May 18th, 1929

Nicoletta had never ridden in one of the new cars before, the ones that could go seventy-two miles per hour down a straightaway. Part of her was excited to try, but the other part kept remembering her and Vano’s crash. 

She approached the vehicle, her usual military guard beside her. They’d done something fancy with her hair that made it look much shorter, and put her in a black silk sheath with a form-fitting, gauzy black dress over it, studded with plenty of beads to make it glitter. It didn’t leave anything to the imagination and was clearly made for someone with a smaller bosom than she had. Thankfully, they’d given her a proper corset so she was strapped down into something approximating the current curve-free fashion. 

The neckline was high enough that she didn’t have to worry about leaning too far and giving everyone a view of everything, and the hem was low enough to cover even her ankles and most of the silk slippers she wore with their little heels. It was good, because the so-called shawl they’d draped her in was no more than a sheer piece of material with more beads. They’d given her black gloves, too, that went clear up past her prosthetic so it looked like she had two arms again. 

She hadn’t almost cried at her reflection.

They had just about reached the car when Fex came into view, resplendent in a fashionable tuxedo with a starched white waistcoat. His black hair had been straightened and slicked back as much as possible, but she liked the little waves they hadn’t been able to get out. 

It was difficult to remember that he didn’t actually look like that. Unbidden, she thought he’d have been even handsomer with his white hair braided down against the black cloth.

Although he still cut quite a figure as he was. His dark eyes mirrored the cloth, and his white gloves were impeccable. Nicoletta hadn’t ever been to a fancy party like this, but she’d seen magazines and newspapers: he was the height of fashion. What was more, he looked like he’d been wearing it all his life. 

She smiled as he approached, though she wasn’t entirely sure what to say. They’d really only had the one conversation, though she probably knew him better than he knew her, given she was usually in her wolf form but he still spoke during their practice missions. Now, though, he seemed like someone else altogether.

He stopped a few feet away, speaking first and saving her the trouble. “Miss Nicoletta! You’re breathtaking. Now that I’ve seen you in this angelic form I will never be able to forget it.”

She knew she was blushing from the immediate heat in her face, and thanked her Romani heritage that it wouldn’t be too obvious. “Mr. Woodward, I had no idea you were a charmer as well as a gentleman.”

The disdain from her guard was almost palpable. She ignored it, too busy wishing she knew what to do with her hands. At least she had a reticule tied to her real wrist, which she fiddled with self-consciously.

Truth be told, Fex looked a little tired as well. It wasn’t something she could quite put her finger on, and of course it would be very improper to ask, but the feeling remained.

The guard opened the car door, and for a moment Nicoletta thought he’d try to simply shove them both in. Then Fex came to the rescue, taking her hand and helping her in properly before going around to the other side.

They had a driver—someone official, doubtless—who took one look at the two of them in the rearview mirror and said, “You know your job?”

“Yes,” Nicoletta said, more than a little testily. “Do you know yours?” 

He snorted and slid a black pane of glass closed, leaving her and Fex by themselves in the back. In the dim lighting. All fancied up. Sitting in the briefing room alone with him the day before, knowing someone had been about to return, had been one thing, but this was uncomfortably intimate. She almost wished the little window between the back and the front of the car had stayed open.

“They’re certainly in good moods tonight,” Fex said. “I’m thinking they’re jealous of how smashing we look.” 

Nicoletta laughed and touched her hair, then yanked her hand away before she mussed it. “They aren’t always that salty?”

Fex tugged at the knees of his suit pants, adjusting so he could sit more comfortably. It relaxed Nicoletta a little, too. 

“They’re always a little salty. Maybe they wish they’d joined the Marines.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. Then his expression smoothed out and he leaned closer, dropping his voice. “I know we need to go over the details of the mission, but we have a little time, and there’s a message I have for you.”

Nicoletta’s own smile fell away. She had no idea who might be sending messages at all, much less through Fex. Part of her wondered if this was some sort of test her superiors had set up for her. She hoped not. She liked Fex, and didn’t want him to be in on such things. “Oh?” 

“It’s from your brother, Vano.” 

The world shifted unsteadily. She tried to clear any expression off her face, tried to keep from giving anything away, but that alone must have alerted Fex because he stopped and put his hand over hers. 

Looking at her earnestly, searching as if to make sure she was all right, he added, “I saw him at the hospital last night. I’d have told you sooner but there wasn’t an opportunity.” He waited, still watching her carefully. 

It could have been a lie. It could have been a test. Nicoletta held herself still and nodded fractionally for him to continue. 

