Chapter Text
The room swayed with chatter and the clinking of glasses, a sea of silk and pearls drifting through the candlelit space. A jazz band played softly in the background, the melody weaving perfectly into the atmosphere of wealth.
“This better be worth it,” she muttered quietly, watching the ladies and gentlemen of the so-called better class with disdain. Luxury dripped from every detail; the shimmer of sequins, the delicate gold-rimmed glasses filled with champagne, the careful choreography of meaningless conversations. It was a world she had only seen from the outside for the last eight years. By choice.
“Trust me, it is. We do this, and then we can go wherever you want, even to Ev. With pockets full of dough,” he said.
She shook her head and absentmindedly reached for the pack of cigarettes in her breast pocket before she remembered that she neither had a pack of cigarettes nor a breast pocket, or any pockets at all tonight. Tonight, she was wearing one of her mother’s—dead mother’s—dresses. A fine, dark blue velvet gown that skimmed her frame with understated elegance. The cut was modest yet flattering, with a boat neckline that exposed just enough collarbone to suggest refinement rather than indulgence. The sleeves were long, fitted closely to her wrists, and the waist was cinched, accentuating her lean figure without excessive ornamentation. The skirt, though full enough to move gracefully as she walked, lacked the frivolous layers and embellishments of the women around her.
It was a dress made for dignity rather than excess, a relic of a past she had never quite been part of. The velvet held a quiet richness, catching the light in subtle shifts, deepening to ink in the shadows.
Her fingers twitched again at her side, restless without the comfort of her usual pockets.
“I need a cigarette,” she said plainly.
“Nerves?” he asked and arched an eyebrow.
“Just hand me the damn thing.”
He grabbed into the inside of his suit jacket and nodded to himself. “Definitely nerves.” He offered her the pack then from which she gladly took, though her fingers trembled slightly. The lighter in his hand snapped open and he lit the cigarette in a practiced manner.
She inhaled deeply, willing the nicotine to steady her nerves. She wasn’t even sure what had her so on edge. It wasn’t like she had never conned anyone before. That had been her way of getting by for the past eight years, after all.
“What in Oz are you doing?” he asked, his voice low but laced with urgency.
She blinked. “Playing the flute—what do you think I’m doing?”
“That’s not how you should hold a cigarette. You’re a fine lady, remember? Not some farmwoman’s Joe Schmo.”
He snatched the cigarette out of her hand, quickly turned his head left and right and then demonstrated how to elegantly hold it between the fingers. “Like this, see?” He guided it to his lips with equal elegance.
“My, such delicate grace. Should I be worried?” she mocked as she took the cigarette back.
“Shut it.”
“So, which one is she?” she asked, puffing out smoke and letting her gaze wander.
They all looked the same to her: middle-aged women with artificial smiles, too much makeup, and expensive jewelry, desperately clinging to youth in the hopes of a compliment. How carelessly some of them wore their wrist-chains. It would be easy to distract and—no, that wasn’t what they were here for tonight, she reminded herself.
“I didn’t see her yet,” he said and frowned. “And nobody has talked to us so far. You’re too stiff. Smile more.”
She shot him a deadly glare.
The doors to the ballroom opened, and a hush rippled through the crowd like a gust of wind sweeping across a field. Heads turned, murmurs flitted between guests, and she felt an odd chill run down her spine as she followed their gazes.
And then, there she was. Their mark. Baronet Chuffrey’s wife.
She had expected an older woman, someone draped in jewels, weathered by years of privilege and leisure. But instead, she was met with a woman her own age, perhaps twenty-six or twenty-seven. Dressed in a gown of pale gold, her blonde curls gleamed under the chandelier lights. She carried herself with the practiced ease of nobility, her gloved hand resting delicately on the arm of a man twice her age.
Her lips parted slightly, the cigarette momentarily forgotten between her fingers.
“Didn’t expect that, did you?” he murmured beside her, smirking.
She watched as Lady Chuffrey glided through the crowd, offering polite smiles, oblivious to the attention she had drawn.
“I thought she’d be old, or at least older,” she said once she had shaken herself from a brief trance. How was she supposed to fool someone like her? This would never work.
“What’s it to you? If anything, it should be even easier to befriend her,” he said, plucking a champagne glass from a passing waitress’ tray.
“You goof, she’ll never fall for it.”
