Actions, emotions, plots and schemes and hopes and dreams. People leave behind bits and pieces of themselves in the spots they frequent, in all of the buildings, offices, and houses where they spend their lives. All of those actions, feelings, and emotions—good, bad, and indifferent—sink especially well into stone. As a Stone elemental, I can sense and interpret all of those hidden vibrations as easily as if one of the museum tour guides were telling me all of the juicy gossip about every scandalous thing that had ever happened in and around the building. Tonight Briartop’s silvery marble muttered with worry, mixed with sharp notes of tension and sly whispers of unease.

Curious—and troubling.

I’d been to Briartop many times before, both as the Spider trailing a target and as regular Gin Blanco. I’d even come here once or twice for some of the art classes I’d taken at Ashland Community College through the years. Every time I’d been here before, the marble had proudly murmured of the artistic beauty and treasures it housed, punctuated by light, trilling notes of vain pretentiousness and smug snobbery—nothing more.

But tonight the constant, worried mutters told me that someone here was up to something—probably more than one person, given all the tense murmurs and sharp, ringing pings of unease.

Oh, the crowd looked innocent enough. Men and women dressed in fitted tuxedos and elegant evening gowns, expensive jewels and heavy watches flashing on their necks and wrists. But the stones never lied. They echoed the actions, emotions, and intentions of the people around them—nothing more, nothing less.

Once again, that vague, uneasy feeling I’d had ever since my dream a few nights ago crept back up to the surface of my mind. This time, I didn’t try to push it away or ignore it. I’d stayed alive this long by being paranoid, and something just wasn’t right here.

Finn and I stepped up to the giant working the door. She was dressed in a sleek black pantsuit that showed off her strong, toned curves, and I saw more than one person admiring her tall, lithe figure. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a sleek French braid, but the simple style only enhanced her hazel eyes and great cheekbones. A small gold nametag on her jacket read Opal.

Opal seemed to be one of the folks in charge, judging from the way the other giants deferred to her and how they raced up to whisper questions in her ear and draw her attention in this or that direction. Finally, she managed to look at Finn’s invitation, hand it back to him, and check him off the guest list. She glanced at me, ready to mark me off as his plus-one, and froze.