Fex delivered the rest of the message with quiet sincerity. “He said to tell you he’s copacetic.”

That was Vano. What plant would use that word?

“He’s recovering from the accident—I don’t think he knew about your arm, though, and I’m sorry to say I spilled the beans.” Fex looked contrite. Horror flashed through Nicoletta at the thought that her brother knew, but she shoved it aside. There wasn’t time to dwell on that, or how Vano would look at her now.

Fex forged ahead. “Anyway, uh… He said to tell you not to worry about him because you always worry.”

Nicoletta couldn’t quite stop the single huff that burst out of her lips at that. One of them had to, and Vano didn’t worry about anything.

Fex’s expression softened, too. “And I think the treatment prescription I gave him for his asthma will help a lot.”

Nicoletta took a moment to absorb it all. Eventually, she hung onto the last bit Fex had said. She turned her hand over in his and gave his fingers a quick squeeze, even if it might be construed as being forward. “Thank you. Was he—” She wanted to ask if he was safe or scared, but if anyone found out she’d implied anything that went against some happy farce, or if this was some kind of test after all, she didn’t know that Vano would stay safe. “Never mind.” She shook her head and drew her hand away. Fex removed his. “He seemed well?” 

“Well, apart from the asthma. He was a delight once we got him breathing a little easier. He’s got a real gift. He asked, and I promised I’d go back to see him and play cards with him.” Fex relaxed as he spoke, but he paused then. His brows furrowed slightly, and his eyes went concerned. “He explained about you having to work for… uh… for them. To pay for his care. It’s not right they haven’t given you time to see him.” 

That startled her, though she kept it off her expression. She hadn’t known, until now, if they were keeping him locked in a cell aware of their villainy or had fed him some story, but clearly it was the latter.

Something must have occurred to Fex, too; his eyes widened slightly. “Unless you were avoiding seeing him because of your arm. But he knows now, because I put my foot right in it. Maybe you could come with me when I go see him next.”

Unable to keep the stricken need out of her eyes, she looked down quickly, studying her hands. Clearing out her mind wasn’t easy, but they were getting nearer a full moon, and the wolf was closer to the surface. Wolves always lived in the present moment. With that to help, she managed not to do anything too dramatic, though she didn’t look back up at Fex as she said, “Yes. I’d like to do that. Maybe there will be time.” Then, before Fex could say anything that might break her heart even more, she forced herself to look at him and give a little smile. “Tell me about his room. Is he sharing a room? Does he have anything to entertain him? He’s never been good with confinement.”

Fex looked like she hadn’t fooled him a bit, but gamely followed her cue. “It’s a nice single room. Big and airy, and there’s at least one window. It was the middle of the night when I was there, so I didn’t get any sense of his view, but he can open it—well, his nurses can open it—and give him some fresh air when his breathing settles. And I gather he has cards, since he wanted to play me. I can bring him a magazine or a book or two next time.”

“Maybe I could send something with you?” she asked, heart pounding. Would they let her? Surely not a letter, but a book or something similar wouldn’t be refused, would it?

Fex looked for all the world like he was worried about her. Hesitantly, he began, “Of course.” Then continued, “Nicoletta, I know he’d be so glad to see you he won’t even notice your arm. And he won’t mind even when he does take notice. Your brother has a very big heart. I could tell that about him almost immediately.”

This time, the comment hit close to home. Her prosthetic wasn’t, of course, why she couldn’t go see him, but it was true that she dreaded whatever she might find in his expression when she did. Here, she could tell herself that people behaved as they did because she was a werewolf. She tried not to think about how people in the outside world would react to her deformity. 

Nicoletta straightened slightly, suddenly obsessed with smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. No reason for it to get creased, after all, simply because she didn’t usually wear such lovely attire. She cleared her throat and said to one of the trickier folds, “Thank you. He does have a very big heart.” Then she remembered his favorite “employment”—if it could be called such—and gave Fex a little smile. “Don’t let his big heart fool you. He’ll cheat at cards if he can. And anything else you try to do with him.” 

Fex chuckled, settling back in the seat next to her. “Will he, now? Maybe I should remind him why it’s considered a bad idea to cheat one of the Fey.” Before Nicoletta could become alarmed, he hastily added, “That’s not a threat! Well, maybe it is, but I wouldn’t hurt him. I’d just cheat back, only better.”

She thought of his illusion ability and gave a reluctant laugh, herself. “It sounds like you might be a match for him.” She remembered the trouble Vano got up to as a child, and thought to tell Fex—but the car slowed, and then stopped. The dark glass between the front and back seats rolled down. 

