Thea hands the bone back, and Hecate reaches for CJ’s invitation. Poppy is fidgeting. CJ’s shoulders are tense.
A breath in. A breath out.
CJ’s invitation passes inspection, as we knew it would. But then they have to pass over one of their cuff links. Thea holds it in her cupped hand, waving the other one over it. She freezes, color-changing eyes going wide, and looks up at CJ.
A breath—
And she moves on to Poppy.
I’m flabbergasted. My flabber is completely gasted. I don’t know how they got away with that. Like, absolutely no clue.
But then CJ turns their head slightly to the side so I can see their face, and I’m not looking at CJ at all. It’s kind of like CJ but with all the details wrong. Nose too long. Mouth too wide. Eyebrows in a weird arch. No scar. If I didn’t know for a fact that was CJ, I wouldn’t know for a fact that was CJ. Around their neck is a chain holding a small leather pouch.
Poppy’s spell for changing faces.
We’d decided we didn’t need it, because no one in the Covenwould recognize any of us. But Poppy must have brought some in anyway and, when Thea showed up, gave one to CJ. Clever girl.
I have no idea how it worked, though. No matter what CJ’s face looked like, Thea should have caught the fake bone or read CJ’s mind. But I don’t have time to ponder it all, because that’s when Poppy stands and throws a glass of wine in Hecate’s face.
Seventeen
For a moment, no one knows how to react. The wine dripping down Hecate’s shocked expression would be comical if she didn’t have godlike powers—all of which are about to be focused on Poppy.
Poppy, who, bless her, stands in the face of certain doom and throws a fist into the air. “My body! My soul! Soul possession’s got to go!”
It’s a well-known protest chant of the anti-possession crowd. They’re a small, loud community of ex-syndicate grunts who decided to fight back. The movement hasn’t gained any traction, because, well, generally speaking, nobody lives long after they’ve stood up to the syndicates.
There’s half a beat of silence before CJ stands and chants with her, “My body! My soul! Soul possession’s got to go!”
“What do we do?” Rook hisses as Poppy and CJ continue. I dig my fingers into his knee to shut him up.
A man in a security uniform, complete with one of those helmets with a face guard, marches forward and quickly binds their hands.
“Exorciseyour right to say no!” Poppy yells at the crowd as she’s led away by the guard. CJ goes somewhat more stoically.
“We’re just going to let them get taken?” Rook whispers.
“Yes,” I say simply.
Pig cadavers. The necessary sacrifice. Once someone finds what they’re looking for, they stop looking. Just like Hecate will stop looking for intruders now, and we will be free to continue the job.
When I don’t explain myself to Rook, he leans away from me. “Ah, I see. No honor among thieves and all that.”
I turn to him and smile. “If we had honor, we wouldn’t be thieves.”
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Hecate says, her voice magically amplified so all the guests can hear. “We’ve made extensive measures to ensure your safety, but you can never plan for every contingency. Which I’m sure you remember from your time among the living.”
The audience chuckles.
“I would like to welcome you to return to the event, and as a token—”
We never get to hear what token of goodwill Hecate plans to extend because an explosion goes off behind her.
There’s an eruption of smoke and debris as the crowd takes cover. Rook and I are up and running before the dust clears. Screams fill the air, and no one seems to notice they’re not coughing from smoke filling their lungs, not injured from flying debris.
By the time the smoke dissipates—and, in a glittering neon, the wordsPossess this!bracketed by two images of middle fingers appear above the crowd—Rook and I have slipped back into the museum. Behind us, Hecate is calling for an evacuation. No one notices the dark specter of wings that soars across the sky just before several smaller explosions go off around the perimeter of the amphitheater, each clearing to display another anti-possession slogan.
Dead inside? Not on my life!
