Marco and Emmitt look at Leylin with confused expressions.

  “The what now?” Marco says.

  “The astronomer.” Leylin is gesturing with her sword into the hallway, pointing in no direction in particular. “I met her downstairs, she was in the room with us just a moment ago. If the McCappon Company brought her here for a reason, it’s probably something to do with the moon. She could help us figure out what Skarann is doing, or something like that.”

  Marco and Emmitt take a moment to think it over.

  “If McCappon hired her, then isn’t she like, ?” Marco asks.

  “I’m 90% sure she just got fired. Look, she’s probably still upstairs.” Leylin steps out of the room and makes a short, one-note whistle. Marco and Emmitt watch with apprehension as she tilts her head in one direction, and whistles again. They follow her down the hall to a small office about halfway across. Leylin puts an ear to the door, whistles again, and then shoves it open.

  Maria is sitting to the side of a large meeting table, quietly resting her head. She jolts herself fully awake as the door opens. At the sight of Leylin, her eyes light up and the exhaustion fades from her face.

  “Astronomer, yes?” Leylin asks. “You’re an astronomer?”

  “Uh yeah.” Maria nods, still very disoriented. “I’m an astronomer.”

  “And you can track where the moon is in the sky?”

  Maria gives an uncertain glance over to Marco and Emmitt standing behind her. Marco still has a streak of white powder from the smoke across his torso, and both look quite ragged and tired. She turns back to Leylin. “I can track where the moon is based on the stars and the time of night, but I can’t predict where he’s going to go next.”

  “Well of course not, he’s moving of his own volition. I’m Leylin. These are my friends whose names are not important.” Leylin puts out a hand which Maria accepts, still a little disoriented. She notes the brass shield strapped to her arm.

  “Maria. I’m Maria.”

  “Great, splendid. Do you want to get out of here, Maria?”

  Maria gives an anxious glance at the light seeping from the boarded-up window. “Yes and no.”

  “Do you want to join us?”

  “Yes.”

  “Great, follow me.”

  Maria follows Marco and Emmitt as Leylin leads the way back to the balcony. In the ballroom, the situation has been brought down to a simmer. The air is clear, giving a full view of all of the guests below, many of them brushing off the chalky white powder from the smoke bombs. Some have returned to their normal conversations, while others pace around, still determined to figure out what is going on. The guards have shifted from the staircase to the exits below, arguing with a few of the more panicked guests. Marco tries to look around for the bird people, but it seems at the moment they are not being followed.

  “Get back here you lowlife scum! I’m not finished with you!”

  Or perhaps they are. Fitzgerald Fauntleroy McCappon charges across the balcony with his rapier pointed, a hateful determination on his face. The effects of the magic powder seem to have worn off as he quickly closes the gap between himself and the party.

  “Run,” Marco says. “Just run.”

  No encouragement is needed. The four of them scramble down the staircase as the heir to the McCappon fortune makes quick pursuit. When he gets to the staircase, he hops onto the railing and begins to slide downwards, swinging his rapier as he goes. He strikes an invisible barrier, falls to the side, and tumbles down several steps before catching him. The party reaches the bottom and disappears into the crowd.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  McCappon stands up in the middle of the stairs, regaining his balance on the railing. He is an awful sight with his hat and monocle missing and blood starting to dribble down from his nose. Clutching his head, he looks out to see a full ballroom of people staring in his direction. A look of terror passes over his face.

  “Everything is under control,” a familiar voice cuts in, “there is nothing to worry about.”

  Vilma walks down to McCappon’s position and helps him onto both feet, handing him his rapier. He nods insistently as she smiles down at the crowd.

  “

  McCappon, still in a daze, wipes a hand across his mouth. He looks down to see a streak of blood all across his forearm, tarnishing his sleeves. The crowd is far from assured. A cacophony of panicked voices fills the ballroom. Several individuals try to force their way through the exits, blocked off by the guards, who are spread increasingly thin. It is unclear whether the party will ever return to normal at this point, but Vilma is determined. She steps forward and holds out her hands in assurance.

