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After several slow minutes of walking, we reached the front door, where a petite girl with dark skin and hair piled in a voluminous topknot stood with a clipboard.
“Ethan and Merit,” he said. “We’re guests of Joshua Merit.”
She scanned the list, nodded. “Welcome to the Reed house,” she said, and gestured us inside.
The house opened immediately into an enormous two-story room, with marble dominating the first floor, including a large marble staircase bound in curvy marble balusters that marched to the second floor. The second floor formed a balcony around the first, surrounded by a railing of thick, dark wood.
The house’s décor matched its large scale. Baroque furniture, paneled walls, heavy sconces, all of it oversized. There was something Old World about the tone, but the effect was jumbled, as if Reed had simply plucked items at random from an antiques store.
Adding to the heaviness, the furniture had been draped in jewel-toned silks and was speared with tall candelabras and dripping pillar candles. Reed had even hired performers. A couple in teal silk jumpsuits juggled painted clubs. Dancers in velvet ball gowns and harlequin ensembles, their identities concealed behind papier-mâché masks with large dark tears painted beneath diamond-shaped eyes, danced in pairs through the crowd. Most of the guests wore black, which offset the deep burgundy, gold, and crimson velvets of the performers’ costumes.
“And the theme is,” I murmured, glancing around, “Venetian masquerade.”
“Very theatrical,” Ethan said.
“It is.” A man in a black jumpsuit spun past us, his face covered by a mask with round eyes and a beaklike nose.
And a little creepy, I added silently. Very Eyes Wide Shut.
And very Venetian. That’s a medico della peste, he said. It’s based on a mask that was used by doctors to protect them from the plague.
It’s disturbing.
Some find that to be part of the appeal, Ethan said, but sidled closer as the masked man circled us, his eyes trained on us like a ballet dancer even as his body spun.
“That was creepy,” I said as he finally moved away.
“It was,” Ethan said, grabbing two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. He handed me one, then tapped his glass delicately against mine. “Sentinel, I’ll say it again: You look ravishing.”
Because I agreed with him, I shared his smile. “You have excellent taste. And I’m not just saying that because we’re dating.”
“But it doesn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t hurt,” I agreed, and sipped. The champagne was smoky and peachy at the same time. An odd combination, but it worked. I hadn’t yet seen a snack tray, but the drink gave me hope they’d also be good.
“Do you see him anywhere?”
I glanced back at Ethan. “Reed or my father?”
“Either. I’m surprised Reed isn’t making the rounds—and your father isn’t at his side.”
“What do you know about this Towerline project?”
“Not a lot,” Ethan said, shifting to avoid the swoop of a juggler snatching an errant baton. “I’ve read about it, seen the plans in the paper. It’s reportedly the biggest deal your father has ever closed.”
“And he wants Reed as an investor?”
“That would be my guess. A project that large will take a lot of financing.” Ethan touched my arm, nodded toward the other side of the room. “And I believe we’ve just received our summoning.”
I followed his gaze. A man on the other side of the room—also tall and lean, but with dark hair and pale blue eyes that matched mine—gestured with two fingers, beckoning me to him in the same fashion he called his servants.
I managed not to growl.
“Beware, Sentinel. Humans are the fiercest predators of all.”
“Well aware,” I said, using one of Ethan’s favorite phrases.
With Ethan’s hand at my back, we crossed the ballroom.
