Séverin used to love this moment—the moment where he could reveal something new and watch wonder transfix their expressions. He used to love hiding hints about their future acquisitions … like asking Laila to bake a cake full of golden roses for the time they went after the Midas’s Hand in Greece. This time, he didn’t look at their faces.

“Yes,” he said, not moving from the doorway. “The coordinates to the Sleeping Palace are concealed by a pair of Tezcat spectacles, and I know where they can be found.”

Zofia leaned forward, interested. “Spectacles?”

Laila’s voice cut through the air: “How do you know this?” she asked, her voice cold.

She didn’t look at him, and he didn’t look at her.

“An informant,” said Séverin, with equal coldness. “He also told me the Sleeping Palace is somewhere in Siberia.”

“Siberia?” repeated Hypnos. “That place … it’s full of ghosts.”

Hypnos looked around the room, perhaps expecting someone to agree with him. The others stared at him blankly.

He pressed on. “Well, it was before my time … but my father once told me about something strange that happened there years ago. There were stories of terrible sounds near Lake Baikal, like girls screaming for their lives. It terrified the locals, and got to be so bad that the Russian faction, House Dazbog, asked the Order to intervene. My father sent a small unit of mind Forging artists to detect if anyone was being controlled. But no one ever found anything.”

“And it just stopped?” asked Laila.

Hypnos nodded. “Eventually. The locals claimed girls were being murdered, but they never found any bodies.” In a smaller voice, he added: “I hope the Sleeping Palace isn’t in Siberia.”

Enrique winced. “I think the name alone confirms it … The etymology of the word ‘Siberia’ isn’t exactly clear, but it does sound remarkably close to the Siberian Tatar word for sleeping land, which would be sib ir. Hence, Sleeping Palace. But maybe I’m wrong,” he added quickly when he saw the panic on Hypnos’s face. “Where are the Tezcat spectacles anyway? A bank? A museum?”

“A mansion,” said Séverin.

He tapped the Mnemo bug pinned to his lapel. The Forged creature shivered to life, its jewel-colored wings whirring and its pincers clicking as it opened its jaws and projected an image onto the bookshelf showing a huge waterfront mansion overlooking the Neva River. He’d written the street name in the margins: Angliskaya Naberezhnava. The English Embankment of St. Petersburg, Russia.

“That’s … a big house,” said Enrique.

“It’s in Russia?” asked Zofia, her eyes narrowing.

Séverin switched the image to another external shot of the waterfront mansion. “The Tezcat spectacles are concealed in a private collection in the home of an art dealer. The room itself is called the Chamber of Goddesses, but I could find no information—”

Enrique squeaked. “I’ve heard of that installation! It’s hundreds of years old … No one knows the original sculptor. If it is sculpture. At least, that’s my guess. I’ve been dying to see it!” He beamed at the room, sighing. “Can you imagine what’s in the Chamber of Goddesses?”

Zofia raised an eyebrow. “Goddesses?”

“Well, that’s just the title of the room,” sniffed Enrique.

“The title is lying?”

“No, the title is evocative of the art, but it could be something else.”

Zofia frowned. “Sometimes I don’t understand art.”

Hypnos raised a glass. “Hear, hear.”

“So, we have to go into the Chamber, find the Tezcat spectacles, get out,” said Zofia.

“Not quite,” said Séverin. “The Tezcat spectacles are like ornamented glasses, and one critical piece … the lens … is kept around the neck of the art dealer.” He paused to consult his notes: “A Monsieur Mikhail Vasiliev.”

“Why do I know that name…,” said Hypnos, rubbing his jaw. “He owns the Chamber of Goddesses?”

Séverin nodded.

“But why would the Fallen House entrust him with the key to finding their ancient estate and its treasure vaults?” asked Hypnos. “What does he know?”

“And why would he wear something like that around his neck?”

“He knows nothing, apparently,” said Séverin. “According to my informant, the lens is disguised as a nostalgic keepsake, shaped like the old key that had once unlocked his lover’s bedroom.”

Laila looked down at her lap, pulling at a tassel on her dress. It was a shade of blood red that unnerved him. He didn’t want to look at it.

“But why him?” pressed Enrique.

“He’s important enough to keep his objects safe and insignificant enough that he draws no eyes,” said Séverin. “He’s not related to the Order, so he wouldn’t be brought in for questioning. The most scandalous piece of his past is an affair with a prima ballerina that soured. He got her pregnant, refused to marry her, the baby was stillborn, and she killed herself.” Enrique shuddered and crossed himself. “As a result, Vasiliev went into hiding for a few years, and that’s when he purchased the Chamber of Goddesses. He wears his guilt over the whole affair around his neck.”

“Now I remember his name … the Russian Recluse,” said Hypnos. He shook his head. “I don’t know how you’ll make him leave home. I haven’t brushed up on my gossip of St. Petersburg in some time, but the only thing he leaves his house for is—”

“The Imperial Russian Ballet,” finished Séverin, changing the image to the stately Mariinsky Theatre, shining and extravagant with its decoration of Forged smoke ballerinas that pirouetted on the outside balconies and unraveled in the moonlight. “Their next performance is in three days, and he’ll be there. What I need is the box next to his.”

Hypnos snapped his fingers. “Consider it done. The Order keeps a standing box, and I can secure you a ticket.”

“How?” asked Enrique.

“The usual route.” Hypnos shrugged. “Money, charm, etcetera…”

“I’ll need more than one. Two or three tickets,” said Séverin, risking a glance at Laila. “Laila will be posing as my mistress for the duration of this acquisition. Another person should join us.”

Silence.

Séverin raised an eyebrow. “I believe two people should be enough for the job inside Vasiliev’s home. A third can go with us.”

More silence.

Enrique seemed extraordinarily preoccupied with something under his nail. Zofia scowled. Séverin looked to Hypnos, who tsked.

“You could not pay me to be in that guest box between the two of you.”

Beside him, Enrique reached for a glass of water, drank it too quickly, and started choking. Zofia slapped his back. Séverin tried not to look at Laila, but it was like ignoring the sun. He didn’t have to see it to feel its glare.

“There’s still several other issues to consider,” said Séverin brusquely. “Vasiliev has a special salon within the Theatre that he frequents with his bodyguards. Admittance depends on a special blood Forging tattoo—”