He took a slow sip, watching her over the rim of his glass. “You sure about that? She’s pouring money into a museum that doesn’t even exist yet and no one seems eager to discuss it. That doesn’t exactly scream good sense.”
She narrowed her eyes, but he only smirked.
“Besides,” he added, swirling the champagne in his glass, “we both know these benefit balls never mean what they promise. The money doesn’t go where it’s supposed to.”
She huffed. “So she’s just another rich girl writing checks for a cause she doesn’t understand?”
She frowned, gaze flicking back toward Lady Chuffrey across the room.
He grinned. “Ah, there it is. That means you’re considering it.”
She opened her mouth to snap back, but then she saw a flash of pale gold moving in their direction.
“I think she’s coming this way,” she muttered, snatching the glass from his hand and downing it in one go.
“Get yourself together,” he hissed. “Quick, laugh like I just said something hilarious.”
“But you never do.”
With no other choice, he erupted into exaggerated laughter, bowing slightly toward her and squeezing her arm for effect.
“Oh, Elphaba… you are just too funny sometimes, I—” he gasped, struggling to keep up the act.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to keep it up for long. At least, not the laughter.
“Lady Chuffrey, I presume?” he greeted with a polite tilt of his head. “What a pleasure to be in such esteemed company. We’ve heard so much about you.”
She returned his greeting with a well-practiced smile, though Elphaba noticed it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Why, good evening. I don’t recall seeing you at one of the other balls before,” Lady Chuffrey said, her gaze flickering between them before settling, ever so briefly, on Elphaba. Or had she only imagined that? Perhaps it was just her nerves.
“Indeed, we haven’t had the pleasure yet. We’ve only recently moved to the city,” Elphaba said as casually as she could manage. “I’m Elphaba, and this is my h—err, my brother, Fiyero.”
Fiyero turned to her, his eyes widening for just a second before he hid his surprise behind a smile.
A trace of amusement flickered across Lady Chuffrey’s lips.
“Elphaba and Fiyero,” she repeated, as if testing the names on her tongue. “And do you happen to have surnames as well, or is that classified information?”
“Thropp.”
“Tigelaar.”
They spoke in unison.
Elphaba barely hesitated before adding, “Different fathers.”
“Forgive my sister,” Fiyero interjected smoothly. “She’s not much for the social scene. Prefers books to ballrooms, you know how it is.”
Lady Chuffrey tilted her head slightly. “And yet, here you both are.” Her gaze lingered on Elphaba for a beat too long.
Elphaba felt the flicker of suspicion beneath that polished exterior. She knew it. Lady Chuffrey was already seeing right through them, wasn’t she? Why else would she look at her with such interest?
“For the charity, mostly,” Fiyero said with a pleasant smile. “The preservation of history is an admirable goal, don’t you think? And a museum dedicated to Animal history, such a controversial idea! People prefer to forget what makes them uncomfortable, but we find the past rather fascinating. Especially my sister. She’s always had a soft spot for—”
“Ow!” Elphaba yelped as the forgotten cigarette burned down between her fingers, the sting jolting through her skin. She dropped it immediately and crushed it under her shoe, her pulse hammering as she glanced up.
Fiyero and Lady Chuffrey both stared, confusion flickering across their faces. The sudden silence pressed in around her, hot and suffocating.
She forced a laugh, clearing her throat. “Excuse me for a moment.” With a quick, apologetic tilt of her head, she turned on her heel and made a swift exit toward the bathroom.
They needed to call it off. Walk out, disappear, pretend this whole thing never happened. Their cover was already wearing thin—if it wasn’t blown completely. There was something in that woman’s gaze that made her feel uneasy. Seen.
Elphaba bent over the sink, letting cool water run over the back of her hand. She shouldn’t be this rattled. It was just another job. Their last job, maybe, but still. The plan was sound. It should have worked. She exhaled sharply and splashed water on her face, grateful for the modern miracle of waterproof makeup.
When she stepped back out into the ballroom, her eyes flicked across the room. Fiyero stood alone now. Good. They could just slip out, casual as anything, and leave this fiasco behind.
A voice stopped her. “Are you all right?”
Elphaba’s stomach dropped. Not her lucky night.
She turned, blinking, stalling. “Yes, I— I was just—” She gestured vaguely toward the bathroom door behind her, scrambling for words. Any words. But her mind emptied when she met those impossibly blue eyes, watching her with something that looked a lot like genuine concern.
“Show me,” Lady Chuffrey said.
