crack or meth in the true world.
Finn walked to the dealer with whom the white-haired Fata from the train had been speaking—a purveyor of jewel-colored toadstools in baskets and bottles—and asked, “Who was that white-haired man?”
The slinky dealer replied, “Narcissus Mockingbird. Don’t be curious about him, pretty thing.”
Finn turned away, recognizing that name—Mockingbird. Dread clutched her.
Moth moved to her side. “Where is Sylvie?”
Finn frantically scanned the crowds of sleek and bizarre Fatas in their punk-retro clothing. Sionnach and his two fox knights had also disappeared. “Where did they go?”
Four figures in fur coats broke from the crowds and Moth whispered, “Wolves.”
“Finn!” Sylvie was pushing toward them, her face pale.
Finn grabbed her hand and, following Moth, they raced toward a set of glass doors leading to a hall displaying Egyptian statues and sarcophagi. They fled through it, up a flight of stairs. As they turned into a narrow gallery with shuttered windows on one side and gargoyle statues holding glowing lanterns, something howled in the shadows at the other end.
Two more figures in fur coats appeared, cutting off their only escape route.
Moth shoved one of the windows open. “Climb.” He slid over the sill, onto the sloping roof, and Finn and Sylvie clambered after. Far below was a valley of urban decay sprinkled with lights. From somewhere in the distance came the sound of a violin. Moving across the rooftop as if he were a cat, Moth advised, “Don’t look down.”
Finn saw broken roofs and the steep canyons between them. The museum seemed to be on a mountain of buildings like one of those tiered cities in Europe.
“Oh hell no.” Sylvie balked. Her eyes were ringed with shadow.
The glass window crashed open behind her, and a young man in a coat of black fur began to climb out. Sylvie whirled and slammed the shutters on the Fata several times, before kicking the dazed wolf back and pushing the shutters closed. She turned.
Finn and Moth were staring at her. Moth murmured, “Maybe we should have let her have that crossbow.”
“Hurry!” Sylvie slid toward them.
Moth led them across the roof. The music from the ruined city below grew louder, a violin solo, eerily isolated.
When Finn recognized the song, she stumbled and steadied herself against a gargoyle.
It was “November Rain,” the first song she’d heard after her sister’s funeral. Reiko had once taunted her with it. As wind whipped Finn’s hair into her face, the night seemed to lighten as clouds tumbled across the stars. Rain began to fall. Moth and Sylvie shouted her name.
“Finn, what are you doing?” Moth strode back to her. “We need to get off this roof.”
He led her back to Sylvie, who looked fierce, her dark hair sleeked to her head.
“Finn,” she said in a too-calm voice. “How come I don’t feel the cold and I can see in the dark? And I’m strong—”
“It’s the elixir, Sylvie.”
“Careful, here.” Moth spoke as if they were soldiers. He stepped over a chasm between two peaked roofs. Sylvie leaped first, neat as a leopard. Finn drew a breath, jumped—
—her boot heel slid on the stone.
Moth’s grip almost broke bones as he caught her hand and dragged her up. She slammed against him, felt the thrumming of his heart, and noticed the bits of gold in his leaf-green eyes as his face came close to hers.
“Thanks.” She quickly drew her hands from his. He nodded and studied her for a moment before turning away.
“Hey,” Sylvie said, her breath coming in hiccups. “I think I found the way down.”
They clambered after her, onto a ledge over the museum entrance. Moth jumped first and reached up to help each of them down onto the pavement. Their hoods up, they hurried into the hall where they’d left Sionnach Ri’s motorcycles.
A few moments later, a grim Sionnach strode toward them, tucking something that looked like a Valentine’s Day heart made from black obsidian into his hoodie. “Where have you been? Lot’s wolves are here.”
“We know,” Finn said with a bit of an attitude. “We’ve been on the roof to get away from them.”
“Your friends left us,” Moth told Sionnach. “Do you know anyone named Narcissus?”
Sionnach shot him a wary look. “Should I?”
When Luce and Merriweather strode into the hall, Sionnach yelled at them in Irish. They yelled back. Merriweather stomped her foot.
A pack of Fatas in jewelry and fur coats broke from the Goblin Market crowds and loped toward them.
“Time to leave.” Sionnach spun around and swung onto his motorcycle.
“I’ll ride with you this time.” Sylvie climbed