“She’d have wanted you to stop her, you know,” Wayne said softly. “If she’d been able to talk to you, been able to think straight, she’d have demanded you kill her. Just like I’d have wanted it. Just like you’d want the same, if you’d lost your copper. You did what you hadda do, mate. And you did it well.”

He made a fist at Wax and nodded, then hobbled off, approaching a short young woman with long golden hair. A teenage girl? Wax didn’t recognize her.

“I know you, don’t I?” Wayne said. “Daughter of Remmingtel Tarcsel? The guy what invented the incandescent lightbulb?”

The girl’s jaw dropped. “You know him?” She seized Wayne by the arms. “You know about my father?”

“Sure do!” Wayne said. “He was robbed, I gotta say. Genius. Word is, you’re just as smart. That device you whipped up for making speeches sure is nice.”

She regarded Wayne, then leaned in. “That’s only the start. They’ve brought it into their houses. Don’t you see? It’s all around.”

“What?” Wayne said.

“Electricity,” the girl said. “And I’m going to be the first to use it.”

“Huh,” Wayne said. “Need some money?”

“Do I…” She towed Wayne away through the party, aglow, speaking so quickly Wax couldn’t pick out the words.

He didn’t care to. He just stared at the fire.

The guests were polite enough not to imply that he was ruining the party by his indifference. Clotide passed by, swapping his cold cup of tea out for a warm one. For all Wax cared, this comfortable chair could have been a hard bench. He didn’t feel it, or the warmth of the fire, or the joy of the victory.

How could you hear a bee buzzing in the middle of a thunderstorm?

The guests eventually found excuses to leave, their sedate revels accomplished. Some bade farewell to him. Others did not. About halfway through the protracted death of the party, Marasi settled down on his footstool. She wore her constable’s uniform. Odd thing to do at a party, though as he thought about it, the men in the constabulary did it all the time.

Marasi took his tea and sipped it, then placed something else onto the table where the cup had been. Wax’s eyes flicked toward it. A small spike, long as a finger, made of some silvery metal with dark red spots, like rusted bits.

“That’s one of the spikes she was using, Waxillium,” Marasi said softly. “MeLaan wanted me to show it to you.”

Wax closed his eyes. They thought he wanted to see something like that?

“Waxillium,” Marasi said. “We can’t identify the metal. It’s nothing we’ve ever seen before. It certainly wasn’t one of the spikes she started with. That means she removed both, and stuck one like this in instead. Where did she get them? Who gave them to her?”

“I don’t care,” he whispered, opening his eyes.

Marasi grew quiet. “Wax…”

“He sent her to me, Marasi. He sent a kandra to seduce me.”