“You take that straight back to the dining room,” she barked when the steward had finished. “And don’t even think about stealing a glass for yourself. You’re here to work. Not booze it up.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I drawled, grabbing the tray and hurrying away from her.
The whole thing only took five minutes, but that was enough time for me to completely lose track of Vaughn. I made it back to the spot where I’d last seen him and looked up and down the hallway, which was empty. I bit back another curse. Where had he gone?
I reined in my anger and thought about the floor plans for Dawson’s mansion that Fletcher and I had reviewed earlier today. Vaughn had been moving down this hallway toward the west wing. If he was hooking up with a lover, there were plenty of bedrooms, sitting areas, and other secluded corners where a pair of paramours could meet and get down and dirty with each other. But Vaughn didn’t strike me as the kind of guy to wander off and engage in a quickie, especially not at a business dinner. He was too solid, too sensible for that sort of thing. So whom could he be meeting, and where would they go? It had to be something important, something serious, for him to slip out of Dawson’s soiree.
The library, I thought. That was the only other room in this part of the mansion where folks might have a quiet discussion that they wanted to go unnoticed by everyone else.
So I headed in that direction, careful to keep out of sight of the giants roaming the hallways. Like Vaughn, Tobias Dawson didn’t have all that many guards, but I didn’t want one to spot me and wonder what I was doing so far away from the dining room—or, worse, call for backup.
I made it to the library without any problems, although I was faced with one the second I got there: the double doors were closed.
I slowly, carefully, quietly tried the brass knobs, which were shaped like bison heads, but both doors were locked from the inside. Faint murmurs sounded on the other side of the heavy wood, and I was willing to bet that at least one of the folks in there was Vaughn. I wanted to see what he was up to, but I couldn’t just barge in. Even if the doors hadn’t been locked, my ditzy-waitress act wouldn’t fly here, and that would be a one-way ticket to getting dead.
Yep, my bad luck was out in full force, and she was being a real bitch tonight.
I stood there, fuming for a few seconds, before I forced myself to dampen my frustration. I thought about the mansion’s floor plans again. But I didn’t remember there being any other entrance to the library, although there were several windows set into the back of the room—
A smile curved my lips. Windows. Of course.
Still carrying my tray of champagne, I hurried away from the doors and into the hallway that ran parallel to the library. A large window was at the end of the corridor. Perfect.
I put my tray down on the floor behind a table that was shaped like an oversize barrel, hoping that no one would notice it sitting there in the shadows. Then I opened the window and stuck my head outside.
The dining room and the library were both on the third floor, but for once, I was in luck, because a ledge ran beneath the window and continued on the entire length of the mansion. I calculated the distance from this window over to the next set, the ones in the library.
It looked to be about fifty feet over to those windows and fifty feet down to the ground below. A troubling distance. If I slipped and fell, I might not have enough time to reach for my Stone magic to harden my skin before I hit the ground. If that happened, I’d break at least a few bones, if not my neck outright. And moaning and groaning from the pain would be a quick way to get noticed—and probably executed—by Dawson’s guards.
Fletcher probably would have told me to close the window, scurry back to the dining room, and blend in with the rest of the servers. That this was a risky idea at best and a fatal one at worst. But it was worth the danger to see whom Vaughn was talking to. Besides, at least this way, I’d feel like I was actually doing something to help Charlotte, instead of just standing around, twiddling my thumbs, and watching Vaughn.
So I hoisted myself up and out the window.
Holding on to the sill, I scraped my boots down the stone until my toes touched the ledge, which was about three feet below the window. I moved to my left a few inches and then to my right, carefully testing my balance. The ledge was thin, no more than two inches wide and more of a pretty decoration than anything else, but it was sturdy enough to hold my weight. So I flattened my body against the wall, let go of the sill, and started tiptoeing toward my destination.
It was hard hugging the side of the mansion, especially since my fingers had nothing to grip but pitted stone. But I decided not to use my Stone magic to help me hold on. Vaughn might sense it, even through the thick walls, and I didn’t want to give him any clue that I was watching him.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, I sidled closer to the library windows, crawling my fingers over the stone and scooting my toes along the ledge. It was after eight now. A thunderstorm was blowing in from the west, and the hot summer wind whipped and howled around me, as jagged streaks of lightning danced across the darkening sky. I had a sudden image of a white fork bolting down from the thick, blue-gray clouds and frying me on the spot, leaving nothing behind but the black, smoking outline of my body on the wall, like a cartoon character.
I grimaced. Maybe this hadn’t been quite as brilliant a plan as I’d thought. But I was more than halfway there, so I edged onward.
Finally, I made it over to the library windows. Once again, I was surprised with a bit of good luck in that the windows had been cracked open, probably to let some cool air from the approaching storm blow into the room. I hooked my arms over one of the black shutters so I would have a better grip and to take some of the pressure off my legs. When I felt steady enough, I peered around the edge of the shutter and in through the windows.
The library had the same rustic feel as the rest of the mansion, with lots of barrels, bison heads, and antlers decorating everything from the tables to the chairs to the light fixtures overhead. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that Dawson was a cowboy instead of a miner. As expected, shelves filled with expensive-looking leather-bound books lined two of the walls, but my attention was drawn to the center of the room, where Vaughn was standing in front of an ornate wood-and-brass desk.
I hadn’t expected Vaughn to be alone, but I was mildly surprised to see his son, Sebastian, standing by his side. Sebastian’s name was on the guest list, but I hadn’t spotted him in the dining room. Perhaps he’d come straight here instead of stopping off for a drink.