There are perhaps two dozen guests milling about, laughing as they climb up the steps of the manor. Footmen stand stock-still in black silk uniforms and hold goblets on golden platters. They wear masks, simple and black, covering their eyes and noses.

The guests are wearing masks too, some ornate, dripping with jewels, others simple and make of silk, but no one’s face is fully visible.

The anonymity makes me uncomfortable. I knew the Brothers of Morte d’Arthur had secrets, Finn made that evident, but this only confirms it further. If they’re hiding their faces, what else are they hiding?

For a moment, Finn, Oliver, Maxine, Lena, and I just stand across the street and watch.

I turn to Lena. Since leaving Haxahaven and returning home, her magical training has waned and her visions of the future have slowed, but I still have to ask. “See anything for tonight, Lena?”

She closes her eyes and presses her thumb in the space between them. We stand in silence and watch her until she sighs and opens her eyes. “The collar of Oliver’s jacket will get torn. I see Frances mending it.”

“That’s all?”

She shrugs. “All I see for now.”

The service entrance is as busy as the main entrance. The side door that opens to the basement is propped open and currently in a flurry of activity.

From somewhere a few blocks away, church bells begin to chime, low and haunting, as if counting down to something.

“We need to go in,” I say.

Finn pulls two masks from his inner jacket pocket and hands one to Oliver. Oliver looks confused for a moment, but it wouldn’t be wise to draw attention to ourselves, even across the street like this, so he holds it up to his face.

Like the footmen’s, their masks are simple, made of black silk, thinned to points at the corners of the eyes. It has the effect of exaggerating their features. Even in the dim light, Finn’s eyes are brighter, Oliver’s jaw sharper.

“Where’d you get these?” Oliver asks.

Finn just grins. “I never show up unprepared for a party.”

“I’m not putting it on until you tell me.”

“The host had them sent along with the invitation. Came in a fancy box and everything. It was all very la-di-da.”

Oliver huffs, not happy, but apparently satisfied. I stand behind him and pull the velvet strings of the mask into a little bow at the back of his head.

Maxine does up Finn’s mask, flicking him hard in the soft spot behind the ear as soon as her bow is done.

“That hurt,” he mutters, rubbing the sore spot.

Maxine flashes him a smile. “Good.”

Mist from the river rolls in, and the gas lamps set the whole street glowing golden against the black of the starless sky.