Chapter 9

Since he was a child, Soul mentally framed the most common and routine social interactions with terms of warfare. An unexpected conversation with a passing acquaintance was an ambush. A party he RSVP's for weeks in advance was a battle. The dual charade that he was courting Miss Maka Albarn but also not deeply in love with her? Total war.

Soul was fully aware that this attitude was unfounded and irrational. Society wasn't really out to get him. He was just a petulant, caustic person who needed a reason to justify why he was sometimes so awkward in public.

Walking into Lady Nina Edgerton's birthday free-for-all, his fears felt completely justified.

Every painted smile held a secret. Every mask hid a threat. The bullshit baked into fine clothes and good manners didn't just annoy and confuse him; it left him choking with angry questions. Which one of you has kidnapped my brother? Where is Wes?

Soul wished his military-style Navy blue jacket was armor. Suits always made him feel self-conscious, vulnerable. The impulse to rip off his jacket and gasp for air quieted with a soft touch on his arm. Maka, lovely in her dark blue gown cinched with a green sash and her bravest face,

"Ninety minutes," Maka whispered. "Everything important at a party happens in the first 90 minutes. If anyone knows anything about Wes, we'll find out within that time. Do you think you can stand it?"

Maka flicked the grey epaulette on Soul's dark blue jacket, and he let go of his anxiety long enough to smile. She had been so patient with him ever since Wes' disappearance. Soul's emergency response wasn't fight or flight, but freeze. He'd become nothing more than a mute, listless lump, all the while Maka kept late night working on their project.

He could file that away with all the other reasons he didn't deserve to have Maka Albarn in his life. How strange that convincing the world that he and Maka were in love was so natural and simple, but convincing himself that such love was in his grasp was always doomed to fail.

"I can handle 90 minutes," he finally said. He held out his arm to her. "Let's go. We can't leave Lady So-and-So waiting at her big party."

It felt wrong to put on a fake smile and attend a party without his brother in tow, but what else could they do? The police had no updates. They had no clues. Their only recourse was to follow Maka's hunch that maybe the people behind Wes' disappearance would be at a party. Not a solid lead, in his opinion.

When they entered the magnificent ballroom and gazed upon a sea of swirling gowns. Soul was too focused on his own problems to pick out the details. It was all a blur to him. He took out his pocket watch and checked the time. It had only been ten minutes.

Soul and Maka sampled the small sandwiches on a waiter's platter. Twelve minutes.

They chatted with someone who had made a small contribution to their project several months ago, before everything went to toxic sludge. Seventeen.

Ninety minutes. He could handle ninety minutes.

When they failed to find out anything new through small talk, Maka and Soul hit the dance floor. Now at their third large ball, Maka had become more comfortable gliding across the room in his arms. Soul wished he could revel in it-his hand on the small of her back, her perfume wafting towards him as she twirled. It just felt wrong, empty. And he could tell she felt the same. They were going through the motions, brows stuck in a furrow as they wondered where, where, where?

The pair did another round of small talk and sandwiching when Soul felt a tap on his shoulder. A short, curvaceous woman with doll-like dimples smiled up at him. "Mr. Evans, you can spare a dance for me, can't you?"

Soul had no idea who this woman was. He had a polite rejection caught in the back of his throat when the woman grabbed his wrist and ripped him away from Maka. She tugged him into the crowd and situated herself in his arms. They began to perform a robotic waltz.

"I've been trying to dance with you all night," she said with a laugh, as if the party had been going on for hours instead of 55 minutes. "My husband has told me so much about you. The Steam Victor is fascinating."

It took a stressful minute of dancing for Soul to realize who he was talking to.

Her name was Nora Featherstone, the wife of Lord Neville Featherstone. She normally wore wide-brimmed hats with colorful fountains of plumage, but tonight she merely sported a miniature cap pinned to the side part of her black hair.

Now dancing with this strange woman felt mandatory. Luckily, Soul had spent a lifetime perfecting his blank Society Face, so Nora had no idea that he had failed to recognize her. "Your husband has been really supportive," he said. "Miss Albarn and I are quite grateful to him. And to you."

"Grateful." Nora's mouth twisted for a moment before she laughed again. "It's so odd to hear ascendant young people express their thanks. Your generation behaves as if it is invulnerable, and even I forget that it isn't so."

Soul nodded, unsure of what to say.

"By the way, congrats on your engagement," she said. "The Albarn girl is quite a catch. You've done very well for yourself. And your family. I'm sure your parents would be very proud of your accomplishments here."

"I haven't accomplished much of anything yet."

