THE VEILED PROPHET’S BALL
1904—St. Louis
Esta’s vision went white, but she kept hold of North’s arm until she could see again. Her legs felt unsteady beneath her, and her skin was clammy from the magic of the watch.
When the brightness faded, the night had turned to day. In the distance, the sirens had been replaced with the echoes of the Exposition—the hum of the crowd and the far-off melody of a brass band.
Harte let go of North first and shuddered as he stumbled and tried to keep himself upright. “That just feels wrong.”
“What does?” North asked, putting the watch back into his pocket.
“You don’t feel it?” Harte shivered again. When North shook his head, Harte tried to explain. “Magic usually feels warm, like something you’d want to blanket yourself with. But that? It feels like a shard of ice went straight through me.”
“I’ve never felt anything warm,” North said with frown. “And I don’t feel any ice either. You, Maggie?”
The girl shook her head.
Esta caught Harte’s gaze. North was Mageus—she could feel the warmth of his affinity mingled with the prickling iciness of the watch’s magic—but he didn’t seem as attuned to his affinity as she and Harte were. Maybe it was because, without the watch, his affinity wasn’t all that strong. Or maybe there was something to the stories of the Brink—the stories of how it worked to keep magic whole. If she really thought about it, all the power she’d felt on this side of the Brink had been off, mixed with that strange, cold warning that spoke of ritual and decay.
Done with the conversation, North gave a nod, and they were moving. The four of them entered the fair without any problem and then made their way back toward the lagoon. It was still midafternoon and the fair was open, filled with visitors who were there to take in the sights. Boats trailed in lazy paths across the calm waters, unaware that in the span of a few hours everything would change. The lights would turn the water into a glimmering mirror of stars, the white marble of the buildings would glow, and if they couldn’t fix this—if they couldn’t stop the necklace from detonating or the people from being at the ball when it did—people would die, including the president. Esta shuddered at the thought of what a change like that could do to the future.
The ball was being held in the Festival Hall, the white domed building at the head of the enormous lagoon. Other than the boats, which would have taken too long, there was no direct route there. They had to cut around the buildings that held exhibitions of metallurgy and liberal arts, following the broad paths filled with people until they came to the Festival Hall.
From the gilded dome to the lavish curlicues of marble and plaster, the Festival Hall was a testament to excess. In a city where many of the streets remained unpaved and workers gathered in warehouses to plan their rise, it was unnecessary, this impractical bit of beauty. Everywhere, lush flowers bloomed in perfectly manicured gardens, fountains threw water into the air in elegant looping patterns, and ornate gazebos provided shade from the afternoon sun. It was beautiful and frivolous with its sculptures and carvings. It should have seemed utterly charming and beautiful and feminine, but it was also imposing.
The building stood two stories above the fair on its man-made hilltop like a citadel, with a double row of columns that ringed it like the bars of a cage. Blocking the main entrance was an enormous fountain, THE TRIUMPH OF LIBERTY carved into its base, and on three of its sides were smaller but no less ornate fountains, LIBERTY, JUSTICE, and TRUTH, which all cascaded down to the main lagoon below. And on the top of its gilded dome, the goddess Victory had been wrought in the image of a man. Of course she had. Esta wasn’t even surprised. The entire building was a statement of the city’s power, as though St. Louis could claim its place in the country with marble and water. It was also a statement of the men who’d commissioned it—the Society, filled with the city fathers who ruled from their mahogany boardrooms and marbled halls.
But inside, the hall was mostly a hollow, cavernous space. Though the Guard was everywhere around the grounds of the Exposition, it was too early in the day for them to have taken up their posts for the night, so Esta and the others were able to enter the rotunda of the building, blending in with the other tourists who gazed up to where the daylight streamed in through spotless windows as an enormous pipe organ played a hymn.
They didn’t waste time listening the way the other visitors did, though. Esta took stock of the building—hiding places and weak points. The Guard would do the same, and so would the president’s security, but it didn’t hurt to be aware of the exits in a place.
North led them through the rotunda and then to a small service hallway near the far side of the building. The door to the service hall was almost unnoticeable because it blended in with the ornate details and the scrollwork of the rest of the building. Once they were in the safety of the hall, they were able to snake through the building unseen.
“The ball will be held in the main rotunda out there,” North said, leading the way. He must have seen plans for the building to have such a clear sense of his direction.
“They’ll be bringing the parade down the avenue and then around the back, past the Palace of Fine Arts,” Esta told them, remembering where the Prophet’s float had stopped long enough for the Guard to pull Julien out of the hidden chamber beneath it and lead him away.
“That’s just on the other side of this wall here,” North said. “When the Prophet’s float arrived, did you see where they took Julien?”
Esta shook her head. “They grabbed him and left me behind. By the time I climbed out of the float, he was gone. They made the rest of us leave the fairgrounds from the back entrance, and then I came straight to you all. I don’t know where they took Julien.”
North considered the question, his eyes unfocused for a second. “The east wing of the building is mostly maintenance and workers, but on the west side, there are some rooms for offices and meetings. They’ll want privacy, so I expect that they’ll set up for the Prophet there.”
With a nod, North pulled them into a broom closet barely big enough to hold them. “The ball starts at ten, when the parade arrives, so we’ll need to be a little early to get into position.” He adjusted the dial of his watch, moving the minute hand ahead so that it dragged the hours along with it. Then he looked up at them, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “Ready?”
They each took hold of his arm, and once again, the world flashed white.