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“Probably not, but it’s a cool view.” Jasmine waved to floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Lake Washington in the distance.

Another uniformed doorman stood at the balcony access point, allowing guests to come and go.

Outside, patio heaters glowed warmly for those interested in mingling in the evening air.

“ Much cooler than any condo I’ll ever be able to afford. ” She sighed longingly.

“The alley freeway in Everett isn’t the view of your dreams?”

“It’ll be okay for a starter home. Anything to be independent and stop feeling like I’m mooching off my parents.”

“Maybe you should rethink your interest in Bolin,” I said, though I approved that she didn’t seem to find him more appealing because he came from money.

“Does he have a penthouse?”

“I’m not sure. I just know his car is expensive and coddled.”

“ Most guys’ cars are coddled.”

“Yeah, but how many men do you know who carry around portable blow-up garages for theirs?”

“Not many. He was pretty good in a fight,” Jasmine admitted. “He threw bath bombs everywhere.”

“Orbs of Entanglement.”

“Yeah, that’s what he called them, but they looked like the swirly chamomile-and-green-tea balls I toss in the tub for a relaxing soak.”

“I think he makes them himself.” I wiggled my fingers to indicate with magical power rather than that he had a bath-bomb press.

“Hm.” She led off into the crowd, more of a determined walk than a mingle.

I doubted Jasmine was a natural networker either.

“Do you know what the guy you want to talk to looks like?” she asked. “He’s the host, right? He shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

“Yes, I looked him up and got a photo off his LinkedIn.” I took my phone out to show her a fifty-something guy wearing a denim shirt and cowboy hat.

“Is he from Bellevue or Texas?”

“Yelm, actually. According to his bio, he got his start working on ranches down there while fixing up his first properties.”

“Huh. He probably won’t be too hoity-toity then. Yelm isn’t exactly… Shoot, I don’t even know where that is exactly. South of Olympia, right?”

“More or less.” I scanned the crowd, looking for the man. “It’s larger than Deming and Maple Falls.”

Jasmine snorted. “ That doesn’t say much.”

A couple of young women walked past, their arms linked to older men. Looking like the definition of trophy wives , they sniffed at me and my mock turtleneck. What did it say about me that I would rather have spent an evening fighting burly heavies hopped up on potions?

“Is Bolin sure this is a party for people in the real estate industry?” I asked. “Most of the developers and investors I’ve met, at least in the Seattle area, were more down-to-earth than this.”

“These guests do have a vibe of uselessness, don’t they?” Despite taking a dig at the people here, Jasmine smiled when a server brought over a tray and offered us drinks.

Feeling the need for social lubrication, I accepted a glass of champagne.

“Do you have any mocktails?” Jasmine asked. “I’m the driver.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll see what I can find.” The male server, who wasn’t much older than she, smiled warmly at her before walking off.

I decided it would be petty to be envious of my niece’s youth and radiant beauty.

“The real-estate networking events that my mom goes to would be more your style, I think,” Jasmine said.

“She gives talks at monthly meetups at a pizzeria/bowling alley in the ’burbs.

The group can get the side room there for free as long as they order a few pizzas and sodas.

The owners are kind of stingy about drink refills, though, and sometimes your conversations get drowned out by pins in the closest lane being knocked down. ”

“It does sound like a place where I’d be more comfortable.”

“Want me to get you an invite to the next meeting? You’d fit in.

These rich guys are an anomaly.” Jasmine waved to encompass the spacious penthouse.

“Most real estate investors that my mom works with drive dumpier cars than their tenants, house hack, and do their own repairs and property management, just like you. They put every penny into saving for their next rental. It’s not until they’ve been in the game for a couple of decades that anyone might consider them rich. ”

“Sign me up.”

The server returned with two offerings for Jasmine, one smelling of mint and the other of citrus bitters.

As she selected the latter and took a sip, I skimmed the crowd for the face I’d looked up.

Ivan MacGregor. Though Jasmine had come to further her career prospects, I only wanted to speak with him about his stolen wolf bracelet.

Ah, there he was.

Tonight, he wore a Seahawks cap rather than the cowboy hat, but with jeans and a flannel shirt, he was much more dressed-down than his guests.

He meandered through the gathering, greeting everyone while giving shoulder thumps to the men and polite hand clasps to the women.

Making sure everyone was enjoying themselves?

“I’m going to introduce myself,” I told Jasmine, who was chatting with the server about the increasing popularity of mocktails instead of finding someone who might give her a job.

She lifted a hand in acknowledgment.

As I headed toward Ivan, he walked up to an elegant woman in her late thirties who stood near a cheerfully blazing gas fireplace. She’d brought a girl of seven or eight, her daughter presumably, who was assiduously tapping away on her phone.

I paused, startled. Both mother and daughter had a feral vibe. A lupine vibe.

I wasn’t the only werewolf at the party.