  “Valued guests, please, we cannot stress how much everything is perfectly under contro—"

  “Castilucian Inquisition, everyone on the ground, !” All three of the bird people emerge from their respective positions and fly into the air, hovering above the crowd of party goers. Each of them pulls out a badge from around their necks, which displays the emblem of a snake with the head of a lion. From their current height, it is nearly impossible to read the text under the sigil.

  Kingdom of Castilucia and Espania

  Holy Inquisition

  The inquisitors reveal weapons from beneath their robes and leap into action, making battle against the various McCappon and Seraphim soldiers. One of them fires downwards with a compound bow, while another strafes back and forth, swinging his flail with little care whether he strikes guards or guests. The former bartender is shooting bolts of radiant energy from both hands, his eyes glowing a bright white. “Get on the ground, everyone here is under arrest!”

  The guards quickly lose control of the situation as they fight to keep the guests inside and the inquisitors away. The inquisitor with the flail swoops down towards McCappon himself, who hastily deflects the weapon with his rapier. As he flies away, Vilma leaps up and down, trying to swat at the bird person with her harpoon. Frustrated, she drops the harpoon and pulls out her gloves. She gestures towards the inquisitor and a net springs out of her hand, catching the creature’s wings. The inquisitor begins to jolt around erratically in the air, flail hanging out of the net. The end of the flail strikes one of the merchants, knocking them to the ground with a bloodied face. The inquisitor eventually manages to break himself free and the battle continues.

  In the middle of the ballroom, guests and guards alike find themselves running up into a series of invisible barriers. A noble tries to flee for the door, finding themselves caught about halfway across the hall. The inquisitor that was the bartender fires a bolt of energy at a nearby guard, but finds instead that it disappears into a shimmer. “What foul magic is this?”

  The magic goes by the name of Emmitt. He has taken the lead, guiding Marco, Leylin, and Maria through the middle of the chaos with a passage made out of imperceptible walls. Marco and Leylin have their much more corporeal weapons drawn, with Leylin in front of Maria with her shield raised. They scan around the area for any signs of Gabriel.

  Gabriel finds them first, running up the barrier and knocking on the invisible wall. “Look alive, folks. This place isn’t going to hold together for long.”

  “Where are we going?” Emmitt asks.

  “The kitchen, follow me.” She runs off before Emmitt can incorporate her into his invisible passageway. A McCappon soldier, finally realizing her treacherous intent, approaches with his sword raised. Without hesitation, Gabriel grabs a bottle of champagne from a nearby table, smashes it against the edge, and jabs the broken end into his neck. His sword scrapes against her shell as he stumbles to the ground. She waves them over. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Maria looks down at the dying guard with a dazed expression. All around her, more soldiers are falling to the inquisition’s attacks. Rubbing her eyes, she quickens her pace to follow after Leylin and the others with her, disappearing into the kitchen.

  The battle continues in the party’s absence. Guards are firing crossbow bolts at the inquisitors above, chipping away at the ceiling. A few faint cracks of moonlight shine through the rafters, yet to have any effect. The inquisitor with the glowing eyes, the former bartender, appears to be channeling some higher form of energy, shooting a white beam across the ballroom from both hands. Remoran senators draw their swords and wave them at the inquisitors high above in a futile gesture. Vilma throws her harpoon across the room, poking a hole in one of the zealous bird people’s wings. The harpoon keeps flying and falls into the foot of the Seraphim officer, who is then cut down by an oncoming flail.

  In the corner, a group of lizard people in dark robes are chanting in a language known only be a privileged few. A flaming triangle takes shape in the middle of the circle, and from it emerges a massive ball of fire. It hovers in place for a moment, then flies up towards the inquisitors, who disperse. The fireball blows open the ceiling, exposing the ballroom to the open air.

  The grinning face of Skarann looks down from above. “ IT’S A PARTY.”