“Right, snuggle pups. You’re up.” 

Nicoletta glanced at Fex, trying not to show her alarm. She’d never yet had a mission where she’d been in human form; she felt very exposed. They hadn’t talked about it during the ride—but then, they’d been briefed very thoroughly earlier in the day. 

Fex straightened his lapels before turning to give Nicoletta a dazzling smile. “Well then, shall we, my dear? I believe this is going to be quite the night.” 

Nicoletta took his cue and smiled back despite her damp palms. How many ways could she ruin this? Maybe no one would talk to her. Could she sound as cultured as Fex did? 

There was no time for heebie-jeebies; the door opened beside her, and a servant in livery offered her a hand to rise from the car. 

She took it almost automatically, remembering to lift her skirt so she didn’t step on the hem as she stood. Thankfully she wasn’t wearing taller heels; as it was she hung onto the servant’s fingers until she could get out of Fex’s way.

He, of course, emerged looking as cool and graceful as if he did this every day. He offered her his arm and for a moment she couldn’t remember which way to hold it; tuck her hand into his elbow, or place her fingers on his? By the time she realized she didn’t know, she’d already tucked her hand into his elbow and was holding on. 

Her wobbliness must have been due to the carpet they’d rolled out across the porch stairs, because she certainly hadn’t been this unsteady at the base. She took a firm breath and smiled at Fex. “Mr. Woodward,” she said formally, “you look like you’ve done this a hundred times.”

Fex winked at her. “Or seen it in the moving pictures a hundred times. I rely on John Barrymore and Rudolph Valentino to keep me up to date.”

She laughed as they approached the doors. She handed her shawl to a coatman, keeping her reticule tied to her wrist. It was a warm enough night that Fex didn’t have a greatcoat over his tuxedo. 

Nicoletta told herself no one was looking at them as they entered, but the small hairs on the back of her neck rose anyway. She felt like the bohunk she’d been called more than a few times. She glanced at Fex for—well, she wasn’t sure why. He seemed collected, and she straightened up and tried to emulate him. 

In her heels he was only a few inches taller than she was, but he had an easy, friendly air that reminded her of Vano. 

The house they entered was enormous. Everywhere she looked there was Art Deco wallpaper framed with ornate baseboards and crown molding. Chandeliers sent sparkling light into the room and the women’s dresses reflected it with gilt and glitter. The front room had a pianist in one corner at a massive piano, bigger than they’d ever had at the church she’d gone to as a child, and she could see back through a great awning that there was another room behind it, just as large—and just as crowded. 

A servant in a tuxedo not as fine as Fex’s passed by with a tray, and Fex nipped up a glass of champagne and handed it to her. She took it, grateful to have something to do with her free hand, and hoping it disguised the shape of the prosthetic a little further. 

“Where do you suppose we look first?” she asked under her breath. She wasn’t even sure how they were going to get through the whole place in one night.

With a hand gesture that they’d pre-arranged he let her know that he’d activated the illusion that would allow them to talk without anyone thinking twice about their words. “We know the host keeps it in his study, so I’d say start there. I’ll keep the attention off you. If you don’t find it there, maybe it’s in the library.”

“Assuming I can find either one,” she grumbled, staring around. There were so many people that, even with a better sense of smell than any human, she couldn’t hardly identify one scent from another. Feeling a little trepidatious, she took a drink of her highly illegal champagne. She nearly spat it back out, not expecting the bubbles that exploded up the backs of her eyeballs, but managed to swallow it instead. Then she coughed and wheezed while Fex looked alarmed but, thank goodness, no one else so much as glanced around. 

“Maybe you should take this,” she croaked, blinking hard and blushing harder as she handed the champagne to Fex. Well, if she’d wanted to prove she was a flat tire, she’d certainly done it. 

He set the glass down on another passing tray held by a servant who didn’t notice. Nicoletta pretended to examine her dress while she dragged a shred of dignity back around herself. There was no helping the blush. 

“Well,” she said briskly. “This way?” She started toward the back archway that led into the other large room, refusing to look at Fex.

**

The slight train on Nicoletta’s dress glittered with countless beads, rippling against her heels as she hurried to put some room between herself and her champagne misadventure. 

Fex quick-stepped after her, sucking on his lip to hide his amusement. Perhaps she hadn’t had champagne before, or alcohol at all, given that America was in the throes of Prohibition. It seemed unlikely to him that one of the Wanderers wasn’t already a wine drinker, but Nicoletta was hardly the stereotype of the Romani. And that was before you considered she was also a werewolf.

