The Alchemists had pushed their way as close to the fountains as possible, much to the outrage of those who’d been waiting for a while. The foursome scanned around, using the somewhat clear vantage point to search for us. I made eye contact with one, and he gestured his colleagues toward me. I summoned my magic, drawing on long hours of practice with channeling the elements to call upon the essence of the water near us. The Alchemists only managed to take a few steps in our direction when I made one of the streams from the fountain bend down, almost like an arm, toward them. My extensive elemental practice made reaching out to a pure element easier than it might once have been, but I was no Moroi water user. My control of the stream was sloppy, inadvertently spraying most of the people within twenty feet of the Alchemists. I gritted my teeth and poured all my magic and energy into giving the stream as much solidity as I could as it swept toward the Alchemists. It wrapped around the four of them and lifted them into the air, eliciting cries of astonishment and a lot of camera flashes. At this point, the feat was too much for my powers, but it achieved as much of my goal as I needed. I had the Alchemists over the fountain’s lake by this point, and I released the magic—which in turn released them from their suspension. They dropped into the water with a splash.

“Wow,” someone near me said. “They didn’t have that in the show the last time I was here!”

As Adrian and I continued our run to the hotel, the ex-Alchemist in me couldn’t help but wince at the public display of the supernatural I’d just made—especially with so many recording devices on hand. It went against every principle I’d been taught about hiding the paranormal world from ordinary people, and I tried to console myself with the knowledge that at least no one would be able to pinpoint how exactly the fountain had done what it did. And if the Alchemists were truly concerned with the public reaction, I had no doubt they’d find a way to spin it in the news.

We made it into the Bellagio unchallenged, and I had only a moment to admire the lobby’s beautiful glass flowers as Adrian asked a worker for directions to the tram station. The way was straightforward, but it required leaving the hotel again. We didn’t dare slow down and made the journey at a half jog, which was itself conspicuous. All the Alchemists would have to do when they eventually made their way out of the water was ask if anyone had seen a bride and groom running through there. I could only hope security would detain them and that there’d be a tram right at the station when we arrived.

There wasn’t, but we only had a five-minute wait, and no one showed up in that time. We got on board and sank into a couple of seats, both of us exhausted. “Catch your breath,” said Adrian. “We’re going to the end of the line.”

I nodded, weary from both the sprint and intense magic use. I crossed my legs and pulled off one of my shoes so that I could massage my sore foot. A woman sitting across from me in electric blue Skechers studied my shoes admiringly.

“Those are great,” she said.

“What size do you wear?” I asked.

“Seven.”

“Me too. You want to trade?”

Her eyes went wide. “Are you serious?”

“I need something blue to complete the look.” I held up one white shoe, glittering with crystal embellishment. “They’re Kate Spade.”

Her friend elbowed her. “Do it!” she said in a stage whisper.

A little while later, I was suited up in new shoes. They couldn’t save me from the blisters I’d already accrued, but when we reached our stop and I stood, my feet certainly thanked me for the change in support. The tulle at the bottom of the dress settled over them, and no one was any the wiser about what lay beneath. No pursuers awaited us when we stepped out of the tram, and we had an almost leisurely one-block walk to the Blue Lagoon. I entertained a five-minute fantasy that we were here for our honeymoon, out enjoying the sights like any other normal couple. That pleasant daydream was shattered when we stepped into the Blue Lagoon’s lobby and spotted a suited woman leaning against a wall. When she saw us, she immediately straightened up and spoke into an earpiece.

“She’s getting backup,” I said, noting that she only watched us but didn’t move. “They’ve had all afternoon to set up spies in every major hotel out here while I shopped.”

Adrian was undaunted. “Ignore her. We’re home free now. They’ll never get enough people here in time to stop us.” He went straight to the front desk and asked, “Excuse me, could you direct us to your helicopter landing pad?”

I was nearly as surprised to hear those words as the desk attendant was. “Do you have authorization to access it? It’s in a very secure area, not open to general hotel guests.” He looked us over dubiously. “Are you even guests?”

“No,” said Adrian. “But we’re expecting a, uh, ride up there. There should be a helicopter coming in from Olga Dobrova Academy any minute now.” That was another surprise. Olga Dobrova was a small, newish Moroi school up near the border of California and northern Nevada.

The attendant typed something into his computer. “What are your names?” We told him, and he shook his head. “Sorry. You aren’t on the authorized list to go up there.”

“Can you even tell us if it’s arrived?” exclaimed Adrian. “We’re the whole reason it’s here!”

The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you unless you get authorization. Next, please.”