The Guild van cruises down the streets of the city center, heading straight for the Crossroad Opera House. I idly peer out of the window as the van stops at a security checkpoint, the cops giving our driver's papers a cursory look before waiving us onward. James's elbow digs into my side thanks to the sway of the vehicle picking up speed again.

"Why're the streets empty?" James whispers to me.

"Not a native to Crossroad City huh?" I raise an eyebrow, "The city center is closed to the public for the most important night of the year."

The opera house comes into view, with a long line of limos snaking toward the main entrance to deposit their passengers. The Freelancer Association's staff is already present at the venue, forming an honor guard of sorts for the guests. Gunslingers buttoned up in frock coats with muskets held at attention line the red carpet, presenting arms to the arriving VIPs. The entrance of the opera house is flanked by a force of Warriors and Sorcerers in their dress uniforms, greeting and ushering guests. The van trundles down a side road, taking us to the staff entrance at the rear of the building.

"A ball is the most important night of the year?" James mutters in puzzlement, checking his tuxedo nervously.

"Not any ball. The Opera Ball." I clarify, "We're heading into the Crossroad City's largest annual concentration of VIPs."

"Right. No pressure." James checks his tuxedo nervously.

"Relax." I reassure James, "This is really much easier duty than what we usually deal with."

James eyes my own outfit, the traditional livery of a footman, emblazoned with the insignia of the Guild. The costume has been made to accommodate my weapons, making me look like some kind of high class bodyguard. No flak vest though. That would be an unforgivable fashion faux pas.

"Easy for you to say, Adam." James protests, "You're just going to stand in a corner and daydream, aren't you?"

"See the boots I'm wearing?" I point to the offending footwear, the hard leather creaking, "Made for style, not comfort. My feet will be killing me by the time this night is over."

"Look sharp everyone!" the Supervisor claps his hands together at the assorted Guild staff that had been packed into the van like sardines, "Tonight all of us represent the dignity of Phoenix Guild! Make sure not to disappoint!"

"Are we getting overtime for this?" some smartass pipes up from the rear of the van.

"All of you can hit the buffet later once you're done." the Supervisor scoffs, "Ask Everett, that's what he does every year."

"The buffet is excellent." I confirm to the cheers of the rest of the Guild staff, "The brandy too."

"Stern!" the Supervisor blares at James who looks up in shock.

"Uh, yes sir!"

"You're one of the dancers for the ball's opening right?" the Supervisor demands, "Don't disgrace Phoenix Guild!"

"I won't sir!" James immediately straightens his back, "You can count on me!"

"Don't look so glum." I tease James once the Supervisor's attention is distracted by another question from the resident smartass, "Dancing with the debutantes is a great honor."

"I would rather be standing guard in the background." James complains, "Did you know how tough those dance lessons were? Training sessions were almost six hours long. Each."

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"Eh, you'll handle it." I shrug as the van comes to a stop, "Could even score yourself a high society wife out of this."

"Why does the Guild force us to attend anyway?" James asks as everyone disembarks from the van.

"To show how awesome Phoenix Guild is to the very important people attending." I explain, "And that involves us acting like showpieces for the evening. So deal."

"Stern, you know the other Guilds have their own dancers for the opening performance right?" the Supervisor reminds as we amble toward the building's rear entrance, "Put on a good show."

"No pressure, no pressure." James repeats to himself while I chortle in the background.

"Where's Sam by the way?" I query, "Didn't see him leave in one of the other vans."

"Sam's on leave today." James answers, "He went back home to visit his mother, I think."

"And Everett!" the Supervisor barks interrupting my conversation with James, "This year the Grandmaster managed to get us posted in the inner dancing hall, so no sneaking off to nap or drink until I say you're relieved. Am I clear?"

"Aye aye." I acknowledge with a casual salute, "Not my first tango sir. Not that I've ever danced the tango in the first place."

The opera house's employees greet us and our group quickly breaks into two separate groups. James is quickly spirited away with the other dancers into a separate wing of the building to prepare. The rest of us assemble behind the Supervisor and we're led to the side entrance of the inner hall. The Supervisor checks our costumes one more time before grunting in satisfaction.

"Alright. As we rehearsed." the Supervisor says and pushes the doors open.

Right on schedule, a series of trumpets sound, heralding the imminent arrival of the VIPs into the hall. I fan out with the rest of the Guild staff, each of us taking up our predetermined posts in the hall. The main double doors of the hall swing open and as the stream of opulently dressed men and women enter, I click my heels together at the signal of the Supervisor. The private opera boxes overlooking the hall begin to fill up as the orchestra begins to play.

I keep my posture as imposing as possible, trying to keep boredom at bay. Honestly, this assignment isn't hard. Its just supremely boring acting as a human prop for several hours. As my eyes begin to glaze over, a bolt of shock strikes, rousing me back to full alertness. There's someone I recognize sitting in one of the private boxes.

Latour. And the person he's toasting with a glass filled to the brim with brandy is none other than Excelsior. Both men are laughing away, but I notice there's a restrained tension in Excelsior's posture. His shoulders are stiff while both eyes dart about scanning the ballroom, eventually landing on a conspicuously empty private box.

The box reserved for the Guild masters and other very, very important people. They would be the last to arrive.

That was a close one. Excelsior had got me going for a moment. I nearly thought that he had recognized me, the way those eyes kept scanning the ballroom. I go back to staring blankly, willing myself to blend into the background. Nothing to see here. Just another boring footman. Good thing Love's got that new polymer holster. It might be a bad omen from another dimension, but with it at least Excelsior can't recognize Love from a casual glance.

The orchestra shifts gears, moving to a more upbeat tempo and the double doors open again. A long procession of men in tuxes, each escorting a young woman in a white gown, glides into the ballroom. I see James in the serpentine line and give him a cheeky wink. A tight smile is all the response I get in return from James, the man too preoccupied with the job at hand. The opening act of the night, the dance of the debutantes.

James with the rest of the men take a knee, symbolically asking their partner for the honor of a dance. The ladies respond with a curtsey and the choreographed performance begins, with the entire group moving in time with the music. The lines of both sets of dancers merge, men and women swept up in the atmosphere. Each man then places a hand upon his heart, with the other raised high, as if making a declaration. The celebration of youthful courtship and love. My eyes begin to glaze over again. Nothing I haven't seen before.

A soprano takes to the stage and as her voice trills, the women kneel in return, each offering a white gloved hand to their partners. James smoothly accepts the proffered hand, his lips hovering slightly above it. Both lines of men and women then separate, each member of the dance performing a courtly bow before the empty private box. We footmen stamp our feet once, and turn to face the empty private box as well.

The very, very important people have arrived.

The various guild masters file into the box, nodding to the crowd below. As a smattering of sycophantic applause breaks out, Spectacles, the Acting Grandmaster, enters the private box as well, escorted by Rachel. Excelsior immediately leans forward, his mouth hanging loose.

Almost everyone gets the wrong idea of course. Rachel's an attractive woman. And now dolled up, she's super hot. I can easily see the smug expression plastered all over the Acting Grandmaster's face. But neither Excelsior nor myself are paying attention to Rachel. Its her tiara we're looking at. And more precisely, the ruby mounted on to the tiara.

Blazing away in Loveless fury.