The man didn’t finish pulling out the gun before Guy hit him with an energy bolt. As he went down, Jaz tackled him. Another flash. This one auditory, little more than a snarl of rage. I yelled and pointed. Max flung a knockback spell at a woman as she ran for the buffet table, probably hoping to find a weapon there. Sonny took her down before the fog swallowed them.

Streamers started going up in flames as Bianca—dressed in black and nearly invisible—circled the room, setting them alight with her fingers. Guy and Max kept casting. Nothing more than special effects—fog and sparks and colored lights—but from the screams that filled the room, they thought the building was on fire, and ready to collapse around them.

I drank it all in—the horror, the panic, the terror. Chaos, sweeter and purer than any I’d ever known. For once, even the deepest part of me felt no guilt. As I watched the partygoers racing about, I saw the friends who’d abandoned me after my breakdown, when I’d first started seeing visions. In their screams, I heard adults who’d known me from childhood, whispering behind their hands “She was never quite right after that. Her poor mother…”

Guy tapped my arm, telling me it was time to move to the next phase. I stepped to the edge of the hood, ready to jump. Jaz swung over and extended a hand to help me.

“Like mice,” Jaz whispered in my ear, gesturing at the partygoers. “See how they run. And for what? Fog and illusions and sparkly lights. Can you imagine what they’d do if we used real magic?”

His gaze met mine, sharp and hungry despite the lighthearted lilt in his words. Behind the mask, his pupils dilated and I could hear his breath quick and shallow as my own. Excitement. No, more than excitement. Arousal.

I looked up into those glittering eyes. Jaz stepped closer. His hand slid to the back of my head as he bent down, our masks rustling as they brushed, our lips—

A jolt and Jaz stumbled as Guy slapped his back.

“Save it,” Guy said.

Jaz’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing, lip curling as if ready to spit something at the interruption. Then he went still, his eyes half closing, the look fading.

“Yes, boss.” He lowered his lips to my ear. “What a spoilsport, huh? Expects us to work.” His finger slid up my jawline and tickled my earlobe. “Later?”

I twisted to look up at him and our gazes locked.

“Please,” I said.

A sharp intake of breath and a final glimmer of frustrated lust. Then he dodged a second smack. We started forward, following Guy.

We found our target by the punch fountain. Cleo’s father stood there, alone, fists clenched, glaring around the room, as if that could fix matters, too enraged to even think of protecting his daughter.