I begin to turn away, but Kiki grabs my hand.

She leans in close “I’ll do my part here. See what I can find out. You do yours. But be careful.”

I nod. “I always am.”

“Now, that,” Kiki says, smiling softly, “is a lie.”

She releases me, stepping backward and into the crowd. I am on my own now. The two of us wandering about Cristobal’s villa would be too much of a red flag. One of us is easier to explain away.

Even with the gown and the mask, I feel oddly naked as I work my way through the crowd, evading the attention of men craning for a dance and women angling for an introduction to my—or rather, Kiki’s—dressmaker.

It takes some doing but eventually, I break through the throng of people clustered by one of the double doors leading away from the ballroom. I glance around to make sure no one’s watching as I open the door just enough to slide through. I am fairly certain no one saw, but there are so many people, it’s hard to tell. Oh well. If I wind up with a guard’s blade in my belly then I’ll know I wasn’t nearly as subtle as I was attempting to be.

Cristobal’s villa is huge. Well, all of these villas seem huge to me, but this one feels particularly labyrinthine. As I make my way through halls, I try to keep the twists and turns straight. Rooms jut off from corridors with seemingly little logic. In one there is nothing but a harpsichord and a divan. In another there are rows of Hellenistic statuary draped in the thinnest of gauzy fabric. Yet another boasts an impressive collection of Bronze Age weaponry, arranged with meticulous care on wall-to-wall displays.

“If I were an evil mastermind,” I whisper to myself, “where would I hide my goodies?”

The music from the ballroom fades to a soft melody, distant but present, to silence. I am nearly well and truly lost by the time I stumble upon a room with a locked door.

Strange, that there has been only one. A man like Cristobal surely has his secrets, but so far, his home has been something of an open book. A confusing one, governed by no logic I can determine, but not a place that screams that the owner has something to hide.

But a locked door? That is a nice juicy secret I would love to sink my teeth into.

Plucking one of the many pins stuck through my hair, I kneel down. My skirts poof up around me. I must look ridiculous but thankfully, you don’t need to look glamorous to pick a lock. You just have to know what you’re doing. And I most definitely do.