across the way. He couldn't tell if they were drunk or dead, but both were decidedly male and not his girl. He'd heard footsteps running in this direction, but the fog caused weird echoes, making noises difficult to pinpoint. He wished Kit would return with some good news. He was a blind man searching for a hare in a field of willowtails.
His foot burned where he'd been bitten. His toes squished with every step as his boot filled with blood. Was it envenomed? Probably not. A snake that big would pump out enough poison to kill a herd of warhorses. He tried not to think about it.
A glowing shape appeared from a nearby alley.
"Did you find her?" he asked.
Kit shook out her silver hair. "She's not in Buckwald Den or Dyer's Lane. I doubt she could have gotten farther than that before me."
Caim shifted his weight to his good leg. The pain was moving up his calf.
"Is it bad?" Kit glanced down.
"Not bad enough to stop me. We have to get her back. We can't have her wandering into the wrong hands."
Kit rested her fists on her slim hips. "She's probably already facedown in some alleyway. The ragpickers will find her body tomorrow. You need to forget about her and get back inside so I can take a look at that foot."
Caim squinted down each street and tried to pierce the darkness for any clue that might lead him in the right direction. The events of the past twenty-four hours had ripped him from his comfortable life and sent him veering into unknown territory. He didn't like the feelings of unease and doubt knocking around in his gut.
"Kit, what was that thing back at the apartment? Did it come from me? My gift ... powers ... whatever they are, they've been acting strange lately."
Kit floated a few inches off the ground, her outline blurring with the fog. Her eyes turned dark and unfathomable, the way they did when she didn't want to pursue a subject. She could be downright obstinate when she chose to be. He stared back until she finally relented.
"It's called a queticoux," she said. "And no, it didn't come from you. At least, I don't think so. They're rare. I'd never actually seen one up close before. They live Beyond."
"Beyond?"
"Beyond the barrier separating this world from the Shadowlands."
Caim gripped his knives tighter. She was talking faerie realm nonsense again-ghouls and goblins, bogeymen who abducted children and left changelings in their place. Ridiculous. But you've seen the shadows yourself, haven't you? He ground his teeth together. His thoughts were scattered in a hundred different directions tonight. Shadows. Mathias. Spoiled rich girls out alone in the dark. He had to focus.
"Okay. So how could such a thing cross over?"
"It couldn't." She twirled a finger through her hair. "Not on its own. It would need help to cross the Veil."
He pretended to know what she was talking about. "You mean like sorcery?"
"I suppose."
"How could a High Town lord's daughter do that? She didn't strike me as a witch. Hell, if she knew magic, why didn't she use it to escape?"
Kit shrugged. At the same instant, a keening whistle cut through the night like a siren's wail. It sounded like it came from Three Corners. Caim started running. Kit didn't need to be told; she skittered ahead of him like a shiny pebble across a smooth, black pond. A filament of concern threaded its way into Calm's chest, winding tighter around his insides with every painful stride as the whistle led him farther away from the Processional and High Town.
Josey shivered.
Her feet felt like blocks of ice on the freezing cobblestones. The four watchmen stood tall around her. Their hobnailed boots rang loud upon the street, a comforting sound in the late hours of the night. She was protected. Safe. Her father's killer couldn't touch her now. By morning she would back at home, wrapped in familiar surroundings. A new sense of courage settled over her. She had survived kidnapping at the hands of a vicious lunatic, navigated the treacherous streets of Low Town, and found succor. After she settled her father's affairs, she was determined to put her life back in order. Perhaps she would obey his dying wish and leave Othir, go to Navarre or Highavon. Maybe even find a suitable husband. After this night's events, the idea of remaining in this city had lost its allure.
Ensconced in her thoughts, Josey didn't realize the direction they were taking until