“It’s theatre, Rory, do close your mouth.” Gwen’s pupils were so large her hazel eyes were nearly black as she scanned the greenroom. “There’s no magic in here.”

“You really think you’ll be able to see the siphon?” Rory whispered.

“You’re not the only one with a relic.” Her pupils shrank back to a normal size. “You can read the history of a landmark; I can scan a large area for magic. Now shush. Pantomime only.”

Jade frowned. “Let’s keep going.”

They left the greenroom and snuck farther into the building, stopping at the end of the hall to watch the entrance room. There were several ushers standing near the ticket counter, in black suits with white gloves. Overhead, model airplanes were displayed in midflight, and a large art piece was stationed next to the counter, made up of at least two dozen replica hot air balloons.

“Coat check is behind them.” Gwen made a thoughtful face. “What are the chances our telekinetic and our invisible man can cause a distraction?”

Ellis looked at the sculpture while Jade considered the hanging airplanes overhead. “I’m sure we can think of something,” she said, starting to smile.

Arthur had, in fact, once been to this very auditorium, on a date to an opera. The other man had also been a wealthy American expatriate, stuck-up, condescending, and argumentative, and with the memory came a fresh wave of appreciation for Rory.

There was a twinge in Arthur’s heart, a brief searing pain almost immediately chased away by the sensation of electricity.

He involuntarily touched his chest, swallowing.

Grateful for many reasons these days.

A Frenchman in a black suit with white gloves showed Arthur upstairs to the private boxes. The usher stopped in the hall in front of a closed velvet curtain, then pulled it back and held it open just wide enough for Arthur to go in.

Arthur gave the usher a polite smile, stood up even straighter, and stepped past the curtain.

The private box was a balcony, empty save for two oversize velvet seats facing the stage a story below. The stage lights were bright and the balcony contrastingly dark enough that Arthur’s eyes took a moment to adjust.

But dark or no, there was no mistaking the bodies in the balcony. Three of them: two broad-shouldered white men, as big as Arthur himself, standing behind the farther velvet seat. And in that seat, a slender white man of about forty, hair hidden beneath a top hat and his features sharp in profile, a small pointed nose and chin. The other man also wore a tuxedo and didn’t look Arthur’s way, just watched the stage with his lip curled in distaste.

Arthur stepped in and took the other seat. On stage, a woman in a bedazzled dress was letting herself be handcuffed to a giant wheel while a man in a top hat juggled knives.