He found her blushing inexperience endearing in a way that made him want to leap in and play protector—something she would definitely resent, if she didn’t outright deck him for the temerity.

He caught up to her just as another waiter sailed by with a tray of fruity-looking little pink ladies’ drinks. No bubbles, and probably a lighter pour—though considering the host’s evident tendency to extravagance, perhaps not. He snagged one for her anyway, and another for himself. His he incorporated into his glamour, turning the delicate little glass into a crystal highball with a rum-colored drink over ice. He took a swift sip to be sure the pink cocktail wasn’t too strong.

“Here, darling, try this one,” he said, handing her the drink. The endearment felt clumsy on his tongue, but that was part of their ruse for the evening. “I tasted it,” he lifted his disguised glass towards her. “It’s really quite lovely. And no bubbles.”

She took it with a scowl and a prim, “The bubbles just startled me.”  Her ire relented after she tried it, enough that she murmured a genuine-sounding, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Fex said, and clinked his glass against hers. “Now, shall we enjoy this party a little?”

The hundred and one tiny details they’d been drilled on had seemed like too much when they’d been briefed, but this was actually plain sailing, Fex found. Not much different than slipping into any other glamoured appearance and persona, which he’d done countless times in the last few centuries. 

This time the role was ‘unobtrusive but well-heeled gentleman and his sweetheart at a soirée.’ Easy. The only thing really different about this fancy party and those that he’d attended in the past was the fashion. Ladies in slim-fitting beaded silks instead of brocade ball gowns. Gentlemen in somber tuxedos instead of colorful tails, with full-length trousers instead of elegant breeches. Also a good deal more physical contact between the dancers.

He held his hand out in an invitation to dance and smiled at Nicoletta. “Let me steer us towards that dark little nook over there and I can make us disappear altogether. Then we can nip out onto that balcony. It looks like the one they said leads to the study we want.”

Nicoletta gave him a wide-eyed, fixed little smile. “I don’t know the dances they’re doing,” she hissed. “I’ve seen them. Vano knows them, but I only know— I don’t know these dances.” 

Ah.

Fex took her right hand and placed it on his shoulder, placed his opposing hand on her waist, then took her gloved wooden hand and held it in his. “This is a waltz,” he said. “It’s one of the easy ones. Don’t worry about your feet, no one is watching. Just let me steer you, and try to look like you’re having fun.” He grinned at her to demonstrate. 

She made an attempt at a more genuine smile. “Fun. Yes. Of course. I think I’m better suited when I’m in fur, Mr. Woodward.”

“Nonsense,” he said, and started lightly swaying her to the beat. “You’re a peach in this dress. I’m sure I’m the envy of half the gentlemen here. You just need a lesson or two.”

“Well, that’s some line,” she said, but a faint blush over a quick little pout of a smile gave her away. They hadn’t really talked much about her past. Or at all, to be perfectly truthful. When had they had the chance? But it did make Fex wonder whose company she’d been spending time in besides her brother’s, to have never learned to dance at all. Had she never dressed up and gone out for a night on the town? 

She repeatedly glanced at his feet as he led them in a slow circle, and was keeping up quite well, despite the faint worry lines creasing her forehead. “Don’t step on my dress,” she warned. She executed a slinky little hip-hitch to sweep the hem away.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Fex told her. When she stepped on his foot only a moment later, he pretended not to notice. “All right, I’m going to start leading. You just keep following my steps. I’ll be moving you backwards, but don’t worry, I’ve got my eye out for obstacles.”

It was kind of fun, really. It reminded him of teaching his friend Antoine’s daughter Isabelle to dance, years ago, when he’d lived in Lyon. Of course Antoine was long dead, and Isabelle, if she still lived, would be well into her dotage by now. He pushed the memory to the recesses of his mind and smiled at Nicoletta. “You’re doing very well,” he said, hoping it was reassuring and not patronizing. “We’re almost there.”

That, of course, was when another couple lurched right into their path. Fex swung Nicoletta out of their way with a quick spin, alarming her. The other couple—a ginger-haired young man with apple-red cheeks, and a petite woman in a peacock-green dress with fringe and sequins galore—collided with Fex. 

“Sorry, old boy,” the ginger said with a jovial grin, as they bounced off one another’s shoulders. The young lady in peacock giggled, just as flushed, probably with that plentiful champagne.

“Not at all,” Fex said. He waited until they’d finished changing course before he turned his attention back to Nicoletta. “Are you… uh… copacetic?”

