But it was Margrit who moved forward a few inches, Margrit who smiled up at him, Margrit whose attention was drawn away from Tony and fixed on Alban. Stepping forward had been rash behavior, human behavior, but it felt startlingly good, reflected in Margrit’s smile and the surprise of those surrounding them.

"My, my, my," Janx murmured again, this time with a note of curiosity. Then light humor filled his voice, playful and mocking as usual. "Come, my friends. It seems we have a party to attend."

CHAPTER 24

It was easy to see, because she knew to look for it. Janx wore red: dragon colors, with whiskers of blue silk dancing around his face. Malik, on Alban’s other side, wore colors of the desert: shimmering soft gold that moved so lightly it seemed like sunlight on sand, and hard pale blue that did incredible things to his long-lashed eyes. He’d set aside his cane, carrying a staff carved from ivory instead. Beautiful was an easy word to describe Alban or Janx, but Malik’s nastiness had barred Margrit from using it for him. For a moment, though, removed from his poisonous air, she saw it in the loose-fitting desert clothes and his easy stance, and could admire the costuming that marked him as djinn by those who knew.

Alban, out of all of them, wasn’t in costume. There was no pretense or subterfuge to the tuxedo he wore, except it was shot through with silver, catching and reflecting light until even the slightest of his movements looked like liquid metal in motion. He had no mask, only his long hair left loose as he never wore it in his human form. White strands fell forward to frame his face, highlighting the chiseled lines of his features, the cool stoniness of his expression. Standing between Janx and Malik, he seemed as alien and inhuman as they, no more a part of Margrit’s world than a fish belonged in a bird’s.

Then he smiled and the illusion of remoteness was shattered. He put his weight on one hand against the balcony rail, and with casual disregard for a fifteen-foot drop, vaulted it. The tails of his coat flew upward, blur of silver that whispered of wings, and an instant later he landed among the crowd. Only then did Margrit recognize the sheer number of selkies around her: without looking up, the dancers spun away to leave a space just large enough for Alban to land in. That space rippled toward her, bodies swirling to make a path, so when Alban lifted his gaze, it was to meet Margrit’s eyes. Incredulous laughter bubbled up inside her, and satisfaction washed through his expression when she smiled.

He stood, a silver figure towering above the small, dark-haired selkies. The path they’d made closed behind him as he approached Margrit, one hand folded behind his back, the other extended in invitation.

"I seem to have been outdone," Daisani said from her elbow. Margrit startled and he gave a low laugh. "Entirely outdone. I don’t know if I should offer congratulations or take insult, Alban. It’s not often someone can be made to forget my presence completely. Margrit, do leave me one more space on your dance card tonight."

"I will." She put her hand into Alban’s as Daisani faded away. "Look at you," she said. "You look wonderful."

"As do you." Alban curled his fingers under Margrit’s chin, smiling. "You’re unmasked."

"So are you. Good thing. We might not have recognized each other, otherwise. Especially with you jumping off balconies. That’s not your usual style."

"On the contrary." Alban slipped his hand around her waist, drawing her near. "The very first time we danced I spent a good portion of the night leaping off stairs and onto rafters."

Margrit laughed. "That’s right, you did. Are you going to do this every time we go out dancing? Someone’s going to notice." She glanced around the floor as Alban led her across it in a waltz. "I don’t know why they didn’t this time."

"Because no one reacted. It’s not unlike a child falling. If his parents make a fuss, he thinks he’s hurt and cries. If no one notices or reacts, he thinks all is well, and gets up again to play."

"You’re saying a ballroom full of humans is like a ballroom full of toddlers?"

Delight sparkled in Alban’s glance. "I would never say such a thing. Now that you’ve mentioned, it, however…" Margrit lifted her hand from his shoulder to threaten him idly, earning a chuckle. "Truthfully, I only dared because so many selkies had come in to greet Kaimana. I wouldn’t risk it now." He gestured, indicating the greater blend of humans among the dancers.

"You dared at the Blue Room." Margrit moved forward, hips swaying toward Alban’s, playful reminder of the dance they’d shared at a nightclub weeks earlier. His gaze darkened and he pulled her closer, one hand large and certain on her waist.

"The lighting," he murmured, "was far poorer there. What happened to the others?"

Margrit breathed a laugh. "I turn on my best vamp and you want to know where the bad guys went." She tilted her chin up, looking toward the balcony. "They split forces after Janx got his eyebrows down from his hairline. He went left, Malik went right. I thought Malik was his bodyguard."

"Malik is the one being guarded, of late. I would think here, amongst all of us, he would be safe."

"The things you learn." Margrit put her cheek against Alban’s chest, feeling as though she flew in his arms. The music changed more than once, both in style and in instruments, songs ending and beginning anew as they danced.

"Margrit." Alban’s rumbling voice was lower than usual. She tilted her head up, eyebrows quirked. "May I ask something that’s perhaps none of my affair?"

"You may. I may not answer," she warned.

His mouth curved, acknowledging humor without participating in it himself.

"I saw Tony here tonight."

"Ah." Margrit glanced across the room, though she didn’t know where the detective had gone. "He’s not here for me. He’s working security for Kaimana Kaaiai, part of a special detail. That’s why he was at the ice rink last night. Kaimana had sent him on my behalf. He thought I might be more comfortable with him around." She sighed, looking back at Alban. "We’ve broken up."

"I am…sorry." The words seemed to come with difficulty.

Margrit nodded, her emotions torn. "Thank you. Me, too, but I think maybe it’s better if it’s over. We’ve done that dance, and it kept ending badly. I don’t want to do it anymore."

"Perhaps you’d be willing to do another one." The query came from behind Alban, so unexpected as to stop Margrit in her tracks. Alban swung back from her like a door opening, revealing Malik. He bowed insolently, his gaze on Margrit as he spoke to Alban. "May I cut in?"

The crowd around them surged closer, a few dancers almost brushing Margrit’s skin. Cara Delaney spun by, a smile in place through her eyes were serious and calm as she scattered her attention to the figures around them. Margrit followed that look, relaxing as she saw the reassurance Cara offered.

Dozens of nearby dancers met her eye with dark liquid gazes: selkie eyes. Selkies and djinns were natural enemies, creatures of salt water anathema to the desert dwellers. A peculiar note of respect for Malik rose up in Margrit, carrying curiosity with it. She put her hand on Alban’s arm. "It’s okay. I’ll see you in a bit."

It took another instant to steady her nerves and offer that same hand to Malik. He’d abandoned his staff, the one weapon he might have carried, and a slight limp marred his step forward. They stood uncomfortably still on the dance floor, hands barely touching, until Alban, glowering, took himself away through the crowd. Margrit heard herself say, "I wouldn’t have taken you for a dancer," in a high, light voice, and a smirk came into Malik’s blue eyes.

"Who do you think inspired the Eastern sword and belly dancers?" His grip on her fingers became more certain as the music changed again.