As Rachel beams at the crowd around her, exchanging greetings with all the very important people, the Matriarch's ruby blazes away malevolently from its place on the tiara. The malicious fire is eye catching, causing almost everyone in the dancehall to double take, casting sly glances at Rachel. Spectacles oozes with smug, since his companion has become the center of attention. But among all the participants in tonight's grand ball, I bet only two people truly understand the significance of the ruby's reappearance.

One of those people being Robert Excelsior of course.

Turning my head ever so slightly, I note that Excelsior is jabbering excitedly with Latour in their private box. In fact, Excelsior looks agitated enough to just march up to Rachel and snatch the ruby from her. Latour tries to calm Excelsior down without much success, the tautness in Excelsior's posture indicating that his rapidly worsening temper. Excelsior eventually slaps his thigh in consternation and storms out of the private box, with Latour following hurriedly behind him.

I got rid of the Matriarch's ruby during my very first reconciliation. And now its shown up again, completely without warning. What are the odds?

During our extended chat, Boggs had said something about trouble being attracted to certain people. And now I have the privilege of experiencing that exact same misfortune first hand. The only good thing is that my danger sense hasn't awakened yet. I'm not getting cold sweats or having impromptu discussions with my 'heart'. So things have not yet progressed far enough to endanger my life, although that's probably just a matter of time.

Trouble might not be knocking at my door just yet, but it has already moved into the neighborhood.

Swallowing hard, I settle back into the role of a human prop as the orchestra plays the first strings of a waltz. How am I going to deal with this problem? Now that the Matriarch's ruby has resurfaced, Excelsior will be all over it like a fly on shit. Best case scenario is that Excelsior just grabs the ruby and fucks off back to the school to assume his post as Master. But the ruby is like a noose around my neck. The moment Excelsior starts checking up on how Rachel managed to get her hands on it, the trail would inevitably lead back to me.

And once Excelsior knows that I'm here in Crossroad City, there's going to be a reckoning.

I can imagine it right now. Excelsior will challenge me to a duel for disgracing the school. And once that happens, I'll be gunned down in cold blood. I got a gander of Excelsior's skills back when we were fighting the Primal Ape. There's zero possibility fighting him ends with me not getting wrecked hard. The reconciliations have made me stronger, but the gap between us remains frighteningly vast. There's still time though. This assignment to play footman at the ball had given me advance warning of the threat.

"What should I do?" I murmur to myself, but silence is all I get in return. My stupid heart had chosen to take the evening off. Or maybe it just can't be arsed to react to anything other than a direct and imminent threat to our existence.

The dancers twirl through the ballroom, spinning madly like tops. Remember what Boggs said, Delacroix had managed to at the very least to keep his doom in abeyance for several years. I just need to accomplish the same thing. Its difficult, not impossible.

"Everett." someone pulls at my sleeve and I realize its one of the other pretend footmen.

"Yeah?" I rouse myself to attention, forcefully shoving my worries aside. There'll be enough time to agonize over Excelsior later.

"Its time for us to escort the final VIP into the hall." the footman says, "We'd better get going."

"Right. Right." I nod, recalling something like that mentioned in our briefing, "Where's the Supervisor though? Isn't he supposed to be managing this stuff?"

"Mark's gone off somewhere." the footmen makes a worried frown, "We don't have the time to wait for his signal."

"The schedule might have changed at the last minute?" I point out.

"You want to take the chance of letting the VIP wait outside in the snow?" the footmen rebuts, "Better we assemble just in case."

"After you." I agree, falling behind my colleague as our group discreetly slips out of the ballroom. We begin making our way to the main entrance as quickly as possible, waiting for the Supervisor to show up had already cost us time. Striding along the broad corridors of the Opera Hall, my attention is suddenly pulled to the side by that tell tale glint of something hidden.

"What?" I mutter, but the glint is gone before I can focus on it. Nevertheless the moment our group rounds the corner, I catch sight of the glint once again. And this time its darting down the corridor at full speed.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"There's something hiding in the hallways." I suddenly pronounce to the rest of the footmen.

"Better check it out then." my colleague answers, "We can't afford any fuck ups once the VIP shows up. The Guild would lay the blame on us, even if it isn't our fault."

"Gotcha." I break away from the group and begin moving in pursuit of the glint. Whenever I've been alerted to one of these hidden objects, it always turned out to be something significant. So following up on the glint was certainly higher on my list of priorities than escorting a CEO or billionaire into the ball.

The glint's moving fast though, too fast for me to make out what it is. I manage to keep up, doggedly trailing behind a fair distance away. After several twists and turns down the labyrinthine interior of the Opera House, I spot the glint scooting through a slim gap of a barely open door. Pausing in my chase, I take a moment to read the plaque bolted on to the door.

