The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves #1)(31)

A Sphinx stood motionless in the corner, as she and Séverin had known one would. For large parties, the Palais always kept two on hand in the event someone tried to swindle an Order member or smuggle House-marked treasure out the doors. Today, the second Sphinx would not show up until an hour later, thanks to Zofia and Tristan’s clever tampering with the Palais’s Forged Sphinx schedules. But there would be another “Sphinx” to take the guard’s place: Séverin. Tristan would be with him, posing as a police officer. A decoy item would be slipped in the courier’s pocket. Something that looked as if it might be House-marked, thus letting a Sphinx approach him. From there, the courier would be accused of theft, taken to a holding cell, freed of all personal effects—including the catalogue coin with the Horus Eye location—“interrogated,” and let go.

Simple.

In the background, La Fée Vert had just finished to thunderous applause. Next, it would be her turn.

Laila opened the door to her room. Inside, flames danced on stunted candles. The low light turned the room drowsy and golden. On a side table near her vanity lay a bouquet of white roses.

And on her burgundy chaise lounge …

A boy. He was reclining on his side, absentmindedly tearing petals off a rose. He must have heard her open the door because he lifted his head and grinned. His eyes were strikingly pale against the lustrous dark of his skin.

“Ah, hello, ma chère,” said the boy.

“Who are you?”

The boy stood and bowed. “Hypnos.”

Laila lifted her chin. “And what are you doing here?”

Hypnos laughed. “I adore you already! So imperious! I bet Séverin likes to be bossed around a little, doesn’t he?”

At Séverin’s name, Laila snapped upright.

“What did you do to him?”

Hypnos clapped his hands together and sighed.

“Oh, goodness, you care for Séverin! And why wouldn’t you? That boy looks like every dark corner of a fairy tale. The wolf in bed. The apple in a witch’s palm.”

He winked.

Heat rose to Laila’s cheeks. “I don’t—”

“I don’t really care one way or the other,” said Hypnos, waving his hand. His smile held all the danger of a pried-open secret. “And that’s not why I came, lovely. I’m here because if we don’t act soon, I’m afraid Tristan and Séverin will be dead within the hour.”





9





ZOFIA


Zofia chewed on a matchstick, her eyes fixed on the exhibition door. The Exhibition on Colonial Superstitions was a glass and steel enclosure the size of a large greenhouse. Inside it were examples of ancient Forging objects throughout France’s overseas empire. Any moment now, the security guard’s shift would end. After that, she and Enrique would sneak in, steal an artifact Enrique believed would neutralize the effects of verit stone, and meet up with the others back at L’Eden.

“God, this wait is miserable,” said Enrique.

At this time of evening, no one was left in the Champ de Mars but vagrants, beggars, and the occasional tourist trying to catch a glimpse of the Exposition before it opened. Over the past few months, preparations for the Exposition Universelle had transformed the city, pulling the skyline into new shapes every day. Colorful tents sprouted up overnight, and the trill of new languages joined the sonorous buzz of electrical lights.

But nothing captured Zofia’s attention more than the imposing Eiffel Tower, the official entrance to the 1889 Exposition Universelle. The papers said that, together, Forging and science would pave a new age of industry. But Zofia did not consider Forging separate from the sciences. To her, Forging was not some divine art bestowed by ancient objects, but a science not yet understood.

Zofia glanced at the forbidding Eiffel Tower. Some called it a Tower of Babel for the new age, for both had been built without Forging, and both marked the start of a new era. But the Tower of Babel had been built to reach God and the heavens. Zofia was not sure what kind of god the world sought to reach now.

“What is taking that security guard so long?” Enrique grumbled. “He was supposed to be out by eight o’clock. It’s nearly nine.”

“Maybe he doesn’t have a clock.”

He stared at her. “Are you finally making a joke?”

“I’m pointing out a gap in your observation.”

Enrique let out a low whooshing breath. “And to think I could’ve been dancing at the Palais des Rêves tonight.”

“They didn’t want you, remember? Séverin said your face was all wrong.”

“Thank you.”

“You are welcome.”

Past the Forging exhibition loomed the points of stone temples, tops of palm fronds, and silk tents that marked the sprawling colonial pavilions along the Esplanade des Invalides. It was to be the largest attraction after the Gallery of Machines and the Eiffel Tower. According to the newspapers, it contained “a Negro Village with almost 400 Africans in their natural habitat.”

That word struck Zofia as wrong. “Habitat.” It sounded like it was meant for animals. People were not animals. It didn’t seem right that they were there solely to be seen.

“Ugly,” she said, not quite realizing she’d spoken until she heard her voice.