The Gilded Wolves (The Gilded Wolves, #1)(99)

PART VI


From the archival records of the Order of Babel The Origins of Empire

Master Emanuele Orsatti, House Orcus of the Order’s Italy faction 1878, reign of King Umberto I

I think the greatest power is belief, for what is a god without it?





33





ENRIQUE


Enrique opened a gift box sent from Laila. Nestled inside a swath of inky silk lay a golden wolf mask, one that left the lower half of his face free. The mask had been expertly Forged, and the short, gleaming hairs bristled, as if touched by an invisible wind. Enrique half wondered if the second he put it on, he’d start howling. Tucked behind the mask was a short letter from Laila:

For the Palais’s full moon party tonight … may it be the start of a new phase for us all.

He grinned despite himself. Tomorrow, Hypnos and the matriarch of House Kore would come to the hotel and reissue the inheritance test to Séverin. Everything was changing. He could almost see it in the air, like the afterburn of the sun pressing against his closed eyes.

All the more reason to celebrate.

Yet, he couldn’t leave behind what had happened in the catacombs. A week had passed, and yet every night, he jolted awake, the stench of something burning in his nose … the silk sheets beneath his hand feeling like damp, bone-studded dirt. According to Séverin, the Order had already begun their interrogation of the caught Fallen House members, and there was another object the group had been searching for: an ancient book known only as The Divine Lyrics.

Enrique rummaged through the papers on his desk, ignoring the latest rejection letter from La Solidaridad and the hasty invitation to tea from the Ilustrados … something about the name of that title nudged at the dark of his thoughts. But then the clock struck, and he let out a curse. He could search later.

For now, he had a party to get to.

Enrique tied the mask’s ribbons around his neck and entered the hall. The carriage would be waiting for them downstairs, and if they got there early enough, he might have time to eat an entire bowl of chocolate-covered strawberries. Just before he got to the staircase, a familiar silhouette made him stop short. “Don’t you have your own house?”

“Hello to you too,” huffed Hypnos. “As a matter of fact, I have procured a permanent set of suites in L’Eden. I imagine I’ll keep seeing more of you anyway.”

“You’re like a plague.”

“What was that? I’m all the rage?” Hypnos cupped a hand to his ear, then grinned.

Enrique rolled his eyes.

“Well, I have to stay here. On official Order business. It’s my duty as the patriarch of House Nyx.”

From the other side of the hall, Zofia emerged, dressed in her usual black leather smock and a tight-fitting cap that let out a single curl of candlelight hair. Wherever Zofia went, she carried that laboratory scent with her, as if she were always faintly burning. It was beginning to grow on him.

“Tell me you’re not wearing that to the Palais party,” said Hypnos, horrified.

“I’m not going.”

“Why not?” asked Hypnos. “We’re all celebrating!”

Zofia grimaced. “I have work—”

“Oh posh,” said Hypnos. “Join us! Just change out of whatever that is you’re wearing, and we can go! Feast upon the offerings of the town! Pour out libations to life itself!”

“What about your attire?”

“What’s wrong with my attire?” Hypnos asked, plucking at his outrageous velvet suit. The collar had opened at the throat, and Enrique remembered how his pulse had leapt that first time they had met. How Hypnos’s fingers had coasted down his chest.

Enrique shook himself and turned to Zofia. “Come out with us, phoenix. Your work won’t go up into flames if you take an evening off.”

“Very true,” said Hypnos. “Besides, remember how we decided to be friends?”

Zofia glowered. “Please do not suggest that we are now going to sacrifice a cat to Satan. It’s not even Wednesday.”

“Friends,” he said, ignoring her comment. “May go on outings. To the theater. Or concerts.” He glanced at her smock. “Although one might suggest less ascetic apparel. Should you decide to join, we will be waiting here.”

Zofia huffed and turned on her heel without comment. Enrique watched her go, feeling the slightest pang. He understood how she felt. Shaken, still, by what happened in the catacombs. Eager to concentrate on anything but her own thoughts.

“I think everyone could use a distraction from last week,” said Hypnos. “You especially.”

Enrique looked up, startled at how close the other boy stood. He had only just noticed. Around them, the lights of the hall had dimmed. The only illumination came from the gilded baroque patterns along the wall. Hypnos smelled of neroli and jasmine, the scent more concentrated at the base of his throat—Enrique could see a slick swipe where the other boy must have applied the pomade.

“Perhaps you’re in need of convincing?”

“Unless you have a treasure trove of jewels and undiscovered Forged instruments, I am not sure what you have to offer,” joked Enrique.

“Well, there’s always this.”

Hypnos bent down and kissed him.