STOREROOM

I reach out to push the door open, before being interrupted from the muffled sounds of a scuffle coming from inside the room. My colleague had been right after all. A fuck up had been well and truly been in the brewing. Opening the door a crack and peeking in, I notice most of the room has been taken up by a large statue of a nude man on his knees, carrying a giant ball on his back. The giant ball blocks my line of sight, but I can nevertheless catch a glimpse of fists flying and a man groaning in pain.

I silently creep into the room, looking to take both troublemakers by surprise. Or maybe there's just one troublemaker, but I'm not in the business of putting myself in unnecessary risk. The tiny glint races along the storeroom's floor, heading in the direction of where the fight is taking place. A harsh gasp echoes in the gloom of the storeroom, sounding like someone being throttled.

Damn, this isn't a vanilla brawl. Murder might be in the offing. Ducking behind the giant stone ball, I draw both my casting focus and knife. Ready for any trouble, I cautiously lean past the giant ball to check on how the fight is going.

"Shit." I mutter softly, the gagging sound drowning out any noise that I make. The Supervisor stands tall, both hands planted firmly on another man's neck. Using his enhanced strength, the Supervisor easily lifts his opponent off the floor, strangling the other guy ferociously.

The other guy's dressed in a neat tuxedo, much like the other guests to the ball, but his face is badly burned, with large patches of skin plastered with unsightly scars. The burned man makes an urgent gesture with one of his hands and all of a sudden, the Supervisor barks in pain, stumbling backward and releasing his death grip.

"Damn it!" the Supervisor curses, slapping one of his legs frantically. There's an annoyed squeak and a rat scurries out from the Supervisor's trousers before perching on the shoulder of the burned man.

So the glint I was following was that rat. And what's more interesting, I recognize the creature. Its the animal companion of that ranger who ambushed my group in Winter Rift. The burned man picks up a scarf and fedora than had fallen on the ground. Wrapping his face up in the scarf and pulling the fedora down low, he manages to obscure the worst of his facial injuries.

"Oh hi, Mark." the burned man chuckles, "Is this the way Phoenix Guild greets its guests?"

"What the hell are you doing here Barkhant?" the Supervisor demands, clenching his fists, "We didn't summon you, or any members of your sect."

"Can't I decide to take in the winter air, Mark?" Barkhant, the sniper taunts, "I didn't realize we had to report our every movement to you."

"You failed in the mission we assigned to you." the Supervisor growls dangerously, "I've very little patience for your nonsense."

"Then step out of the way." Barkhant rolls his eyes, "You were the one who accosted me in the first place."

"Are you insane?" the Supervisor scowls back, "One look at your ugly mug and security will be swarming. Besides you have no business here tonight."

"I disagree." Barkhant's voice, while muffled by the scarf, still manages to sound intimidating, "There's sect business I need to handle."

"If you're thinking of having another go at the mission," the Supervisor shoots back, "forget it. Your incompetence has already complicated matters for us."

"Incompetence?" Barkhant sneers and the scars on his face flash, with wisps of smoke rising from the cracks.

"That fight was yours to lose." the Supervisor jabs his finger at Barkhant's chest, "I told you where to find the package. I even sent an inexperienced Ranger and a deadweight Sorcerer to weigh the Guild team down."

The fuck?

"My brothers fought bravely -" Barkhant objects.

"Who cares? You couldn't carry out the hit." the Supervisor snorts, "The target came back safe and sound the last I checked."

"And you have been less than honest with us, Mark." Barkhant quickly rallies, "I shot the target right in the heart. Right in the heart. And she survived. Tell me how that happened."

"How would I know? You should have just shot her again." the Supervisor dismisses.

"And there's the Sorcerer. He deflected my Fatal Strike technique." Barkhant follows up as my back clings to the giant ball tightly, "Is that what you call a deadweight?"

The Supervisor clicks his tongue, but doesn't respond.

"Well, I heard the Ranger died from her injuries," Barkhant continues, "so your information was at least right on one count."

"That's neither here nor there." the Supervisor says, "Carol wasn't the target."

"You're a cruel one, Mark." Barkhant doesn't let up, "Not giving us the full picture of the opposition. Even luring brother to fight against brother."

"What?" the Supervisor exclaims, caught off guard.

"Latour's boy, that's who he is, isn't it?" Barkhant insists, "We recognized him, even in the heat of battle."

"You can't blame me for that." the Supervisor shoots back, "Stern is the target's assigned protector. I can't move him out of position without drawing suspicion on myself."

"Its fine. The occulted one works in strange ways." Barkhant shrugs, "Anyway, our lost brother is why I'm here tonight."

"Are you planning something stupid?" Mark narrows his eyes.

"Stupid? No." Barkhant shakes his head, "I don't intend to kill our lost brother, if that's what you're getting at."

"I'm just here to bring him home."