During my years as an assassin, I'd gotten close to a lot of wealthy, powerful, influential folks. As a general rule, the richer a person, the stingier he was with his money.
Finnegan Lane agreed with my observation. He often regaled me with tales about his billionaire vampire clients who bought cases of off-brand toothpaste at the nearest Sell-Everything so they could save a measly five cents a tube.
But not Mab Monroe.
The Fire elemental hadn't skimped on anything in her mansion. Not a thing. White marble coated the floors like glossy varnish, while gold and bronze leaf glittered on the ornate cathedral ceilings a hundred feet above my head.
Genuine Tiffany lamps lined the hallway like soldiers, the hidden bulbs sending out sprays of jewel-tone colors through their stained-glass shades. A few lights glowed in the various rooms that branched off the hallway, illuminating delicate antique furniture from a variety of eras.
Everything in the house was tasteful and expensive, whispering of casual elegance that looked effortless, though it had cost a pretty penny to procure. I might have been momentarily dazzled by it, if the shrieking stone of the mansion hadn't told me exactly how Mab had gotten the money to pay for all this finery - and all the nasty things she'd done in here since.
I walked on, passing dozens of people. Silk, satin, crushed velvet. Everyone sported their Sunday best evening gown or tuxedo. Nothing less would do for one of Mab Monroe's parties. In addition to the stone of the mansion, I could also hear the whispers of the gemstones the men and women wore on their necks, wrists, fingers, and even toes. Beauty, elegance, fire. But even the grandest diamond's vibration paled in comparison to the singing clarity of the one I'd seen in Tobias Dawson's safe.
Oh yes, the dwarf could make quite the fortune mining and selling the diamonds on Warren Fox's land to this highfalutin crowd.
I recognized more than a few of the faces I passed.
Some, I'd done jobs for. For others, I'd assassinated parents, brothers, sisters, or business partners for whatever reason. Some were Mab's sycophants, her loyal subjects.
Others would have been happy to spit on her corpse, dance a jig on her grave, and then set about trying to take the Fire elemental's place as Ashland's queen bee.
I didn't speak to anyone, but men and woman stared at me as I passed. Their eyes caught on the silver rune around my throat, then slid down my body, as thought I were a cut of meat they were thinking about getting from the butcher. According to Finn, I looked like a real, live, fuckable Barbie doll, thanks to Roslyn's clothes and long blond wig. I'd barely recognized myself when I'd looked in the mirror earlier.
But I didn't meet anyone's gaze and walked on as if I hadn't noticed there was anyone else in the mansion at all. I wasn't here to attract their attention. Tobias Dawson was my target, and I had no intention of getting sidetracked or propositioned by anyone else.
The main hallway led out into a grand ballroom. Although grand really wasn't the right word for the enormous space, which served as the junction for the three wings of the mansion. It featured a golden parquet floor, tiled here and there with marble, granite, and sheets of hammered bronze. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling.
Some glowed with rubies and diamonds. Others burned with garnets and topaz. A staircase that was several hundred feet wide lay at the opposite end of the ballroom, its pristine scarlet carpet stretching up to the second floor and beyond.
More than three hundred of Mab Monroe's closest business associates talked and laughed and drank on the ballroom floor, their clusters and cliques not even coming close to filling the massive space. They reminded me of dolls that might populate a child's playhouse.
Pretty and polished with fake smiles that stretched their painted, plastic faces to the breaking point. But I looked beyond the elegant veneer of the people and furnishings.
Despite the rich sophistication on display, I noticed other things, things that weren't as nice as they appeared at first glance.
Like the giants circulating throughout the ballroom.
Given the platters of champagne, caviar, and quail's eggs they supported on their enormous hands, you might have thought them nothing more than waiters. But I knew what they were really here for - crowd control, in case folks got stupid and drunk enough to start turning on each other. I imagined Mab Monroe wouldn't cotton to a couple of tipsy elementals deciding to stage a magical duel in her ballroom.
That's how elementals usually fought, by flinging their raw magic at each other, until one person succumbed to the other's power. When two elementals clashed, the inevitable loser could suffer everything from catching Fire, to getting encased in Ice, to having her heart turned to Stone, or even being flayed alive by the very Air she breathed. Depending, of course, on the type of elemental she was fighting. And this wasn't even counting all the other folks who had talents for things like metal, water, and electricity.
Overall, elementals' duels were a quick, nasty, painful way to die, which is why I never engaged in them. Killing the other person first was what mattered to me. Not old-fashioned, outdated, useless concepts like honor and duels. Codes of conduct were for overconfident fools.
Five, ten, twenty... I count almost thirty giants in all, more than enough to control even the unruliest crowd.
None of them were carrying weapons, but then again, they didn't need to. One good blow from a giant's fist would break almost anything - especially alcohol-soaked jaws and egos.
I stepped into the swirling crowd, letting the sea of tuxedos and shimmering gowns sweep me along from one clique to the next. A set of glass doors on the left side of the ballroom led out to a terrace. A massive orchestra had been erected on the right side in front of another set of glass doors. I plastered a smile on my face and strolled through the ballroom, flitting from one knot of people to the next, until I reached a quieter space along the underside of the staircase beside a potted bonsai tree with gnarled limbs.
I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and called Finn. He picked up on the third ring.
"I'm here," I said. "Where are you?"
"I see you, Gin. You look smashing, even for a faux hooker."
"Finn," I growled.
"To answer your question, I'm on the second floor, leaning over the railing and surveying the majesty laid out before me."