“—and you’ll be integral to Part Two. The less people we—”
“Fewer.”
“—bring into the gala, the better.”
“Well, wait a minute,” Poppy said. “We still haven’t figured out how to neutralize security. Is there something he can brew up for that?”
Tolliver scoffed. “Is there something I can—” He started counting on his fingers. “Olfactory Overload, Mirage Mist, Synesthesia Spritz, Vertigo—”
“That’s more alliteration than a comic book,” CJ muttered.
I crossed my arms. “We’re not going through all the trouble of sneaking you in to do a ten-second job. We just need someone tech savvy. Maybe New Guy—”
“Dude!” Tolliver said, pointing to himself.
Apparently, I wasn’t the only one learning new skills during our time apart. In addition to brewing Miracle Max, Tolliver was doing other odd jobs at Styx. One of those jobs was setting up the security system—one immune to illusion and other magic. The same system being used at the gala.
My stomach sank. It’s not that IwantedTolliver to sit this one out. It’s just that Tolliver is different from the rest of us. He’s kind and trusting and, yeah, if I’m honest, would make a perfect mark. But Poppy had a point. Tolliver’s skills were useful.
Rule #13: Use every asset available.
The plan became for Tolliver to arrive as a guest dressed in a tux, much to his dismay. We had, however, packed a janitorial uniform for him in the same crate as the fake grimoire, which had been snuck into that day’s supply delivery and labeledMannequin Repair Kit.
If everything went as planned, Tolliver would find the crate in storage, change his clothes, then head to the central security room. He would pump in a compound he calls Whispering Willow, which makes the target suggestible to whispered words. Tolliver could then whisper to the lead security officer suggesting he take a nap and imprinting the memory of a perfectly secure gala. With the head of security out of play, Tolliver could take over the monitors and commands, keeping guards out of our way.
If everything goes as planned, which it appears, so far, it has.
CJ and Poppy were supposed to be inside the venue by the time Tolliver was in place, but it looks like they’re behind schedule. My guess is the red carpet took longer than necessary. Poppy loves an audience.
She’s dressed in 1920s glam—a shimmery cocoon dress that looks black but flashes gold in the light. It has a deep V-neck that culminates in a bone bow at her navel. The sleeves are wide with fur cuffs. Around her head, she wears a gold velvet turban over a bobbed wig, her baby hairs laid in romantic swoops. Around her neck hangs a long necklace made of vertebrae.
CJ stands next to her, eyes narrowed, hands held out to keep the onlookers at bay. Over their standard gray suit, they wear a knee-length overcoat with velvet lapels. A dark red silk scarf wraps around their throat, and a fedora covers their hair, revealing only the shaved sides. Their cuff links are knucklebones, and they carry a cane made out of a femur and tibia.
Because I know them both so well, I can tell Poppy is having the time of her life, while CJ is in the ninth circle of hell, figuratively speaking. But to the rest of the gala, they appear the perfect aloof starlet and stressed-out bodyguard.
I’ll be honest, Poppy carries more than her fair share of the load in the crew, but only because she brings a lot to the table. She can craft anything, is a pro at runic magic, and can seduce anyone to spill their secrets. The thing that makes her perfect for this role, though, is that she’s distractingly beautiful.
Poppy has the invitation intended for Laurie Love, some fashion designer’s assistant, but the person she is impersonating—the Deadperson whose soul Laurie was supposed to be hosting—is old Hollywood starlet Dot Parker.
The fact that Poppy was to take the place of someone so well known was a point of contention during the planning phase.
“You’re asking to get made,” CJ said, pinching the bridge of their nose from the director’s chair in my living room. “Dot Parker is too recognizable.”
I shrugged. “I mean, yeah, if she were attending in her actual body, but Poppy doesn’t have to look like her, just act like her. And Dot Parker wasnotoriousfor arriving fashionably late.”
CJ sighed in a way that reminded me of the noise a predator makes before it pounces.
Poppy gave CJ a demure glance. “I can be Dot for an hour. No one would expect someone to be brazen enough to impersonate her. Besides, it sounds fun.”
“Dude,” Tolliver said. “She’ll have to skip the red carpet.” He pretended to take a picture with his fingers.
“Not a chance,” Poppy retorted, hands on hips. “I can spell a necklace with a rune to change my face. Doesn’t last long, but we don’t need it to. Once we’re inside, the only cameras will be the ones Tolliver controls.”
I grimaced. “Actually. No face-changing, Pop. You’re going to be the pig cadaver.”
Poppy’s growing smile fell. “You can’t be serious.”
“Sorry, babe.”