“Pardon?”
Before she could react, a delicate, gloved hand slipped around her wrist, lifting it gently between them. Only then did she remember the cigarette burn. “Oh,” she muttered. “So, is amputation the only option?”
Lady Chuffrey gave her a solemn nod. “I’m afraid so. I do hope you’re left-handed.”
Elphaba exhaled dramatically. “This is why I avoid social gatherings. I knew tonight would end in tragedy. I just hoped I’d at least make it out with all my limbs.”
Lady Chuffrey’s lips twitched. “Hope is a dangerous thing.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“Glinda, darling, who is this?” a voice intruded.
Elphaba turned to find herself under the cool scrutiny of Baronet Chuffrey himself, his expression polite but pointed.
Glinda barely spared him a glance over her shoulder before saying, “This is Elphaba Thropp, who doesn’t usually attend parties but, on occasion, loses a limb. Miss Thropp, meet Chuffrey—my hubby—who does usually attend parties but, on occasion, loses the plot.”
Chuffrey blinked, momentarily dumbfounded. Elphaba found his expression so unexpectedly hilarious that she had to cover her mouth to stifle a laugh. Glinda grinned at her, clearly pleased.
Chuffrey recovered quickly. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Thropp. Do enjoy the ball, won’t you?” He gave a polite bow.
“A pleasure to meet you too, sir,” Elphaba replied, mirroring his manner with deliberate precision.
Chuffrey slipped an arm around Glinda’s shoulder, gently turning her away. Elphaba felt the faintest pang of something. Annoyance? Disappointment? She crushed it immediately. She wasn’t here to make friends. Well, technically, she was, but not like that.
“Let’s talk again later?” Glinda asked, linking her arm through Chuffrey’s.
No. “Sure,” Elphaba said instead, swallowing around the word, managing a half-smile at the last moment.
She watched as they disappeared into the blur of silk and champagne, and exhaled slowly.
When she turned her head, she found Fiyero leaning casually against a column, watching her with a look that was equal parts astonishment and amusement.
Elphaba squared her shoulders and strode toward him. “We should go before our disguise slips completely. I think we’ve been lucky so far.”
Fiyero smirked. “Lucky, indeed. Though I’d say some of us are enjoying this more than expected.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He took a slow sip from his champagne glass. “Oh, nothing. Just that for someone who claims to detest the upper crust, you seemed very engaged. Charmed, even.”
“She’s just another spoiled rich debutante.”
“Interesting. I don’t recall you ever laughing with a ‘spoiled rich debutante’ before.”
Elphaba huffed, looking away. “So she’s a humorous spoiled rich debutante. Doesn’t matter.”
Fiyero chuckled, shaking his head. “If you say so.”
“Come on. Before we really overstay our welcome.”
Without another glance back, they slipped out of the ballroom and left.
“So what’s gotten into you tonight?” Fiyero asked as they pulled away from the driveway, the glow of the concert hall fading behind them.
Elphaba sighed and leaned her head against the car window. If only she knew. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s this city. I’ve never liked it. Feels like people are watching me.”
It wasn’t entirely untrue. The Emerald City was the biggest, most crowded place in all of Oz. In theory, it should have been the easiest place to disappear, to blend into the masses. And yet, she had always felt exposed here, as if the city had eyes that followed her wherever she went. It was irrational—she and Fiyero had run their cons here plenty of times without issue—but still, something about this place never sat right with her.
Fiyero hummed. “And what about Lady Chuffrey?”
“What about her?” Yes, idiot, what about her? She scolded herself and huffed.
It had been too easy to slip, to let her composure crack in front of her. And now, much to her great irritation, she actually felt bad for leaving without a word. Ridiculous. As if Glinda—Lady Chuffrey—hadn’t forgotten about her the second she turned away.
“Well, we paid for the apartment for three whole months and rented this car just for this job. Our last one. The biggest one yet, remember? The one that’s supposed to set us up for good? We’re not backing out now, are we?”
Elphaba shifted in her seat, straightening her back. “We’ve put a lot into this, I know—but I swear, she was seeing right through me. I don’t know if we should keep doing this.”
Fiyero exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Damn. And what do we do here for the next three months? Go sightseeing?”
“It’s a big city,” she said with a shrug. “We can work a little, keep things small. No one remembers faces for long in a place like this.”
Except that one face—the one she seemed to remember all too well now. But Fiyero needn’t know that.