Sapphire Flames

Linus flashed a thousand-watt smile. When he was young, he might have given Alessandro a run for his money. He waved at no one in particular, and the onlookers went wild.

Linus strode up the red carpet. We followed. Ahead, the TV crew realized that a Big Name Prime had landed, and the correspondent was desperately trying to wrap up her current interview.

Alessandro walked next to me, beautiful and slightly aloof, a prince just a touch above it all, while Linus grinned and played up to the crowd. Ahead, the walls of the Wortham Theater glowed with colored projections of acrobats and rings of fire. The Houston Opera Admiration Society was celebrating the opening of Madame Trapeze, a new hybrid show that blended elements of the circus and opera. It had sold out in London and New York, and somehow Houston was the next to get it. We wouldn’t be getting the entire performance, just a few chosen acts before the real thing was open to the general public, but it was exciting being one of the first people to see it.

A woman shrieked from the left, “Alessandro! Look at me!”

He turned without breaking his stride and winked. The group of girls on our left erupted.

“Oh my God!”

“Marry me!”

“Who’s the girl?”

“My number is 830 . . .”

We resumed our march toward the entrance.

“Enjoying yourself?” I murmured.

“Jealous?”

“Of your many admirers? No.”

“You never say anything nice to me,” he said, his voice low and slipping into an intimate tone that brushed against my skin like velvet. We were on display in front of hundreds of people and he was speaking to me as if we were about to make out in my bedroom. “It’s always ‘Stop driving so fast, Alessandro.’ ‘You have to leave, Alessandro.’”

“What would you rather hear?”

“I could think of a few things.” His face took on a wistful expression. It looked good on him. Like everything else. “I missed you, Alessandro.”

Why did I ask?

“Hold me, Alessandro.” His seductive voice wove around me. All my senses came to attention. The crowd was fading and only his voice mattered.

“Kiss me, Alessandro.”

Heat warmed my face. I was blushing. Damn it.

“Will you stop?”

We were almost to the TV crew. Maybe we could slip by them unnoticed while they pounced on Linus.

“Don’t go, Alessandro. Don’t stop, Alessandro . . .”

“Stop lying about who you are, Alessandro.”

His face shut down as if someone slammed a door closed. I hit a nerve. Good.

The correspondent pounced on Linus. Alessandro smoothly passed by him and we joined the throng of overdressed people walking through the wide-open glass doors. Nobody asked us for our invitations. Apparently just arriving with Linus Duncan was good enough.

Six armed security guards in black suits lined the sides of the short lobby. We passed through the arch of the metal detector, then the airport-style bio scanner, and took the escalator up.

The Grand Foyer had been transformed. An enormous wagon wheel chandelier supporting stage lamps hung suspended fifty feet in the air. Above it yards and yards of midnight-blue fabric stretched from the ceiling to the walls and dripped to the floor, imitating the inside of a big-top tent. Strings of golden lights curved from the chandelier to the sides of the room where the walls met the ceiling, glittering like summer stars against the night sky. Colored lamps tinted the fabric with splashes of lavender and turquoise. Soft music played from hidden speakers, a complex modern interpretation of the circus theme performed with a full orchestra.

A round stage dominated the center of the room, level with the floor, smooth, and shimmering with flecks of gold. Rings of round tables surrounded the stage, each covered with a golden tablecloth and set for ten.

A pair of tall metal golden supports towered on the opposite sides of the foyer. A high wire stretched between them. Two female acrobats twisted in the air, suspended by lengths of blue ribbons. To the left, on a small raised platform, a contortionist in a black bodysuit ripped in strategic places bent backward, touching his elbows to the floor. To the right an animal trainer strolled through the crowd, two lions in tow on absurdly thin silver chains. The lions followed him, oblivious of the onlookers. He had to be an animal mage.

The sights, the sounds, the colors, and the hum of the crowd combined into a fairy-tale opulent circus. Reality ceased to exist. If I turned, I could still catch a glimpse of it through the giant window, the dark winter street, but here only fantasy existed. I could wander through it for hours, making up stories and watching people.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, as the current of people carried us to the right.

