Mordecai was rather grateful to Allison and Jac, and for that matter Mal. True, an evening of nodding sympathetically as Atticus Wildgrube exploited his son's death as shamelessly as he had used the young man in life would have been more bearable with Lucy on his arm, but Mordecai didn't particularly want her to suffer through exposure to the host of tonight's gala, either. Or his guests. Mordecai fielded a couple of inquiries as to the absence of his lovely dancing partner from September. One individual he suspected of being a reporter asked slyly how New York compared to London in winter. "Two sparkling jewels in their own right, too different in their ways for comparison," he'd replied and steered the subject towards the sparkling ballroom instead.
The worst of the night's indignities was having to endure them while sober. While Mordecai was careful never to be without a glass in his hand unless he was stepping onto the dancefloor, he had no intention of actually imbibing. This was hardly the place to lower his guard. He certainly wouldn't have wanted to answer that jibe about London while under the influence.
He'd been tempted to liven up the evening slightly. A minor hex to cause Atticus's shoes to shrink just a quarter of a size would have been of private consolation, if Mordecai were certain the man would even feel it. Rumor had it that even more of Wildgrube's body was manufactured than his youngest daughter's was. And Mordecai had to toast the man. Thea owed him a drink.
He made a note to text his friend about collecting once he returned to the compound. Reporting on the antics of the corporate elite would be far more entertaining over a bottle of whiskey (That both of them might technically be considered among the corporate elite was only greater justification for liquor). Especially, if it ended in a similar fashion as the last gala BNU had held.
Fortunately, this event came to an entirely boring conclusion, with a complete lack of bodies or even a glass thrown in insult. SadTech had provided a horseless carriage, but the line of guests anxious to leave the party meant Mordecai had some time to wait before it was brought round. After half an hour, the flirtatious probable-reporter from earlier offered to give him a ride. Mordecai had too great a disinterest in becoming someone's next column to have been accepted even if he hadn't been comfortably attached, but after another forty-five minutes he was tempted to call off the driver and simply walk to the tower for transportation upstate. It would be faster.
The carriage arrived just as he made the resolution, however, and it was, at least, heated. He could acknowledge the conveniences of this century. Convenience lasted until the contraption broke down two blocks out. Mordecai muttered an expletive, followed by a warming spell, as he unbuckled himself and got out to walk. After all that, he certainly wasn't going to sit alone in a disabled vehicle on a February night. Transport could come and collect the contraption.
Mordecai dug his phone from his pocket. "Call Bodhi Rook," he murmured, looking for a street sign to note the location. The only response was an electronic confusion. Mordecai frowned down at it. It wasn't unlike the time when communication had gone down on Mars...
A much more effective curse saved him from the first shot. It had the pitch of what he'd heard called a silencer. The makers of this ambush seemed unprepared to deal with magic. Unfortunately, even magic could do only so much against numbers. 'Silenced' was definitely a misnomer, he thought simultaneously with the second and third shots. 'Barely muffled' was more accurate. At the fourth shot, the phone dropped from his hand to an icy puddle, but it had already been useless.