One second Xander runs in his performing clothes, and the next, he’s just another punk kid in black with unnaturally colored hair. But the cops might be looking for that green hair. I open my mouth to ask if he can magic that away too, but he drapes his coat around my shoulders and pulls it away, leaving me back in my hoodie and tank. It shouldn’t surprise me at this point, but my steps falter, and I stumble. Xander grabs my arm to keep me upright, then slides his hand down my arm and links our fingers like we’re just a couple on a date and not evading a ticket for a public disturbance.

The initial rush of the crowd fades, and we’re able to get back out onto the main street in front of the boardwalk without any trouble. Xander glances around. “Do you see any of the others?”

Someone grabs my other hand, and I jump, pulling away until I realize it’s Reina.

“Found one,” I say as a thread of relief unwinds in my chest.

Reina sighs as she looks up at Xander. “You should change your hair. You’re a flaming guilty sign if anyone gave the cops our descriptions.”

“Never.” Xander brushes his hair back from his eyes. “It’s my best feature.”

I disagree, but now is not the time to say so. In the near darkness, the shadows only accent his beautiful face, but his hair glows, refusing to be dimmed.

“Where’s Diantha? I thought she was with you?” Xander asks.

“She’s safe, and so are the twins. I put them in a cab.” A note of fear I didn’t think she was capable of enters her voice. “I can’t find Aristelle. I felt a vampire feeding during the commotion—probably someone taking advantage of a distraction. If she felt it too…” She trails off. I know Aristelle well enough to know that she’d go after it.

Xander’s face in the shadows barely changes, but I feel tension in his grip where he still holds my hand. “Let’s go,” he says, but none of us move. There are too many places she might be.

“I can feel magic,” Reina whispers.

Xander nods.

I check my own senses. My magic buzzes from the performance, so much so that it’s hard to feel anything else, but then I do. It’s like hearing a song blaring from far away, but I hear it under my skin instead, like a thread I grip in my hand and follow.

Xander drops my hand and takes off running as we follow behind him, no longer caring if we look suspicious or draw attention to ourselves. We end up on a dark, rusted metal bridge with a train track running through it. Xander doesn’t wait, just walks out onto it, glancing around in confusion.

“She’s here somewhere,” he says.