I could literally be incinerated and devoured at this cocktail party, Odette thought. It could actually happen. I could get torn to pieces or turned into a starfish or smeared across the ceiling. All it would take is one of these Checquy monsters to have a little too much to drink and start thinking about how much he hates the Grafters, and I’m suddenly an echinoderm.
There was a definite tension in the air as the party of Grafters emerged from the lift and looked around warily. The designer of the hotel had apparently liked the idea of people making an entrance via a staircase, because even though the elevator had just lifted them to the top floor of the building, they were looking down to the skyline bar on the twenty-eighth floor.
It was a sophisticated space, with dark polished wood and elegant antique mirrors. At the far end, a massive curtain of glass looked out onto the city. It was an ideal place for the young and wealthy to stand around and eye one another over kumquatinis. Currently, however, it was closed to the public, and the patrons consisted entirely of Checquy executives.
Some rather reluctant applause floated up the stairs once the Checquy noticed the arrival of the Grafters. This is so awkward, thought Odette. We’re having drinks with the very monsters that Grootvader warned me about. She could almost smell the hate radiating through the room. The new arrivals made their way down the stairs with all eyes upon them. When she reached the bottom, however, rather than following the rest of her delegation into the fray, Odette edged around the gathering until she reached the window. If I just stand here with my back to everything and look like I’m admiring the view, no one will bother me, she thought.
Although her plan had been to pretend to marvel at the panorama, she found herself actually marveling at the panorama. The city spread before her to the horizon. I cannot believe I am in England, she thought. In London. I never in my life thought I would be in this country, in this city. It just wasn’t possible.
She gazed at the skyline, at buildings she’d only ever seen in films or books. There was the London Eye. There was the jag of the Shard glittering in the last of the light. That top-heavy building whose nickname she couldn’t recall. The Cheesegrater. The gigantic Fabergé egg that they called the Gherkin. The BT Tower. Her eyes tracked back across the landscape, cutting through the dusk, picking out the dome of St. Paul’s. Big Ben. Westminster Abbey. And hundreds and hundreds of rooftops.
Amazing.
Then her focus shifted so that she was not looking through the glass but rather examining the reflections. In the foreground, of course, was herself, an image she regarded without any particular enthusiasm. Her dress bugged her. It was not a cocktail dress. An uncharitable (but accurate) observer would have described it as more of a cocktail shroud.
It was certainly not a dress Odette would have picked under normal circumstances, but it was politic. It hid her scars. Unfortunately, that meant covering most of her. As a result, she gave the impression of being someone’s disapproving maiden aunt.
Behind her reflection was the movement of the cocktail party. She studied the guests critically. Men in suits and women in nicer dresses than hers. Some of the women wore business suits, but even those were exquisitely cut and tailored. Waiters passed through the party carrying trays of drinks and food. At first glance, it seemed quite a normal affair. But every once in a while, a shimmer of light would erupt from someone’s head, or a figure would vanish abruptly, or a guest would turn and reveal a set of stegosaurus-type plates emerging from the back of a tailored suit. She shuddered.
And then, approaching her in the reflection, came a tall, handsome man.
“Odette,” said a voice behind her. She felt a light hand on her shoulder and turned to look up into stern blue eyes.
This was Ernst, formerly the Duke of Suchtlen and the undisputed lord and master of the Wetenschappelijk Broederschap van Natuurkundigen. His body, which looked only about five years older than Odette’s, represented the most cutting-edge biotechnology on the planet. His mind held centuries of statecraft, espionage, and military insights. His hand held an hors d’oeuvre that had apparently suffered a catastrophic loss of structural integrity, leaving him awkwardly clutching the shattered remnants of a piece of toasted pita and some ground-up tuna and onions sprinkled with expensive herbs.
“A beautiful view,” he said appreciatively, and for a moment they both looked out over the city. “I have waited centuries to look upon it.” He turned to her. “I can see how you could lose yourself in the vista, but” — he paused, and she tensed, knowing what was coming — “you are not being polite to our hosts.” She sighed. “Now, I realize you are nervous. I understand your concerns.”
Odette looked at him. “You do?”
“Come, now, over the course of my centuries, I think I have come to comprehend the minds of women a little bit. This gathering is many things, serving many purposes, but it is, in the end, a party. And so you are worried about your dress and the thing with your hair.”
“The thing with my hair? What’s wrong with my hair?” asked Odette.
“But,” he carried on blithely, “our hosts have organized this soiree as a way for us all to meet informally before tomorrow’s work begins, and so it is important that we take this opportunity to be diplomatic.”
Odette nodded reluctantly. “Yes, I understand,” she said. “I’ve just been mustering up my enthusiasm and reviewing appropriate conversational topics.”
“Very sensible,” he said. “Are you ready, then?”
“Sure,” she said. She briefly envied her little brother, who was still in their hotel suite, one floor down.
“I am not entirely certain what to do with this, though,” he said, holding up the remains of the inadvertently deconstructed canapé. “There is no way to eat it with any sort of dignity, and this is my handshaking hand.”
“Just dump it in that plant pot,” suggested Odette, gesturing to a nearby palm.
“Excellent thinking.” Graaf van Suchtlen looked around and then gingerly dropped the remnants into the pot. “Now, come. It is your duty to mingle.” He offered her an arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her to a little group of Checquy.
Just calm down, she told herself. These people may be monsters, but they’re professionals and they’re upper-class and British, so they’ll be polite.
“Ladies, gentlemen,” van Suchtlen said easily. “Allow me to present Odette Leliefeld.” There was a chorus of greetings, and she smiled to each person as she was introduced. She was so nervous that she failed to remember any of their names. None of them were in the Court of the Checquy, and so she assumed they were simply high-ranking managers of the covert government organization.
They were certainly not your standard-issue humans, even if they were all dressed in expensive clothes. One of the men had a birthmark on his face that oozed around slowly, like the contents of a lava lamp. There was a woman who seemed to waver like the air over a hot highway. When one older man moved, light and color shifted briefly behind him, as if he were sporting a holographic peacock tail. Another man’s breath steamed, even though the room was, according to Odette’s skin, exactly 20 degrees centigrade.
You do not need to be afraid of them, Odette told herself. You are here under a truce. And while these people may have abilities that defy all the laws of physics, biology, common sense, and good taste, you are a scion of the Broederschap. You have training beyond any surgeon in the world. Your body is an exquisitely crafted tool. You have repaired limbs and delivered babies and saved lives. You have climbed to the top of the Eiffel Tower and touched the deepest bottom of the Mediterranean Sea and danced on the underside of the Bridge of Sighs. With an effort, she dragged herself back to the conversation.
“You two have the same eyes!” one of the women was saying. “Graaf van Suchtlen, is she your sister?”
“No,” said Odette, smiling despite herself at the thought.
“Not your daughter, surely?” said the woman, looking uncertainly at the two of them.