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 a muted roar caught her ears. It sounded like a forest of leaves rustling in a windstorm. The streets had become even more fogclogged, the cobbles shrouded under a wispy mantle, but she could tell they were heading away from High Town, away from her home.

She spoke up. "Where are we going? I live on the Esquiline."

The lead watchman removed his helmet. Tall and sturdy, he cut a fine figure in his uniform. He possessed a rugged face, but kind in its own way. His bright hazel eyes gleamed in the lantern light, and Josey found herself wishing he was noble born. With regret, she pushed her thoughts away from that direction. Any man she married would come from a proper family to suit her station.

"Orders, m'lady. We're required to report to our station commander."

He said this with natural aplomb, but tossed a wink to one of his comrades. Josey's throat tightened painfully. Could it have been a twitch or a trick of the light? No, she had seen it. Something whispered in the back of her mind. Caim had said the soldiers at the manor had been after her, but she hadn't believed him. How could she? Who would believe the words of an admitted killer over the honor of the Church's duly appointed officers? Her father had been a great champion of the law. Yet as she walked among her guardians, she took notice of their silence. Shouldn't they be trying to reassure her? Why hadn't they asked for the identity of her kidnapper? They hadn't even made a cursory search for Caim. Her stomach flipped in sickening loops.

Shouts rose and fell in the distance as they passed down an avenue of boarded-up storefronts. Noisome odors mingled with the fog. A stream of brown water trickled across their path, dammed at the center by a large lump. Josey put a hand to her mouth and swallowed as she made out the body of a dead dog, its fur matted and crawling with maggots. Pottery crashed on the street behind them. Throaty laughter cackled in the dark. The watchmen brandished their weapons as they hurried her along.

She clutched the leader's arm. "I am not feeling well. Might we head to High Town at once?"

None of them answered. They turned onto a new street, and a gust of fresh salt air met Josey's nose. She drew in a deep breath to clear the miasma of the streets from her lungs as cobblestones gave way to coarse wooden slats. A boardwalk wended between a row of long whitewashed buildings to her right and the black void of the open sea. The briny air sang with the slap of waves against worn pilings and stone quays. Tall masts of ships secured in their moorings swayed to the roll of the breakers, empty as beggars' bowls.

Josey slowed as the watchmen started down the boardwalk. Their leader tightened his grip on her arm.

"Sir, unhand me!" she shouted aloud in the hope that some sympathetic ear might overhear.

The watchmen laughed, all chivalry dropped from their demeanors. Josey bit down on her tongue as the leader leered at her. How could she have imagined kindness in his brutish eyes? He dragged her along with alarming ease.

At first glance, the harbor was empty of people. Then, a point of yellow light appeared over the spit of an ancient wharf. As she was drawn closer, Josey made out a gang of men gathered under the light. Their coarse laughter echoed through the night air. Josey's legs shook as she spied the symbol emblazoned on their tunic. She would have fallen if she wasn't held up.

Every man wore the golden sunburst of the Sacred Brotherhood.

The lead watchman thrust Josey into the circle of light. Tears ran freely down her face as cruel gazes raked her body. Why was this happening to her? Wasn't it enough that she had lost her father? Must she also be molested by these brigands? She knew what these men lusted after, and knew she was powerless to fight so many of them. She looked around, hoping to spot some passerby, someone who would hear her screams, but they were alone. Her stomach twisted into knots as she realized she should have listened to her father's killer.

A tall man shouldered his way through the crowd. Josey sobbed as a familiar face appeared.

"Markus!"

She tried to go to him, but rough hands threw her down on the pier's hard boards. Josey stared up at Markus, her lips parted in a silent appeal. Spots of blood showed on the bandage wrapped around his neck. One look into his eyes told her that she would find no succor with him. Suddenly, she was terrified for Anastasia.