The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(33)

Enrique pulled a Forged spherical detection device—one of her own inventions—from his pocket. He tossed it in the air. As it slowly spiraled downward, light burst from the sphere, illuminating the room’s contours.

The place seemed empty enough to Zofia, though she didn’t like how it looked. Too closed off, despite the space.

“There’s no one here,” she said. “And there aren’t any recording devices. Come on—”

Just as she stepped forward, Enrique grabbed her from behind and quickly pulled her against his chest.

“Get off—”

“Easy, phoenix, easy,” Enrique said, low in her ear. “Look at the floor.”

The sphere had rolled to a stop near one of the many podiums. A spiraled grid of red light radiated out from the object, netting across the entire floor.

“They hid the recording devices in the floor?”

“Rather clever of them,” said Enrique, releasing her. “We’ll have to go slower than I thought.”

Zofia glanced at the front door, the pile of iron chains just on the other side. Enrique had slipped extra cash to the madame of a brothel the next night guard frequented, so the man wouldn’t arrive for at least another twenty minutes. That should have given them plenty of time.

But they’d planned their time assuming the recording devices would be on the wall. Not the floor.

“As long as we don’t touch any of the red light, it’ll be fine,” said Enrique.

He took the lead. He stepped carefully and completely within the bounded space of red light. Zofia followed, matching him step for step. Within five minutes, her calves started cramping. Every space became narrower. She could hardly fit the whole of her foot into each one. Zofia rose on her tiptoes, hands out to the sides for balance. Enrique did the same.

“Nearly there,” whispered Enrique. “We just crossed the seventh podium, and I marked it at the ninth.”

Zofia didn’t look up from her feet. The darkness cinched tight around her. She knew it wasn’t a locked room. She knew it, and yet, she thought she could feel the air touching her. Soft as a feather dragged across her skin. Bile reared up in her throat. It’s open. It’s open. She looked up. She had to see the sky. Had to know it wasn’t a wall. That the podiums weren’t students. That the electric whirr wasn’t laughter.

Enrique stopped a foot away from her. “We’re here! I can see the artifact—”

Her shoe slipped.

The red line across from her snapped in half.

Beams of light shot down from the ceiling. Outside the exhibition hall, sirens screamed into the night.

Enrique turned to face her. “What did you do?”

Zofia looked up wildly, but her gaze went not to Enrique or the black column where the artifact sat, but to the man leaning against the wall behind them. In the dark, he had melded in with the shadows, but the light revealed him. His eyes narrowed, lips pulled in a sneer as he raised his hand. Light glanced off a raised blade.

“Watch out!” screamed Zofia.

The man thrust the blade. Enrique pivoted out of the way. Instinct took over. When it came to socializing, Zofia had difficulty knowing the right moves. But fighting was different. It was all patterns, anticipation of the movement of muscle. That she could do. Zofia reached for her necklace. At her touch, the Forged pendants shifted.

Enrique jumped to her side.

“Get the artifact,” said Zofia.

He looked between her face and the pendant, brows quirked for barely an instant. The man with the knife made a grab for her. She thrust up her elbow, catching him in the nose. Before he could yelp, she caught him sideways with a right hook. The man growled, backhanding her. Zofia’s face stung as she reeled back. Then, she clicked her heels together. Steel spurs spun out from her shoes. The man lunged once more, and she kicked out, swiping his kneecaps so he fell, writhing, onto the floor.

The second he was down, Zofia raced to Enrique. He was busy wresting the square-shaped artifact off the wooden block. Behind her came a loud groaning sound. The man had pushed himself off the ground. As he lumberd toward them, a gold chain spilled from the collar of his shirt.

“Foolish girl,” he rasped.

He reached for something in his cloak. Zofia ripped off another pendant, flinging it at his face. Chemically speaking, it was nothing more than a metal oxidizer and metallic fuel, but Zofia had Forged it to do more than just flash with light once. She had bent her will to the object, encouraging it to draw from the very air itself. Now it sparked and burned, hissing against the man’s face. His hands sprung apart as he batted uselessly at the pendant.

“Got it!” yelled Enrique.

Three policemen appeared at the front of the entrance.

“Arrêtez!” shouted the first police officer.

All three of them looked up. The man’s mouth twisted into a grin. He reached for the hat on his head, then flung it toward the police officer. Zofia caught a strange sheen to its brim.

The second Zofia realized what it was, she waved her arms to get the police officer’s attention. “Move! It’s a blade!”

Too late. The brim swept across one of the police officer’s throats. Blood bloomed down the man’s shirt.

“No!” she screamed. “No!”

The man grabbed her wrist. She tried to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong. Instead, she grabbed the gold chain around his neck. The man spluttered as the chain broke off in her hand, the force of it throwing her to the ground.