“Ah,” said the man by her side, tapping his fingers on the railing. “A celebrity has joined us.” The lights above flickered, and the lobby quieted. He turned to her. “I think that’s our cue. I do hope you enjoy the show.”

But as she thought of what she needed to do tonight, her blood roared in her ears. She’d come to condemn a man to hell.

* * *

Ursula hurried through a warren of red carpeted hallways before finding her seat. Enormous chandeliers hung from the gold-leaf ceiling, glimmering like icy fireworks.

Although the opera was sold out, Kester had managed to buy an entire set of box seats on the second level. Since Zee hadn’t bothered to show, Ursula had it entirely to herself. She plopped into a seat in the front row.

From here, she had an expansive view of the opera hall. Beneath her, patrons in suits and gowns filled rows of red velvet seats. Ushers directed a few stragglers down the aisles. Next to the stage the orchestra readied itself with trills, scales, and arpeggios.

Ursula dug around in her purse and found the set of opera glasses. The miniature brass binoculars would give her a view of Hugo, and she’d be able to intercept him after the first act. With Zee’s help to distract Virginie, Ursula could blink her eyes and lure him into signing.

She took a deep breath, trying to relax. But where the hell is he sitting? And where is Zee? She lifted the binoculars to her eyes, scanning the room, but only found row after row of stuffy older couples.

As the chandeliers began to dim, the hall fell silent. In thirty seconds, the entire room would be dark. Bollocks. Everyone had stared at Hugo when he’d arrived, but now he’d gone invisible.

She bit her lip. Perhaps they’d still be staring at him.

She glanced at the box to her left. A woman in her fifties, crammed into a red corseted dress, focused her binoculars on an upper balcony.

Ursula followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was Hugo, his cheeks slightly paler than they’d been when she first met him. Maybe he knew what waited for him—that death had come for him at the opera tonight, scented with lavender and dressed in a gown of grey silk.

She loosed a long breath. She’d found her target. Now she just needed to wait for the first act to end, and then she’d sidle up to him and try her whole silk routine, all verbal caresses and whispers of eternal happiness.

Only, there weren’t many private places for a tête-à-tête in this place. Was she going to have to follow him into the loo again? When Kester had told her she would need to “keep a low profile, and stay in the shadows,” she hadn’t realized that meant working next to urinals.