“Did they save you for the second shift, cutie?” He waved his glass my way. “I’ll take another Scotch. And there’s a twenty in it if you just bring the bottle.”

Guy flicked his fingers in a knockback spell and the man stumbled.

“Hey,” he said, but it was halfhearted, as if he wasn’t sure whether the booze or Guy was to blame.

We were hailed several more times as we crossed the room, but we ignored the summons and the huffs of outrage when we didn’t stop. As we drew close to the car, Guy took a running leap and landed on the hood with a crack.

The room went silent as everyone stared at the masked server standing on the Jag’s hood. Yet scarcely a chaos vibe rippled from the crowd, the guests certain there was a logical explanation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Guy called. “I know some of you have already been enjoying the magic of our friends, but let me assure you, that’s only a taste of what’s to come.”

Guy shifted and the car’s hood cracked again under his weight. The general swirl of confusion swelled into anger. The birthday girl’s father strode forward.

“Young man, get off that—”

Guy’s fingers flew out in a knockback spell and the man staggered.

“I’m sorry,” Guy said. “We must ask that there be no interruptions during tonight’s performance.”

Not a single cry of horror or disbelief greeted Guy’s display. Instead, the anger wave subsided into murmurs and nervous giggles, as if the spell proved this was indeed a performance. The girl’s father started forward again, face mottled with anger.

“I don’t know what kind of stunt—”

He flew clear off his feet, sailing backward into the crowd. Now came the gasps, but scattered, most still convinced this was part of the show. What else could it be?

“And now, if my lovely assistant will help me get started…”

I walked toward the silver money bowl, aware of every eye on me. I concentrated on the vibes flowing past, searching for a clear, negative impulse directed my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaz step away from his admirers, ready to jump in if anyone tried to stop me. No one did.

I reached the bowl.

One man strode forward. “What are you—?”

Guy hit him with a knockback. “I know she is lovely, but we must ask you to admire the performers from afar, for their safety…and yours.”

I lifted the bowl. Jaz fell into step behind me. That wasn’t part of the plan, but Guy’s expression didn’t change.

A buzz of unease rippled through the guests now. I caught the odd half-formed thought, weak and disjointed, the negativity too low for me to pick up more than snippets of “Is this…? Shouldn’t someone…? What’s going…?”