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dollhouse to me. Black flags embossed with silver music notes—the opera’s rune—fluttered on top of each turret in the listless September breeze.
    Twenty minutes ago, I’d walked through the front door of the opera house. With my white shirt, black pants, low-heeled boots, and cello case, I looked like any one of the dozens of musicians here for tonight’s performance. No one had glanced twice at me as I’d strolled through the lobby, walked up the grand staircase, and climbed up several more flights. I’d used my Ice magic to create a pair of long, slender lock picks, which I’d used to jimmy the door that led out to the balcony. I might have come in through the front, but after the job was done, I was making my escape out the back. So to speak.
    While the front of the opera house faced one of Ashland’s busy downtown streets, the back side of the building squatted on top of a series of jagged cliffs, which fell away to the Aneirin River. Cliffs I was going to rappel down in another hour or so.
    Staying in the shadows, I opened my cello case and pulled out the plastic shell that resembled the classical instrument. Hidden beneath was a secret compartment with my supplies for the evening, including two hundred feet of climbing rope. I anchored the rope to a brass flagpole planted in the low balcony wall and threw the length of it down the side of the cliffs. The gray rope blended into the uneven stones below, and you wouldn’t spot it unless you knew it was there. Still, I grabbed a few crumpled brown leaves from the balcony floor and spread them over the base of the flagpole, obscuring the rope. It was unlikely anyone would venture out here, given the activity and excitement inside the building, but you never knew who might wander this way for a quick cigarette or a quicker fuck. Better not to take unnecessary chances.
    As I worked, my hands brushed the stone of the building. The granite sang under my fingertips. The music from the orchestra’s performances had long ago permeated the rock and now ran through it like a vein of ore. I closed my eyes and flattened both hands against the rough stone. The sound was so rich, so pure, so beautiful, after the insane discord of the asylum, that I reached for my magic.
    I sent a trickle of my power through the stone, giving it a subtle command. The separate seams of the granite dipped and rose in a small wave, one after another, as though I were running my fingers up and down a piano keyboard. The seams settled back into place, and I allowed myself a small smile. Elemental magic could be amusing as well as deadly.
    My work here done, I grabbed my cello case, opened the balcony door, and slid back inside.
    The balcony was an extension of the topmost floor of the opera house, a gray, featureless space where the executive and administrative offices were located. The area was deserted, with only the low house lights on for illumination. I slipped into the emergency stairwell and walked down several flights of stairs, before emerging onto the second floor of the building.
    It was like stepping into another world. The second floor was circular, with a large entrance room several thousand feet wide. A grand staircase led down to the ground floor, topped by a dazzling crystal chandelier that resembled an elegant cluster of icicles. The carpet was a warm burgundy, swirled throughout with a delicate gold paisley pattern. The walls featured heavy, matching soundproof drapes, along with an occasional mirror and glossy painting. White marble set with squares of black and burgundy gleamed in the lobby below.
    A couple of blocks over, a vampire hooker would do you in your car for fifty bucks, while the homeless guys dug through trash cans looking for enough garbage to eat for the night. But here, the darkest, dirtiest things were the lipstick stains on the champagne glasses—and the souls of the people indulging in the bubbly.
    People milled around the entrance room, with some trailing