"Ah, humble too. A good feeling to keep hold off in the world of business. You never know how things will end up!"

Nora flashed him a cheery smile before bidding him adieu. "Give Maka my regards," she said before spinning away. Soul was surprised to hear Nora Featherstone use Maka's first name. Her husband had never been so familiar with the two of them. Then again, he wasn't exactly a stickler for social convention either.

He found Maka back by the dessert table downing a flute of champagne. Her eyes flicked between him and the door on the other side of the ballroom, frantic like a caged animal.

Those eyes latched onto Soul when the two finally reunited. "Soul, what on earth was that? Why would you dance with her?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Figured dancing with Steam Victor's rich uncle would be a good idea."

"What?" Maka was now completely white. "Soul, that was Lenora Scalton. The woman who used to cavort with my father!"

This revelation sent Soul reeling. "Forgive me, but how didn't you know our main benefactor's wife and your father's jilted lover are the same woman? After all this time?"

"It's the hats!" Maka realized aloud. "Every time I've seen her, she was always wearing these towering, feathery, audacious hats! I never got a good look at her face, or spoke to her for that matter. Besides, it's hard to recognize people when they appear in an unexpected context, isn't it?"

Soul ran a hand through his hair. Nora Featherstone. Short of Lenora Featherstone, nee Scalton. There was just enough misdirection for Maka to believe Nora Featherstone to be a complete stranger, and Soul was never prepared to know the difference. And with all the focus on Neville, her husband, the partners never spared a moment to think about the wife. All along, one of Maka's greatest enemies was dancing in their periphery, her laughter the soundtrack of every public event they attended, but Soul and Maka were too wrapped up in their project to notice.

They bade their goodbyes to the Edgertons and made their leave. Only 76 minutes had passed.

The carriage ride home was spent in stony silence. Soul contemplated the implications of their first and most generous investor being married to her father's ex-girlfriend, who also was an insidious rumor monger. Their abrupt dance didn't feel sinister at the time, but now Soul replayed the memory over and over in his head to find a deeper meaning. What on earth was that?

Rather than turning in for the night, Maka made a beeline for the workshop. Probably to relieve stress through work. Having nothing else to do, Soul plunged his hands in his pockets.

In the short walk from the carriage to the workshop, Soul's pocketed hands discovered a folded piece of paper. He ambled inside, carefully reading it, his surroundings melting together as the words sunk in.

We couldn't grab your supplies, so instead we're gonna take your final product. Deliver your horsey and little miss Maka Albarn to the Loew district. Your brother is alive. Don't get the police involved if you want to keep him that way.

The note was written in jagged scrawl on plain stationery. He was at a loss of how it came to be in his left pocket.

"Does this look anything like our other threatening note?" Soul asked, handing the paper over.

An avid reader, Maka needed only to glance at the note before she knew what is was. "A ransom! Did you find this outside?"

"In my jacket pocket. Don't ask me how."

If they handed over Steam Victor, the Evans family would lose everything. If they handed over Maka, Soul would lose everything. If they didn't, they would lose Wes. There was no winning. They had come so close to fixing his family, so close to realizing Maka's dreams, only to have it all snatched away.

Soul kicked a box of stray gears on the floor. "Dammit!

"Soul," Maka whispered. "You don't think Nora-"

"We were dancing. I would have noticed if her hands wandered into my pockets."

"Somebody's hands did and you didn't notice a thing!"

"You may recall that when a man leads a waltz, his partner has one hand in his and another on his shoulder. Though considering your dancing skills, I can see why you're so confused."

"I'm just trying to make sense of it all," Maka snapped. "Everything is escalating and I don't know what to do!" She leaned against one of their workshop tables and took off her hat. It was only now that Soul noticed how much she had been sweating under it.

It was unfair for him to be so harsh with her, especially after all she had done to help Soul and his family. Soul had no right to snap at someone worrying about the safety of his brother, the health of his family estate. He was an utterly awful partner, and an even worse friend.

Maka stared at the Steam Victor, biting her lip. "You can't consider going along with their demands," Soul said. "You've worked too hard to lose Steam Victor now, and we have no idea what they want with you!"

She squeezed her eyes shut. "Soul, you think I care about a single invention? You think I care about my safety? I don't know how Nora Featherstone fits into all this, but I do know that I'll never stand by while the people I care about are in danger. If I pack it up now, we'll make it to warehouse by midnight."

Soul sighed. There was no changing her mind. "At least we can take solace in the fact that we are handing over an unfinished prototype," he said.

"No," Maka said faintly. "I finally got it to work last night. Rotten luck, huh?"