Philippa was still an informant, and I still a detective. We had business matters to discuss between us—and that’s all they would be. Business with nothing between them, the business of minding the city and making sure we didn’t get killed doing it, the business that Usher and Robin were taking up back in the morgue, hopefully without any blood spilled or dreams shattered. And if we were gingerly avoiding any mention of ourselves, stepping around the potholes and pitfalls and lingering too long on the other’s words—well, that was just business too.

She leaned back against the rail, tilting her head up to the sun. “You’re not paying me for my work, Starling.”

“Oh,” I said. Maybe she was more committed to business than I was. “Right. Information as currency. Well, I’m not cutting in on any of your other businesses, so you can keep selling to Drakon and the city and god knows, maybe Jabberwock when they come calling-”

“The problem I find there,” she said, “is that you have a habit of spilling information out of your pockets to the most recent person you’ve pissed off.” She waved a hand at my annoyance. “Oh, I’m not calling it a character fault. I’m saying trouble dogs your heels and unfortunately enough you manage to drag it before me. Who can buy knowledge of Robin or her whereabouts from me, say, when they face an easier game walking to your office and goading you there?”

“You wouldn’t sell that. And I’m not as bad as you say.”

She shook her head. “You succeed. You stay on top.” Lucky formed on the tip of her tongue before she got rid of it. “But you’re a right idiot with something else on your mind.”

“Turns out having a kid to mind is rough. I don’t dare ask Usher whether I was really this bad, because I know that I was. And I’ve promised to shape the city for her, too, so maybe I’d better take up architecture. Somewhere safe and happy where this goddamned sun sticks around for more than afternoon. I miss weather that didn’t fall from the sky to greet you and I barely remember it.”

For a moment, it seemed like that vision of the city danced in her eyes. “That’s why I’ll give you one last thing for free,” she said then, as though I hadn’t spoken at all. “You’ve picked up a tail.”

“Really? When?”

“Few days ago. Just after you met with Conjager the first time.”

“I lost a tail then, though. One of his officers who was getting a little too pushy with it for his own good. Maybe it wasn’t the best or most productive way of losing it, but…um…maybe I should just shut up and listen to you.”

Her glare was withering like an artillery strike. “Yes, Starling. That sounds like a wonderful idea, listening to me for once. Especially since next time you’ll be paying for the privilege. This tail is cleverer than Conjager’s—they seem to anticipate your movements, move adjacent to you rather than behind. Maybe you would not even know, except that-” She held her hand out over the city, the glimpses into a hundred streets we had from up here- “you can see everything, when you want. The patterns coalesce where they might otherwise not.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Sounds useful,” I said. “And maybe I gotta show this tail a thing or two, that I don’t appreciate being screwed with.”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it.”

“Seeing it-?”

“I’m staying, Starling. I’m not going back to the morgue with you. But…” She winked. “I’ll be watching.”

***

The doorman of the skyscraper gave me an irritated glance as I exited alone—as clear a sign of get out of my house as I was going to get. I made a gesture at him inside my coat that would have gotten me knifed dockside before I walked out onto the high street. No sign of a tail, no sign of someone idling where they shouldn’t have been. It would have been too easy, especially with what Philippa had told me, but I thought that maybe I deserved easy for once. I deserved a hell of a lot more than whatever I was getting, that was for sure.

I stuck my hands in my pockets and began to walk off, perpendicular to the direction from which we’d come. The neighborhood wasn’t as familiar to me as I would have liked—but one advantage of the glitzy polished gold adorning every building up here was that it was damned easy to study the reflections. I stopped to light a cigarette, taking the time and the little flare-up of flame to examine the street behind me. Nothing…nothing…wait. I hissed out smoke between my teeth to give my eyes time to focus.

About a street back, then, they were. Probably running a street over, too. Classic trick—but in the wide, separated streets of this district, hard to avoid. I couldn’t see them when they were tracking me parallel, and they could be assured I wouldn’t duck away. Unless I knew they were there. Then things got interesting.

I spotted what I was looking for—a tall, marble archway, engraved in an incomprehensible language, with neat stairs spiraling to the district below. I slunk down them as though without a care in the world, taking the long and scenic route back to the morgue. I made sure I was visible at the bottom, smoldering cigarette still clutched between my fingers, making my way into the thinner streets and flimsier, cramped buildings that dominated here. These were, usually sneeringly, known as the Sun Stairs for their gold embellishment; after all, just a block away were the Moon Stairs, where all the real traffic flowed up to the rich circles. Today it was Dragon—it’d been Luna, more fittingly, up and down the Moon Steps just a few years ago.

Anyone coming down the Moon Steps could see the Sun Steps, but not vice versa. My tail could watch me descend the stairs and continue into the streets, until I was hidden from their view behind a furniture repair shop. It’d be at least a full minute before I reappeared at the next intersection.

I stopped. I tossed the cigarette to the ground in a puddle of water. Then I bolted back up the Sun Stairs as fast as I could manage, skidding on my heel at the top to reach the Moon Stairs. These were shabbier, and one of their railings had cracked and fallen through in disrepair. Perfectly preserved, then. Nobody had bothered to fix it in nine years.

Muscle memory saved me, then. The Starling who’d been in Luna knew how to run these steps; Starling Hexel the detective didn’t. I took them four at a time and nearly broke my knee on the final one, stumbling and grabbing for the nonexistent rail. Damn! I’d have been so much faster when Luna was around—although, then I was usually running from someone rather than towards someone.

This part of the city was busier. But ahead of me, I saw a figure in dark clothing glance left and right, then slip away to the right. My breath was starting to protest, but I managed the run to where they’d been standing before I stumbled to a halt. I did an impressive mimicry of my tail, casting the same looks all around the street—but there was no sign of where they’d gone. Just a faint smell that didn’t fit—the sterile, acidic tang of bleach and antiseptic, slowly fading without a source.

There was only one nightmare I’d ever seen who could leave that sensation lingering in the air so long. It was Jabberwock tailing me here—it was Fletcher.