Guy flicked his fingers in a knockback spell and the man stumbled.

“Hey,” he said, but it was halfhearted, as if he wasn’t sure whether the booze or Guy was to blame.

We were hailed several more times as we crossed the room, but we ignored the summons and the huffs of outrage when we didn’t stop. As we drew close to the car, Guy took a running leap and landed on the hood with a crack.

The room went silent as everyone stared at the masked server standing on the Jag’s hood. Yet scarcely a chaos vibe rippled from the crowd, the guests certain there was a logical explanation.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Guy called. “I know some of you have already been enjoying the magic of our friends, but let me assure you, that’s only a taste of what’s to come.”

Guy shifted and the car’s hood cracked again under his weight. The general swirl of confusion swelled into anger. The birthday girl’s father strode forward.

“Young man, get off that—”

Guy’s fingers flew out in a knockback spell and the man staggered.

“I’m sorry,” Guy said. “We must ask that there be no interruptions during tonight’s performance.”

Not a single cry of horror or disbelief greeted Guy’s display. Instead, the anger wave subsided into murmurs and nervous giggles, as if the spell proved this was indeed a performance. The girl’s father started forward again, face mottled with anger.

“I don’t know what kind of stunt—”

He flew clear off his feet, sailing backward into the crowd. Now came the gasps, but scattered, most still convinced this was part of the show. What else could it be?

“And now, if my lovely assistant will help me get started…”

I walked toward the silver money bowl, aware of every eye on me. I concentrated on the vibes flowing past, searching for a clear, negative impulse directed my way. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jaz step away from his admirers, ready to jump in if anyone tried to stop me. No one did.

I reached the bowl.

One man strode forward. “What are you—?”

Guy hit him with a knockback. “I know she is lovely, but we must ask you to admire the performers from afar, for their safety…and yours.”

I lifted the bowl. Jaz fell into step behind me. That wasn’t part of the plan, but Guy’s expression didn’t change.

A buzz of unease rippled through the guests now. I caught the odd half-formed thought, weak and disjointed, the negativity too low for me to pick up more than snippets of “Is this…? Shouldn’t someone…? What’s going…?”

Guy took the bowl in one hand and offered me the other, helping me onto the car.

“Money.” Guy’s voice echoed through the hall as he lifted the bowl. “It makes the world go round. Or so they say. For folks like you, this—” he ripped open an envelope and pulled out a handful of hundreds, “—is the source of your power. Your only power.”

A buzz of discomfort as some people glanced at their purses and pockets, thinking not of money, but of cell phones. No one took them out—they were just reassuring themselves that they were there, like sidearms, protecting them if this turned out to be more than a show.

“Where’s our birthday girl?” Guy called.

Her friends parted around her.

“This is a lovely party, sweetheart. But if your daddy really loved you, he’d be giving you self-defense lessons instead of sports cars. Because this—” he flung the bills, “—doesn’t protect you nearly as well as you think.”

Now the phones came out. Guy wheeled on the closest woman to us, as she lifted one to her ear.

“Have a call to make? That’s rather rude, but go ahead.”

She pulled the phone from her ear and frowned at it.

“No signal? Handy things, reception blockers. Good for ensuring no annoying ring-tones interrupt a show.

I’m afraid you’d need to step outside to use that, though I wouldn’t recommend it. My performers hate to lose their audience.”

One man strode toward the closest door. Guy waited until he was two steps from it, then hit him with an energy bolt that knocked him to his knees, gasping, as sparks flew.

When a group of teenage boys ran for the front door, a cloud of red smoke appeared in their path, twisting and writhing. A demon’s head shot from the smoke. The boys fell back, screaming. A brave one raced for the next exit. Another red cloud. Then a huge dog’s head lunged from it, snarling and slavering. Trip-wire illusions—

sorcerer spells that activated when someone drew near.

Guy leaned down to me. “Cry havoc.”

“And let loose the dogs of war,” I murmured.

“And war it is, Faith,” he said, barely audible over the screaming and shouting, as illusions sprang from every exit. “Never forget that. It’s us versus them. They tell us not to make waves, to stay quiet, to buy peace by hiding.” He met my gaze. “Do you like hiding, Faith?”

Without waiting for an answer, he spun and waved his hands, not murmuring his spell but shouting it.

Sparks arced from his fingertips. Below us, Max cast and fog swirled through the room.

A vision flashed. A gun pulled from a pocket.

“Watch out!” I shouted to Guy as I spun, pinpointing the source. “There!”

The man didn’t finish pulling out the gun before Guy hit him with an energy bolt. As he went down, Jaz tackled him. Another flash. This one auditory, little more than a snarl of rage. I yelled and pointed. Max flung a knockback spell at a woman as she ran for the buffet table, probably hoping to find a weapon there. Sonny took her down before the fog swallowed them.

Streamers started going up in flames as Bianca—dressed in black and nearly invisible—circled the room, setting them alight with her fingers. Guy and Max kept casting. Nothing more than special effects—fog and sparks and colored lights—but from the screams that filled the room, they thought the building was on fire, and ready to collapse around them.

I drank it all in—the horror, the panic, the terror. Chaos, sweeter and purer than any I’d ever known. For once, even the deepest part of me felt no guilt. As I watched the partygoers racing about, I saw the friends who’d abandoned me after my breakdown, when I’d first started seeing visions. In their screams, I heard adults who’d known me from childhood, whispering behind their hands “She was never quite right after that. Her poor mother…”