A handsome older gentleman stared at me with incredulity in his hazel eyes, but his face slowly morphed to confusion. “Constance?” the man frowned, staring from my hair to my face. I didn’t recognize him, and he seemed to be suddenly realizing that he didn’t recognize me either. He dropped his hand and took a polite half-step back, well before it would have seemed inappropriate. His hand fell to his side with a slight bend to his arm, as if used to resting there.

A distant part of me familiar to training with weapons realized it was where a sword would rest in the old days, a man placing his hand on the hilt of a blade.

But, of course, those days were long gone. People didn’t walk around with swords anymore.

I shook my head in answer to the mistaken name. He let out a breath, and gave me a disarming smile, his weathered face now resembling a loving grandfather doting on his grandchild. “My apologies. You looked like someone that I once knew—”

A light, but deep gong cut him off, and the violins faded in a rehearsed closure, as did all conversation. I turned to see a man standing at the top of another set of stairs, opposite from where we had entered. He was a short man, and although dressed better than the servers, he still presented himself subserviently to the guests before him. “The auction will commence in a few moments. If you could please take your seats.” A low murmur responded as the crowd slowly drifted towards the open doors behind the speaker. The stairs were half that of the ones we had entered, and led into an old theater, complete with velvet seats that I could see from my spot near the bar.

I made no move as I turned back to the man who had mistaken me. But he was gone. Claire was frowning as her eyes stared deeper into the crowd that had all mingled together now, no longer in small pockets as everyone hastened to take their seats.

Claire turned to me, frowning, and then shrugged. She accepted another flute of champagne and handed me a paddle, the one they had handed me upon entering. Claire had taken it from me in silence, so that my hands would be free to act if necessary. I had two daggers sheathed to my inner thigh. Of course, I would have to reveal a flash of pale leg to reach them, but I could do it quickly, and with minimal motion. I had practiced before finally deciding on the garment. And anyone staring at my sudden reveal of flesh would be too distracted to notice the daggers suddenly hurtling towards his or her face.

I accepted the paddle, and another flute of champagne, even though mine was only half gone, and we followed the crowd. Everyone seemed eager to be seated, but no one touched shoulders. Respectfully compact. You never knew who you might be bumping with this many modern-day nobles surrounding you.

No one bothered us as Claire led us to our seats, but I did feel several sets of eyes following us. I hadn’t seen the green-eyed man or the older gentleman who had mistaken me for Constance. The name had meant nothing to me, but I had heard similar lines like that too many times to count when men were trying to pick up a woman. Perhaps he was one of those who liked much younger women to dote on him. Not uncommon. A light touch, a sense of familiarity with a tossed-out name, a flash of wealth, and then an apology and smirk — which often resulted in many weaker women feeling suddenly self-conscious enough to flirt back, not realizing that they were subconsciously competing with this other named woman for the stranger’s interest.

As much trickery and work as men put into picking up women with lame psychological ploys, it was a wonder that none of them realized that if they applied that much honest effort into genuinely attracting a woman, they would likely be swimming with options. I shook my head softly, hair tickling my lower back as I sat down. Claire was already seated, leaving me the aisle.

I leaned back in my chair, watching as events unfolded. A broad array of paintings, jewelry, knickknacks, manuscripts, and sculpted pieces of art decorated the stage with meticulous placement. My eyes studied the display, aware to make sure my eyes never rested on one piece too long, because I could feel eyes on my back, watching me watch the stage, as if curious what a young woman would be interested in buying — and even more, what that young woman had done to come into enough money to play here, and who that woman might be, and how deep her pockets were.

I took a deep breath, pressing those concerns down. Then I saw it. An odd piece of wood in a glass case, looking like a broken shaft of a weapon, jagged on either end. The center section of the spear Roland had told me to acquire.

Part of the spear that had pierced Jesus’ side during his crucifixion. I felt my breath catch, but hid it well with a sip of champagne. It looked so… ordinary. A length of old wood like a broken broom handle.

But I shifted my eyes almost immediately, settling my attention on an old book, which was apparently the first item up for auction, because the tuxedoed man from the stairs began to speak, welcoming us, thanking us for attending, and without further ado, launching into a brief description of the book. A projector screen hung behind the man, over twenty feet tall, and the screen showed video footage revolving around the book three dimensionally, a pair of white gloves slowly opening the thick aged leather cover, and briefly turning a few pages with practiced care for all of us to see. Clever, letting everyone feel like they were inspecting it.

No one stood near the book now, belying that they had recorded the video prior to auction. As the man opened the item up for bidding, the video repeated on a loop. Faint, almost unnoticeable piano music drifted on the air from the atrium we had just left. This had the odd effect of dispersing the heavy silence in the room while also not coming close to overpowering the bidding within. Just loud enough to let one miss the heavy, anxious silence in the room.

I could practically taste the greed filling the air. No one showed it on their faces, but it was obvious to me. Claire breathed a whisper that could not have been heard even by the older woman on her opposite side. “This place…” she breathed, rubbing her arms slowly so as not to attract attention of the auctioneer.

Sure that the auctioneer wasn’t looking our way, I nodded, and squeezed her leg lightly.

My gaze tracked the guests, eyeing, assessing, wondering what I was supposed to be on alert for. One of those mutated werewolves? A vampire? Something else?

I caught the strange older gentleman who had mistaken me for this Constance studying me, but he slowly turned away as he noticed me looking back. My eyes moved on, earrings tinkling slightly as I moved. I hoped the dangling reflection of light didn’t catch the auctioneer’s attention, and made sure to move my head more slowly.

I saw no threats at all. No one seemed to be paying attention to me anymore. Maybe they just didn’t know of me, which suited me just fine.

A throat cleared loudly, when no one but the auctioneer had been making a noise, using only their paddles to catch his attention for a particular bid. I saw a paddle in the front rise up, holding the numeral 1 for all to see. He must have been the first one here, or something. Glancing down, I saw that mine was number 504. Frowning, I considered that there definitely weren’t five hundred people here, so how was my number so much higher than his?

“Quarter of a million,” an almost familiar voice said, but I couldn’t see him. It reminded me of the laughing man I had seen outside, even though I hadn’t heard that man speak.

I saw several patrons grimace with distaste at the words, and a flash of disapproval crossed the auctioneer’s face as he turned to look for the voice.

His face momentarily froze, and then instantly transformed into a sickly smile as he nodded politely. Then he turned back to the crowd.

“Quarter of a million dollars. Going once… twice…” no one even looked interested in competing with the ridiculous bid. “Thrice. Sold, to Master Temple.” I couldn’t see the man, but the auctioneer nodded at this Master Temple, and then maneuvered to the next item on the list.

Claire had tensed up in her chair at hearing the name, and I frowned over at her. The name had sounded familiar for some reason. As if I had heard it on the news or something. Perhaps he was a politician running for office. I didn’t care. That didn’t matter tonight. But Claire looked as if she had suddenly realized something very obvious. She met my eyes, trying to impart something to me that I didn’t comprehend. I shrugged discreetly, mouthing later and turned back to the auctioneer. Roland’s item was waiting next after the current item, and I was more concerned with the butterflies in my stomach, preparing to bid on an item that would likely cost more than I had ever imagined.