Nicoletta’s glower at the other couple melted into a wry chuckle at Fex’s use of the word. “Yes,” she said. “I’m fine. It takes more than that to hurt me.”

“Oh good,” Fex said, with a conspiratorial wink. “I’d have grave concerns if a near-collision while dancing proved to be your Waterloo.”

The chatter and revelry of other party-goers was loud enough that Nicoletta’s liquid-voiced laughter blended right in. Fex felt the muscles of her back start to unlock as she got into the swing of the dance again. “That would be quite the thing, wouldn’t it?” she said, low and light with amusement.

“It would,” he agreed. They were near the corridor now, and no one was in it. Exactly as he’d hoped. He guided her into the shadows and slipped a fresh shroud of illusion around them to keep the curious away. Anyone who started down it would think, This dark, empty hallway is foreboding. Not the way to go. Better to stay on the dance floor.

“We should be good from here,” he told her. He released her hand and dropped his own from her waist. 

“You’re sure they can’t see us?” She immediately twisted away to peer into the room behind them. “What if someone bumps into one of us?”

“We’ll uh…” What was the protocol again? “We’ll pretend we’re tipsy and in love, and just got ourselves a little lost.” Yes. And they’d even rehearsed that exact scenario. “Like we did on… I think it was Tuesday’s session? But no one is going to bump us here unless they come from that door to the balcony.”

“Right.” Nicoletta gave him a wide-eyed smile.

“Right.” Fex reached for her gloved elbow and gave her arm a pat. “You’re doing great. From here on out you don’t have to talk to anyone but me.”

She stepped away from his touch and tugged at her dress until the embroidered and beaded lines hung as close to perfectly vertical as they could on her figure. When she was satisfied she set a purposeful pace for the balcony but almost immediately faltered. 

“Blast these shoes!” She kicked one heeled slipper off without even undoing its straps, but had to bend down and untie the second one. With shoes in hand dangling from their ribbon laces, she set off again. The hem of her dress dragged now, deprived of the lift the heels had given her. She huffed an unhappy sound and tried to pick up the hem and hold her shoes with the same hand. 

“I can carry those for you if you like,” Fex offered.

She bit her lip, revealing sharp canines in an expression he was starting to be familiar with: her ‘I don’t like my options’ face. But she made up her mind quickly. “Yes, thank you.” She thrust the offending shoes at Fex, and as soon as he’d taken them, used both hands to hike her skirt up to shin height. 

Her grandmothers would have been scandalized by the sight, Fex guessed. It was another big difference between dance parties he’d attended several decades ago and this one.

But they weren’t at the party anymore. They were on a mission. He caught up to Nicoletta and pulled the door to the balcony open. A quick check proved the little gallery was deserted, exactly as they had been told to expect. When he stepped outside, a swirl of cool, misty wind set the balcony’s potted shrubs and roses bobbling, and played with a few escaped hairs at Fex’s temple. 

“Now we go through those French doors,” he said, shaping words and a fresh illusion together so only Nicoletta would hear. “And we’ll be in his study. Ready?”

She gave a firm nod and let her skirts go, rubbing her gloved hands against her thighs as if she were trying to dry sweaty palms. They caught against the beads, so even without the gloves it would have been futile. Though only one of her palms was capable of sweat, she mirrored the movement as if both her hands were still made of flesh and blood. Some effect of the runic magic that made her prosthetic seem so natural in its function was behind that. Their handlers had explained it during one of the countless trainings and briefings Fex and Nicoletta had endured in preparation for this mission. Runic magic wasn’t Fex’s favorite, but he’d used it occasionally, for very complex illusions. It had a powerful effect on human minds.

And werewolf minds, it seemed.

She paused at the door and motioned for Fex to take the lead, following their plan to the letter. The curtains shrouding the room’s windows to the balcony were closed, but there didn’t seem to be any light leaking under them. He listened carefully, and hearing no movement or other sound from within, he tried the handle.

It was locked. Also as expected. Fex knelt, set Nicoletta’s shoes down next to him, and retrieved the slim set of lock picks they’d given him from an inside pocket of his jacket. 

It wasn’t a complicated lock, and it didn’t take him long to jimmy it. He gave a satisfied little hum when he felt the mechanism yield. This time, when he twisted the door knob and pushed, the door swung inward silently on well-oiled hinges.

There was no one inside. Perfect. He and Nicoletta slipped in, and as he clicked the door shut behind them, he set a fresh illusion around them. The room would appear empty and silent. Any attempt to enter it would trigger an immediate sense that there was something important to attend to first. 

“All set,” he told Nicoletta. “And don’t worry, I still have your shoes.”