“Eh.” Alessandro shrugged. “The Melbourne Christmas Gala was better.”

I punched him in the arm. I didn’t punch him hard, it was more of a tap, but his eyes sparked with orange. “Careful. I’m a bad man, remember? Who knows what I might do when provoked?”

“If you decide to get provoked, let me know, and I will bring you back to Earth with the rest of us mere mortals.”

He lifted his hand and a waiter appeared as if by magic, wearing a blue vest over a black shirt, black pants, and a red clown nose, and carrying a tray with champagne flutes. Alessandro took two glasses off the tray and held one out to me. “Champagne, tesoro mio?”

My tolerance for champagne was about two sips. Any more, and I lost coordination. If I finished two glasses, I would fall asleep in my chair. But he was holding it out to me and I didn’t want to cause a scene.

I took the flute and sipped. Linus materialized next to us. “Children, work now, bicker later. Follow me.”

We trailed him to a table in the outer row. We didn’t have the best view of the stage, but we had an excellent perspective of the room and the crowd. Alessandro held my chair out. I sat. Alessandro was a touch slow to take the chair next to me. I glanced in the direction of his gaze.

Benedict De Lacy raised his glass at me from across the room. He sat in the back row almost directly opposite us. I raised my glass and offered him a pleasant smile. Alessandro laughed next to me.

I scanned the crowd. Cristal sat to our left in the front row on the opposite side of the stage. An older woman in a silver-green dress with blue-black hair and harsh features sat on her left. I remembered her from Alessandro’s hired killer gallery. The woman had an Armenian first name, Yeraz, and Alessandro’s database had listed her as a Magus Sagittarius, which meant she never missed. It was highly unlikely that she could have smuggled a gun through security, but MS magic came in many forms, my own included. Maybe she would throw forks at us.

The white man in the chair to the right of Cristal looked like he had jumped out of a pro wrestling match. Sitting down, he still towered over everyone else at the table. His impossibly broad shoulders strained his tuxedo jacket, and when he raised his glass, I thought his sleeve would rip. He had the face of a street brawler: a misshapen nose that had been broken too many times, scar tissue chewing up the skin around his eyes, and a heavy square jaw that would break your hand if you punched it. His haircut, a short, blond stubble, did nothing to soften his impact. His eyes, sunken deep under heavy brows, scanned the crowd, looking for someone to hit.

“Of all the idiotic things,” Linus growled.

“Yes, you’d think Benedict would have more brains,” I murmured.

Alessandro had caught us looking at the giant. “Who is that?”

I leaned toward him, keeping my voice low. “Frank Madero.”

House Madero included five brothers, and of those five, the oldest two looked so alike, they could be twins. But Dave Madero had a permanent scar on his left cheek.

“And what does Frank do?”

“His skin and bones harden, his muscles swell up, he grows to seven and a half feet tall, and then he punches through furniture. Or walls. Or people. Whatever is in his way.”

“House Madero is what happens when you breed for strength instead of brains,” Linus said, his voice dry. “In a couple of generations, they’ll have to hire handlers to help them put their pants on in the morning.”

“There are more like him?” Alessandro asked.

“There are five brothers total and a grandfather,” I explained. “They’re mean, stupid, and they hold grudges. And they’re for hire.”

In theory, hiring one of the Maderos as a bodyguard made sense: they were huge and scary even before they used their magic and they served as an excellent deterrent. But the Maderos had a temper. Bringing Frank here was like dragging an enraged bull to a toddler’s birthday party.

Alessandro pondered Frank. “Do your families have a history?”

“His brother, Dave, tried to kidnap Nevada, and Rogan broke both of his arms. Frank also tried to kidnap Nevada and ended up in the ER. If Frank turns, bullets and knives won’t work on him and the only way to fight him is to dodge and hope his body gives out from the strain before he gets his hands on you. The Maderos can’t sustain the combat form for too long. They overheat and pass out.”

Alessandro narrowed his eyes. “Does he still have to breathe in combat form?”

“As far as I know.”

“Excellent,” he said.

“Remember, be discreet,” Linus warned.