Page 37 of Equalizer
Winston grimaced. “Hard to say. If they paid attention and suspected something, probably. It’s fairly low-energy magic even though it takes some skill to cast, so it shouldn’t draw attention to itself—that would defeat the whole purpose, after all.”
“People never look at the bodyguards,” Owen reminded Calvin. “We’re like wallpaper. Or like the serving staff.” Calvin didn’t look completely convinced, but he didn’t argue.
“I hired a carriage for tonight and have a livery uniform, so no one should notice me,” Winston said. “And I’ll stay as close as I can in case a quick exit is necessary. I have a charm I can wear to make my magic less apparent to anyone who can sense those things, and I’ll stay with the servants so no one of power should be nearby.”
“I’ll also be well-armed,” Winston added with a smirk. “Given the disreputable company you’ll be keeping.”
They each downed a small cup of the potion. It smelled like seaweed and tasted like spoiled lettuce. Owen managed not to gag and felt vindicated that Calvin also struggled to swallow the mixture.
“I don’t feel different,” Calvin said.
Owen’s stomach gurgled, and the skin on his face tingled like a bracing slap of aftershave at the barber’s. “Did it work?”
Winston grinned. “I’m not sure that you’ll be able to see your own glamour in the mirror, but look at each other and tell me if it was effective.”
“Holy shit!” Calvin glanced at Owen. “You aren’t you.”
Owen was surprised at the difference. “Neither are you.”
The spell’s effects were subtle. Hair and eye color remained the same, as well as the basic dimensions of Calvin’s face. But just enough changed that while a resemblance remained, he definitely looked like a different person.
“That’s just…weird,” Owen said.
“Thank you, Winston,” Calvin added. “Anything else we should know?”
“Stay away from witches if you possibly can,” Winston said. “Avoid mirrors, just in case. And like Cinderella, leave the party before the magic wears off.”
They pulledup to the boarding house right on time. The carriage seemed a bit posh for the neighborhood. Pearl waited for them just inside the doorway, transformed from the cowgirl they had met earlier. Her short hair had a sassy wave, and the opera cloak that hid her gown was elegant and understated.
“Thanks for the lift, boys,” she said as Calvin stepped out to help her board.
“We’ll have someone watching the entrance to the party all night, so they’ll be in place to get us out if something goes wrong.” Owen omitted mentioning that Winston would be keeping a remote eye by magic.
The Columbian Museum was lit up like Christmas for the ball. The large building had been built as the Palace of Fine Arts for the World’s Fair in 1893 and then repurposed to house a collection of anthropology, botany, geology, and zoology, with plenty of room for mingling among the exhibits.
After Calvin and Owen helped Pearl step down to the sidewalk, they fell back like good bodyguards. She held her head high, squared her shoulders, and swanned toward the entrancelike she was to the manor born, presenting her ticket and indicating her security detail with aplomb to the doorman, who waved them inside.
Owen breathed a silent sigh of relief to have cleared the first hurdle. As far as he could tell, there was no magical perimeter set and no protective spells in place. That might be folly given the rogues’ gallery of partygoers, but it made sense given the likelihood of rival Mob family witches who might be in attendance.
The descriptions of the “palace” didn’t prepare Owen for the reality. The party stretched the length and breadth of the ground floor. Above that were the galleries, seating filled with overdressed onlookers. They leaned forward in their seats, eager to watch the riffraff through their opera glasses.
Here we go.
Pearl looked completely comfortable in the rowdy mix that included actors and actresses, madams and prostitutes, gangsters and police captains. Owen was glad Winston had chosen their tuxes, which helped them blend into the background among the servers and other bodyguards.
Guests, on the other hand, tended toward the flamboyant, with silk cummerbunds or waistcoats in vibrant colors for the men, spats, and top hats that were almost certain to be lost or discarded before sunrise.
Any truly respectable women were in the gallery, watching from a safe distance. The main floor belonged to the fancy ladies from the theater or the bordellos, who turned out in bright colors, revealing silk sheaths, feathered boas, and long beaded necklaces. They hung on the arms of their escorts, preening and posing.
Lines were already long at the various bars set up around the perimeter of the room. At one end, on a stage erected for the event, a small orchestra played the most popular tunes. Couplescircled the dance floor. Their moves and the nearness of their bodies would have scandalized a regular gathering.
Loud conversation suggested that the early birds to the bar might have started the party before arriving. Owen could see how the ball could very quickly get out of hand, especially given its attendees.
Absent the usual understated police presence to keep the peace at a large event, Owen noted men in black suits around the perimeter, very clearly Mob muscle in place to keep the party from erupting into utter chaos.
Pearl played her role like she was born for the theater. She flirted shamelessly, glided from conversation to conversation, and asked just enough questions to get plenty of answers from men who were already liquored up and looking for admirers.
“—rumor has it that there’ll be more of those skyscrapers built this year,” one older man told Pearl, imparting the news like a state secret. “Mark my words—real estate is going to be hot next year!”
