle glass eyes filled with extra molten heat just for him.

No one could perform like Nova. He didn't like it that she was using her act on him. "I don't understand, we agreed I was coming back alone. Did something change? Nova, is something wrong?" He started to doubt himself. Possibilities both eluded him and bounded in and out of his imaginations — with magic it could be anything: a clone, mind control, a virus, insanity, memory loss?

Not possible, none of it possible, but anything was possible. Why was she pretending to be a woman named Nova Dasilva? Why did these people act as if they knew her? Nova hadn't been born yet. How was she impersonating a woman from the past? Had she gone back to set up a life for herself here? Temporal migration. He hadn't been allowed to do that. How long had she been at this? Was there any other explanation?

If only he could get her to talk.

Candra innocently took in the view from the elevated stage. "Boss, who is that man in the fox mask talking to Aurelian Nova?" She looked out on the crammed crowd fighting for body space on the limited patio. It was slowly starting to spill into the opening in front of the boss's stage. She took credit for that, because with the boss's attention on her, the masses no longer felt afraid to draw near.

"It's hard to tell," the boss said, squinting his eyes and craning his neck to see, "but isn't that the point of the mask?" Ilan barked a sincerely amused laugh at her. She couldn't tell whether he intended her to laugh with him.

"Oh," said Candra. "I thought you would know who everyone is. Since it's your party."

That was the wrong thing to say. Ilan turned back to her and growled, "The masks are intended to hide the identity of anyone who might petition me, to promote the power of anonymity and a culture where the neighbors in our community and our employees are unafraid to ask questions. But nobody cares about that, because if no one knows who you are, Lady Satiri, then no one can admire your choice of designer, and the amount of money you can afford to waste on party clothes, a designer, and a mask that doesn't cover up very much of your face. Is that a Satiri family mark on your charm bracelet?"

Candra fought the impulse to hide her wrist behind her back. It was a copper bracelet, and held one small charm printed with a dragonfly trailing flames, one in a dozen other copper shapes dangling there.

Ilan had yelled loud enough for the people closest to hear it all — not that any of them had the courage to approach the boss themselves, she reminded herself — but it didn't help the swell of humiliation from her toes to her forehead.

He added, "Next month, if I recognize you within the first ten minutes, I will abrogate your invitation. Tell your friends. If we're going to participate in the company policy of the regional masquerade — which, if it were up to me alone, we would not — we're going to follow the rules."

The rules. She couldn't argue, and she didn't want to. Wrestling her tangled tongue, she tried to wrangle the words to regain control over the conversation, she didn't care about any of this, she only wanted to know who the man in the fox mask—

Potestas said, "Thank you for coming. Enjoy the refreshments." It was a dismissal. Ilan Potestas was an awful old man, and impossible though it was, he seemed to grow older and more awful by the minute. The whole party had shifted toward the boss to overhear. She fled, feeling as if she were on fire, back into the cool relief of the anonymity of the masked crowd — then recalled how easily identifiable she was.

Still, she couldn't allow the embarrassment to slow her down. She had other priorities. There may be time yet to find out whether the man in the fox mask mattered. In the meantime, Marius had one other job for her tonight. Candra had to cross all the way across the rooftop, close to where the man in the fox mask was still bothering Lady Dasilva, to find Stephen Potestas.

The smile between her high cheekbones was genuine for once. It lit up on its own when she drew near. "Uh oh," she said when she saw the look on Stephen's face. "You're not having any fun tonight at all, are you?"

What's Candra up to? What does she want out of our Stephen? We'll find out soon. For the present moment, Cristo and Nova will be stealing the spotlight. If you're enjoying the party so far, please leave me a star.