Page 73 of Heart of Thieves

“I love it,” Enzo says.

“Of course you do.”

Nocturne raises her pale hands. “Only those within the enclosure who find the exit by sunrise will receive the clue for the next location— which they will once again need to enter before the following midnight.” Her breath goes soft as wind. “The first player to make it out of the third enclosure will win.”

She lowers her hands, and the walls domed above us fall in time with them. Storm clouds rise from her feet, curling around her in fanciful arcs.

“Wait . . . is that—?” Soren asks, pointing toward one of the ribbons of smoke behind her.

Frowning, I push up my glasses to see better.

The smoke has twisted into the shape of a hand. Why is it doing that? I certainly wouldn’t have . . .

The fingers move, forming an unmistakable rude gesture.

Arden laughs. “It is!”

Electricity races through my system as I let my gaze go hazy so I can see the threads of magic. Dozens of streams of light braid from me to the stage, but a few pour from somewhere off to the right. I follow them to a shadow perched on the lip of a fountain, elbows on his knees, chin propped on his hand as he looks straight at me. When our gazes meet, he touches two fingers to the brim of his fedora.

Nic.

I search for Laurel, but she seems to have disappeared.

Heat flames in my cheeks as Nic gives me that charming grin I wish wasn’t so familiar. I scowl, reaching with my mind toward the soullight threads extending from him to the stage, and yank them back. They snap, and the obscene hand gesture vanishes.

With an amused smirk on his lips, he focuses on the illusion of Nocturne. My magic threads tug sideways toward him.

“Not today, Your Royal Liar-ness,” I mutter under my breath.

“What was that?” Enzo asks.

But I don’t respond. Instead, I channel an illusion of fanged bats toward a waiter walking past Nic with an array of champagne glasses. He stumbles, dumping the entire platter onto Nic, who, covered in bubbling champagne, topples backward into the fountain.

Grinning, I return my full attention to Nocturne. She’s flickering, her face more of a smudge than normal due to my inattention, but I capitalize on that, use it like it was done on purpose as I pull apart the illusion. Estelle rushes, still invisible, out of sight.

“Good luck, dearest Aethera,” Nocturne’s whisper echoes across the square as she fragments into smoke that billows into the sky, rearranging itself into words.

Writing our maps.

Growth and collapse.

Stars and their gaps.

Two hundred laps.

“What does that mean?” Enzo says as the words fade into nothing.

“Was that the clue?” Arden pipes up. “Did you write it down?”

“Write it down on what, exactly?” I ask.

Enzo gestures at me. “Didn’t you bring a notebook?”

I snort. “Where exactly would I store something like that in a dress like this?”

He pats at his jacket. “I don’t know. It’s a thing for you. You’re always making sure things have pockets.”

“This one doesn’t, unfortunately.”