Page 28

Malik

“T he first two weeks are already sold out!” Wynni positively beamed at Malik from where she reclined in her gold-painted, rose-cushioned desk chair. “Can you believe it? Two!”

“I would expect nothing less,” Malik said in jovial reply. It was nearly impossible to pay a visit to the opera house without being pulled into conversation with its exuberant owner. Not that he minded, not really. Wynni always added a spark of light to any situation, and he’d take all the joy and positivity he could get.

“This might be the best premiere of the last few years.” She sighed wistfully. “If only my former assistant had stayed around to see how well the opera she inspired has turned out.”

“I’m sure Chesa had her reasons.” The former assistant was quite an odd woman, and the opera she’d designed sounded unique. Perhaps that was the appeal, though: a story quite unlike any that had been witnessed before.

“It breaks my heart that she won’t be here to bask in the success. I know she had to leave us, something with close friends or whatnot, but still.” Wynni pouted. A moment later, she threw up her hands and let out a sigh. “I suppose it can’t be helped.”

Malik barely held back a chuckle. “Unfortunately not.”

“ You’re not stiffing me for the premiere, are you?” She gave him an appraising glance.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” She plucked her fan from the desk, snapped it open, and began to fan herself. She always seemed to have a fan close at hand. Malik envied the fans and parasols many women carried—they were such a boon during these warmer months. “Now, then,” she said, “you had a request for me, didn’t you?”

“Nothing to trouble you with, really. I only need to pick up some things for Bronwyn.”

“Ohhh,” she crooned, her brows jumping. “Are you finally back in Miss Kinsley’s good graces?”

It wasn’t lost on him that she noticed his familiar form of address. A slip, but one he couldn’t regret. “Aren’t I always?”

She laughed. “Not usually. Though I’d be glad if there’s a change in the air. You know I asked her to attend the premiere in my box. And you’ll be there!” She pointed her fan at him. “Perhaps it could be a date?”

“I’ve already invited Lady Sian to join me for the premiere.” Much as he wished it were otherwise. He’d make sure to have the detection spell on him next time he met her and her brother. It was past time to definitively learn their allegiances and be done with it.

Wynni groaned. “Oh, please. Do the poor girl a favor and break her heart already. We both know you wouldn’t seriously commit to someone else while Miss Kinsley walks this plane.”

At that, his heart gave a little start. He stiffened, brows raised.

“Oh, don’t give me that look.” She wagged her fan at him again. “I’ve watched actors every day for years. You’re good. I’ll give you that. But not good enough to fool me.”

A small huff of amusement shook his shoulders. “Have a good afternoon, Wynni.” He turned to leave before she could discern more of his secrets.

“Walking out. A sure sign that I was right.” Smug certainty filled the opera house owner’s voice. “You can keep denying, but one of these days, I’m going to tell her myself and save us all some pain.”

At the door, he stopped halfway out. “Who says she doesn’t already know?” He winked and slipped away.

There was a moment of stunned silence before the response chased him into the hallway. “You cad! How dare you tease me so!”

Malik smiled to himself all the way to the workroom where Bronwyn kept her things. As he walked, he savored the distant sounds of rehearsal in progress, the worn but lovingly painted walls, and the general sense of joy that hung about the place. He wasn’t the only one this opera house had saved. Wynni had given many the motivation to keep going, quite a few of whom had become part of the staff themselves.

The lightness of spirit lasted until Malik located Bronwyn’s box of paints and the two now-dry works of art resting on a table.

“Damn.” Malik frowned at a smudge of dark paint that marred a scene of fluffy white sheep in a field of wildflowers. He leaned in. “Who would be so careless to—”

The words died on his tongue. Quickly, he looked around, confirming that he was alone in the room. It wasn’t a paint stain that discolored the sheep. The detection spell woven into the artwork had been triggered. Heart in his throat, he looked at the other.

There, as he feared, was a dark blot on the white roses in their vase.

There was someone with dubious intent in the opera house. That alone was enough to make him grind his teeth. Worse was the thought blaring in the back of his mind: the opera house might be in trouble—it could be the Dragon’s next target.

And he had a feeling he already knew when disaster might strike.