The woman pressed a hand on the barrier, then she nodded to the man and they both stepped through.
CHAPTER FIVE
The varieties of thanaturgic thread are many, one of the strongest and rarest being Orcus thread, spun from the tendrils of soul that trail a semblance’s arrival into the Endless Dark. It is also illegal.
—Seamster guidebook
In the shadowsof Flitcroft alley, we stood face-to-face with the woman in the tricorn hat and the man with the crazy red hair. The man had the invertedYneck tattoo I’d seen on the others; her neck was hidden beneath a scarlet infinity scarf. My heart raced. I tried raising my knife, but my arm locked. I realized the ward must be preventing me from trying to fight.
The woman’s belt hung with a long black knife and spools of twine, as did the man’s. But she left them alone and raised her lantern between us. The lantern itself looked like an hourglass with a shining stone at the center and three metal rods connecting its top and base. The lantern had a looping wirehandle, but she was holding it by a pistol grip set into one of the metal rods.
The man raised his lantern, too, its glass protected by a cage of tarnished steel. He whispered, “Burn,” and the stone inside his lantern rose to a bright shine.
Together they seemed to scan my friends’ shadows. Then the woman drew her bow across one of her lantern’s rods. The stone flared and the bow sang another brassy note. She and the man looked down this time atmyshadow, then up at each other, and frowned.
I didn’t know what they saw there, but I suddenly wished I could somehow prevent them from seeing it. All I could think to do was look back attheirshadows—crisp and dark grey and rimmed in gold. There were black spots, too, inside broad patterns of pulsing lights. I’d never imagined a shadow could hold so much inside it, and it scared me that I was seeing it at all now.
Church stepped between us. “You’ve no authority here.”
Cassius stepped up next to him. Blood coated his neck and shoulder, running down his arm and dripping from his knuckles past his lowered sword.
The man uttered a soft word, and his lantern faded, returning us to deep shadows.
Lady pointed her baton toward Henry’s flat. “Has something happened to Mr. Wilkinson?”
The woman smiled. “We’re investigating the events of the evening.
Perhaps you’d like to join us, offer what help you can?” No one moved or spoke.
“Hide behind your ward then,” said the woman. “Soon enough it will tighten around your lovely throats. Until then . . .”
“I should rather imagine,” added the man, looking directly at me, “that you’ll find yourself flushed out in order to account for whatever misfortune has befallen your friend.”
Church patted his satchel. “We welcome any opportunity to account for ourselves. Be sure you’re ready to do the same.”
The man looked from me to Cassius to Cassius’s bindings. Then he and the woman turned, stepped back through the barrier, and continued toward Henry’s flat.
“London has crazy amounts of CCTV,” Chuey said. “And AI-assisted facial recognition software.” He always kept up on the latest tech. “We’ll just tell the cops to check it for these Ren-faire rejects.”
“They’ll never see them for what they are,” said Church.
“Let’s talk about it back at the Horse.” Lady put an arm around Cassius and started down Flitcroft in the other direction.
We followed her back to the pub, where she helped Cassius onto a cot and drew a small, red first aid kit from her bag. She wiped his nasty wound clean with alcohol and set to stitching it.
Chuey shut the door behind us. He pulled down the old-fashioned crossbar, sat near the door, and pulled his rosary from his pocket. Church slid in at his table, placed his satchel beside him on the bench, and reassembled his cane. I dumped my knife in the bar sink and slipped in opposite Church. “Okay, what the hell is going on? Someone needs to talk to me.”
Church fetched his cigar from his inner jacket pocket. “First things first, Jack. Let’s have a look at your chest.”
I lifted my torn shirt. “How does anyone survive a point-blank shot from an S&W 500?”
“You’re sure it was a gun?” Church asked.
“I grew up around guns. And Dad took me to the range most Saturdays.” Chuey came over and poked my sternum. “I think you’re in shock, man. Or you hit your head when you fell. There’s a little blood, but you’re clean, bro.”
“I felt that ghost-faced mother shoot me right here.” I tapped my chest. “You’ll begin to understand it all better, Jack, if you first trust what you cansee.” Lady nodded at the floor, then continued her suturing.
I looked down at the shadows of my friends thrown by all the candles burning on the tables. Church’s and Lady’s shadows were like Cassius’s, faint and blurred at the edges. But in the candlelight, they shimmered like ripples on a moonlit lake. In this light, Cassius’s shadow did the same. Their shadows were lighter than the lantern-bearers’ had been, but like theirs, dark spots interrupted the patterns of shimmering light. The shapes of some of the spots reminded me of the wine-splash birthmark on the back of my neck.
