Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(50)

“You’re drawing attention,” Steris noted. “I’m not certain wearing the coat was a wise move.”

“The mistcoat is a symbol,” Wax said. “It is a reminder.” She’d talked him out of the hat, but not this.

“It makes you look like a ruffian.”

“It’s supposed to. Maybe they’ll think twice about lying to me; I don’t want to be part of their games.”

“You are already part of their games, Lord Waxillium.”

“Which is why I don’t like coming to the parties.” He held up his hand, cutting her off. “I know. It’s important that we be here. Let’s go chat with the partygoers you’ve planned for us to approach.”

She always had a list, carefully prepared. Steris was the only person he’d ever heard of who brought an agenda to a cocktail party.

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“That is what we commonly do,” Steris said, giving a specific smile—she practiced different ones—to Lady Mulgrave as they passed. “Tonight’s purpose is yours. Let us be about it and find that killer.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” she said, waving to another couple. “It behooves a wife to be interested in, if not involved in, the passions of her spouse.”

“You don’t need to do that, Steris. I—”

“Please,” she said softly. “I do.”

Wax let the argument drop. Truth was, he was pleased. With the possibility that Bleeder was here somewhere, Wax wouldn’t be able to relax anyway.

So how to find the creature? More importantly, how would he beat someone who could move in a blur? Unlike Allomancy—which burned at a few standard rates—Feruchemical powers could be used up all at once. Bleeder could drain her metalminds in a single burst of speed—and could probably take down dozens of people in an eyeblink. Maybe even hundreds. And Wax wouldn’t be able to do a thing.

But perhaps she wouldn’t have enough left for that. She couldn’t just pop more metal in, like an Allomancer, and refill her reserves. She’d have to rely on what speed she had been able to store up, and she’d only stolen her spike recently. Killing the people at Winsting’s party would have expended a large amount of what she’d theoretically been able to save up over the last few weeks.

So he had two options. Kill her before she moved, or somehow get her to waste her Feruchemical reserve without hurting anyone.

He stepped up to the bar, ordering drinks, then turned to scan the crowd. It had been two decades since he’d been a part of high society, and his two years back in Elendel hadn’t yet polished off all the rust. Everyone here had the same counterfeit way about them—they chatted with a studied air of merriment while secretly pursuing their own agendas. There was no better place for a murderer to blend in than this.

Drinks in hand, Wax stepped down from the bar and turned on his steel bubble.

It wasn’t something he’d always been able to do, and he wasn’t entirely certain how he did it. Oh, the basic mechanics were obvious: he burned steel, then Pushed lightly outward from himself in all directions at once. But how had he learned to exempt metal he himself carried? He still didn’t know. It was just something that had happened, over time.

With the bubble on, his Allomantic instincts searched out any bits of metal moving quickly toward him, and would Push on those with increasing force as they drew closer. He was getting better and better at that. Standing and letting Darriance shoot at his chest while wearing about twelve inches of padding and armor had helped. He couldn’t dodge bullets, but the bubble helped.

“What did you just do?” Steris asked as he reached her. “My bracelet wants to leap off my arm.”

“Remove it,” Wax said. “If there’s an Allomantic fight, I don’t want you wearing any metals.”

Steris raised an eyebrow, but took off the bracelet and dropped it in her handbag. Wax mentally added an exception for it.

“I don’t know that it will matter,” Steris said. “This place is positively teeming with metal. What are you doing with your drink?”

Wax looked up. He’d just finished covertly dumping a bit of brown powder into his cup. “I got water,” he said. “The powder will make it look like I’m drinking brandy. If I can feign drunkenness later, it might give me an edge.”

“Fascinating,” Steris said. She seemed genuinely impressed.

They moved through the room, passing under a chandelier. The separate bits of crystal—which had wires suspending them—moved subtly away from Wax, like the needle of a compass confronted by a magnet’s matching pole. He accidentally knocked a nugget off a pedestal as they passed. Rusts. Against his better judgment, he dampened his steel bubble.

“Let’s find the governor,” Steris said.

Wax nodded. He couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter which way he turned, someone had a gun pointed at his back.

Someone else moves us, lawman.

Red on the bricks. Lessie in his arms, already dead. His hands stained with her blood.…

No. He’d moved past that. He’d grieved. He wouldn’t be sucked down into that spiral again. As they continued through the party, a pair of lesser nobles wearing dark colors moved to intercept them, but Wax gave them a glare, which was enough to get them to back off.