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 Not old-fashioned, outdated, useless concepts like honor and duels.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. "
My eyes flicked up. Sure enough, Finn was exactly where he said he was. Leaning against the marble banister, Scotch in one hand, cell phone in the other. Roslyn Phillips stood beside him, wearing a strapless white evening gown that made her look like a Greek goddess. Mab Monroe had invited the hooker to the party so Roslyn could keep an eye on her guys and girls and make sure they were properly servicing the more important guests. And, as part of our plan, Roslyn had brought Finn along as her date for the evening. Nothing unusual about it, since the two of them were often seen together out on the town.
The grand staircase marched up to the second floor, forming a wide landing, before splitting in two and winding up either side to the upper floors of the mansion.
Finn had chosen well. His position gave him a view of the entire ballroom below.
"Let's get started," I said. "Before someone decides to proposition me. Where's Dawson?"
"He's in the center of the ballroom, about a couple hundred feet behind you on the right. Although I wouldn't suggest approaching him now, given his current company. "
"Current company? What does that mean?"
"You'll see. Just keep looking in that direction. Dawson's easy to find. He's the only one wearing a cowboy hat tonight. "
I peered through the crowd. It took me several seconds to spot Dawson, and Finn was right. He was the only cowboy in attendance. In addition to the giant hat on his head, the dwarf also wore snakeskin boots and another lariat tie topped with turquoise. All of which looked ridiculous with his tuxedo. But Tobias Dawson's fashion sense wasn't what made me frown, then curse. It was the company he was keeping.
Mab Monroe, Jonah McAllister, and Elliot Slater.
Chapter Twenty-Six
"Fuck," I said.
"Fuck is right," he replied. "Because no hooker in her right mind would try to get in the middle of that sandwich. "
My eyes slipped past Dawson and studied the three people he was standing with. Of course, I'd met Jonah McAllister in person yesterday, when he'd come to the Pork Pit to threaten me into dropping the charges against his son, Jake. The slick-talking lawyer looked distinguished and handsome in his tuxedo, and his thick mane of hair resembled silver that had somehow been swirled around his head.
I hadn't had any dealings with Elliot Slater, the giant enforcer who ran Mab's security detail and took care of any problems the Fire elemental didn't feel like dealing with herself. Slater was one of the tallest giants in attendance, if not the tallest. His seven-foot figure loomed over the crowd. He wasn't quite as wide as he was tall, but his frame was all solid, compact muscle. A cut with one of my knives would have felt like a bee sting to him.
Slater's complexion was pale, almost albino, and his tousled thatch of blond hair disappeared into his large skull. His eyes were a light hazel, and the only real color on his chalky face. A large diamond ring flashed on his pinkie. Another inch or two, and I could have worn it as a bracelet.
And then there was Mab Monroe herself. The Fire elemental was a few inches shorter than me, but she radiated raw power, even more so than Elliot Slater did. Her hair was as red as polished copper and curled softly to her shoulders. In contrast, her eyes were a deep, liquid black. Ink would look dull and diluted next to her gaze.
Fire and brimstone. That's what Mab Monroe always reminded me of.