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Movement behind her draws my focus. Chris appears at the top of the stairs and crosses the deck toward the kitchen. Synthia glances back, following my attention. "It is kind of like a Chippendale show around here. Do you insist on them all being super hot, or is it just a coincidence?"

I laugh, shaking my head, and Synthia turns back to me grinning.

"Speaking of hotties," I say. "How's yours?"

Synthia's eyes flick away, concern etching itself around her eyes. "He's having a lot of anxiety."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"I feel like everyone is, it's all just so…uncertain. And scary." Synthia sips her drink and I wait, letting her take her time to figure things out. "I mean." She shakes her head. "This is a shitty time to be a librarian, especially a trans one." She pauses for another moment. "These restrictions are so fucked." Her voice is venomous and tear-roughened.

Last year, Congress pushed through a law defining certain types of content—including discussions of same-sex romantic relationships and transgender identity—as obscene and harmful, basically putting books about the LGBTQ+ community in the same category as pornography.

So now "Jimmy Has Two Dads" is considered as dangerous as "Jimmy Takes Two Daddies."

The law also created a centralized list of banned books and words, which was distributed to all public schools and libraries. Complying with the demand to remove every book that illustrates systemic racism or mentions homosexual relationships has created all manner of moral dilemmas for librarians and teachers around the country.

My stomach clenches thinking about the dangers of our government trying to erase people. Kids reading stories about different kinds of lives is the most basic way to create a society that has compassion and wisdom.

"I'm so sorry," I say.

Synthia gives a soft shake of her head. "Hey, it's better than being a doctor not allowed to save a woman's life." Her smile is wry, dark. Sad. "Can you imagine?"

I nod because I can—it's my job to step into other people’s skins. And besides, I'm a spy forced to gather intelligence for this administration. I understand how it feels to be compelled into immoral acts.

ChapterSeven

Buckingham Palace loomsout of the foggy London night—the lights illuminating the building haloed by mist. It's massive, opulent, everything I ever thought a palace would be. And I'm an invited guest. Wild.

I resist pressing my forehead against the limousine's window to see it better as we inch toward the grand entrance. The building is so tall I can't see the top of it anymore—just the lower floors with their massive windows and the pillars that stretch out of my view. Hannah leans over. "You're not in Kansas anymore."

"Shut up." I laugh, looking over at her. "You've been saving that one, haven't you?"

"I admit nothing," Hannah says, an obvious twinkle in her eye.

"I hope not because that's terrible," Zade says, faux disdain in their voice even as their dimples peek.

Hannah's laugh is deep. She doesn't seem nervous to be attending a party at the world’s most famous palace. "Is this your first royal event?" I ask.

"Of course not, I'm here most weekends," she teases.

"Same," Zade says, examining their nails—which are painted a metallic blue that matches their chunky heels. Their dress is gorgeous. The material is a shimmering black that hugs their body; a slit on the left side shows off a long, toned leg wrapped in a sheer stocking dotted with crystals. One strong shoulder is exposed. Peacock feathers flair off the other. Zade's lashes match the blue, green, and gold. They flutter them at me, a teasing grin slipping into place.

My dress is straight up boring in comparison. It's a black silk halter top with a low back and loose skirt. I could hike it up and sprint if I needed to…after I kicked off my red heels. My lips match my shoes and the heart-shaped clutch I carry. Inside is the "gift" Temperance gave me to pass on to the duchess—the compass with a bronze cover and chain. No context. Just the object.

I doubt I'll have time to slip it to her tonight without being seen. But leaving it at the hotel felt too risky. I'll see Victoria again tomorrow when we tour the Globe Theatre. I imagine we will find time to be alone then.

The thing may look like a compass, but it feels like an explosive.

Hannah's burgundy dress spills over my skirts as she crowds toward the window, trying to catch the same view as me. The rich color of her gown sets off the silver in her hair. She looks so elegant and composed—the cap sleeves and square-cut neckline at once sexy and commanding. I let out a shaky breath.

Hannah catches my eye. "Don't worry." She smiles. "Just act like you belong. Here, I'll give you a character. You're an internationally renowned actor on the cusp of her first Oscar nomination. You're drop dead gorgeous, stylish, and kind. Oh, and you're rich AF."

I laugh, the tightness in my chest loosening.

Piano music infuses the air.Warm yellow light fractures off the four-tiered chandelier hanging from the gilded domed ceiling. The walls are lined with gold-framed mirrors reflecting the elegant crowd bathed in glittering light.

The scent of floral perfume and baked puff pastries mingle—the signature perfume of these types of affairs. Royalty, politicians, successful business people, and those of us in the arts stand in small groups as waiters expertly navigate through the crowd, their trays carrying champagne flutes and canapés.