Jade suddenly stopped just before the building’s door and turned toward the air. “Jianwei,” she said softly. “Can you check the ticket booths, see if there’s anything useful?”

“Maybe. Let me see.” A few moments went by. Then Zhang’s projection appeared, flickering again. “The tickets for the balcony the seller is in were delivered to a hotel in the sixteenth arrondissement.”

He recited an address that could have been on the moon for all Rory knew, but Jade and Gwen seemed to recognize it.

Ellis walked up just as Zhang suddenly disappeared. “Where’s Mr. Zhang going?”

“I don’t know.” Jade’s eyes were concerned. “I—”

Zhang suddenly appeared again. “The seller knows Arthur has magic in him,” he said urgently. “He needs backup.”

Rory’s eyes widened. “Ace—”

“I’m going.” Jade turned and took off, her high-heeled boots clicking on the marble as she somehow managed a near-run without falling.

Rory started after her, but Gwen’s gloved hand wrapped around Rory’s arm. “Wait, Rory. We need to look for the siphon at the seller’s hotel.”

“But Ace—”

“Ace was a soldier, he’s very capable. And he’ll have Jade with him,” said Gwen. “Jade will take care of him.”

Rory clenched his fists. “It’s my magic in him—”

“I know,” Gwen said, more softy. “But we must find this siphon, Rory. It must be now. Trust Arthur and Jade.”

Rory swallowed hard. As Gwen stepped to the curb in her pretty dress, he looked at Zhang’s flickering projection in concern. “I should go to Ace,” he whispered, as Gwen waved her hand and a taxi swerved instantly to the curb. “He might need me.”

“He might, but we all need that siphon.” Zhang looked as torn as Rory felt. “I’ll follow you best I can,” he said quietly, as Gwen and Ellis climbed into the back seat. “But you have to go with them. Because can we trust Gwen and Ellis not to make off with that siphon if they do find it?”

Rory winced.

Gwen leaned out the door. “Rory, come on!”

Rory cursed and scrambled into the taxi after them.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Whose magic is in you?

Arthur couldn’t move, his lips useless. Think of something, his mind screamed at him. Anything—

“You’re not a paranormal,” the man hissed. The stage lights lit half of the man’s face—pale skin, pale eyes, the pointed nose and an angry set to his thin lips. His gaze was darting all over Arthur. “But you have magic in you. How is such a thing possible?”

Arthur’s brain raced. Down on the stage below, the man in the tuxedo was aiming the knives at the woman on the wheel. He threw one, and it whooshed through the air and landed in the wheel with a thunk. The audience gasped.