It was a crowded, vibrant place, humming with conversations and laughter. Tables and chairs were arranged over the blue tiled floors, and booths were carved into the walls. A host of lanterns hung above from the timber beams, bathing the tavern in low, warm light. The air smelled of herbs and sweet wine, and I noticed with alarm that there was a mirror behind the bar. But there were so many people gathered, and the light was romantically dim. I didn’t fear my reflection, and I followed Phelan’s winding path through the tables to one of the booths.

I saw Nura and Olivette before they saw me.

The girls were sitting side by side, their faces tilted close as they spoke to each other. One had a bob of white-blond hair, a rosy complexion with a sprinkling of freckles across her nose. Her companion had brown curly hair that brushed her shoulders, red-painted lips, and light brown skin. They were both dressed in bright colors, and my anxiety soared when they caught sight of our approach.

“Phelan!” the blonde cried with enthusiasm. “Hurry and introduce us! We’ve been longing to meet the magician who nearly killed you in the interview!”

“Of course you are,” he humored her, but I saw a flush stain his cheeks as he turned to me. “Anna Neven, this is Olivette Wolfe and Nura Sparrow. Olivette and Nura, allow me to introduce you to my partner, Anna Neven.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Anna,” said Nura. Her voice was deep and smooth compared to Olivette’s high pitch. “Come, join us.”

I slid onto the bench across from theirs, and Phelan settled beside me.

“I want to know what inspired you to use the paintings in the gallery,” Olivette said in a rush. “It was ingenious, but also very risky. How were you able to command someone else’s art, Anna? Are you well versed in metamara?”

And so it begins, I thought with a twinge of fear. It was the same fear I felt when I saw a mirror, a cold shock that made my spirit coil. And yet I smiled and scrounged up an answer.

“It was risky. I won’t pretend otherwise. But I’ve long been an admirer of art, and since I had heard that Phelan was very unimpressed with the other interviews he had held that day . . . I knew I needed to take a dangerous leap in order to catch his attention.”

“Hmm.” Olivette grinned, glancing from me to Phelan. “She knows you quite well, my friend.”

“He’s easy to read,” I said with a nervous chuckle.

“Am I?” he countered, and I felt him look at me.

“Yes,” I said, grateful that the waiter arrived, filling our goblets and setting down a platter of sliced bread, squares of cheese, olives, and an array of colorful jams. “Your eyes betray your thoughts sometimes.”