The hall had been transformed.
Last night it was all banners and chants, incense smoke curling around snarling dog emblems. Tonight, the smoke was thicker, heavier, carrying something sweet beneath the burn — a scent that clung to the back of your throat and made you feel warmer than the heat of the torches should allow.
The masks had changed too. Gone were the ceremonial snarling dog faces. Now the masks were sleeker, more predatory, the kind of thing you'd see on a stage where the actors didn't have to speak to be understood.
Wolfe, standing just to Leon's right, leaned in and whispered, "If this turns into one of those bad high school drama club productions, I'm leaving."
"Leaving gets us killed," Leon murmured back. "So laugh at their acting later."
