"Fifty," he corrected, and I froze, trying to make sense of his unyielding expression.

"That's more than twice Deangelo's rate!"

He shrugged unapologetically. "So you can do math. Doesn't change the price."

"But it does make you a thief. Especially when I don't know if your work's any good."

"Forger, thief-any more compliments and I'll blush. But here's the bottom line. After what happened to our mutual acquaintance, rates went up. The risk factor is greater. I can't justify putting my neck on the chopping block for twenty pieces." Spex sauntered toward the door. "If you don't like the price, don't take the papers. If you don't trust the product, that's all the more reason to walk away."

Shea muttered something to Spex as Hastings closed up shop. From her tone, I guessed it was an insult, but the words were in the same language the illicit duo had spoken earlier. His heavily lined hazel eyes shifted from smug to cautious; the bald man, on the other hand, appeared not to have heard.

I counted out the coins Spex wanted and handed them over.

"If these papers don't deliver," Shea barked at the departing men's backs, "you'll hear from us. You can count on it."

"Just stay out of trouble, dolls," Spex called as he descended the stairs, then the businessmen were gone.

I tossed Shea my travel documents and she compared them to her new ones. "They look good. Hard to believe, but I think they'll pass."

"I want to know what really happened to Deangelo."

Dust floated around our heads, and I was about to suggest we leave the attic and find a real place to sleep when Shea stopped me with a question.

"Deangelo was your friend?"

"Not really a friend. He was old, sort of hated all living things. But he was dependable. A Faerie who fell in love with money and settled out here after he went on his Crossing."

"Because Spex and Baldy-they were trying to decide if you were Fae."

"What?" I sputtered, the leather folder she'd returned to me slipping through my fingers. It flipped open, and the documents broke away from each other in the manner of grown siblings.

"I speak a little Bennighe," Shea affirmed, helping me to gather the papers. "It was my mother's first language. The big guy asked what Spex saw on you. If you flickered or something like that. I don't know all the dialects. But he meant did you have wings."

I stuffed my passport into my jerkin and ran to the window. Evangeline would have come this way on her Crossing, and Illumina almost certainly had encountered these two. I was lucky enough-if it could be called luck-to be wingless, but my friend and my cousin would have been exactly what Spex was looking for. What did he and Hastings want with Faeries?

Through the coats of dirt on the pane, I could see citizens lighting gas lamps along the street. I surveyed the scene and caught a glimpse of the distinctive pair with whom we'd just done business vanishing around a corner.

"Come on," I ordered, grabbing my coat and pack. Shea did likewise, and we fled the room, eager to see where the forgers were headed.

Leaving The Emporium, Shea and I headed onto the streets, which had the atmosphere of a perpetual holiday despite the cold-everything was prepared and kept to impress guests, including decorative pine wreaths on doors and lampposts that brought sparks of life to the city in the dead of winter. We jogged in the direction Spex and his partner had been going, and identified their destination with relative ease. There was a second inn, this one home to a large and raucous pub, a few blocks away.

The inn was named The Illusion, presumably a jab at the blindness of the Governor's Constabularies to Oaray's underbelly. We went indoors, Shea in the lead, since Spex had spent more time talking to me than to "Mary Archer." I pushed back my hood, not wanting to look suspicious, then tied my reddish-brown hair into a bun to draw less attention to its vibrant color.

With little searching, we found the pair we had followed at an out-of-the-way table, engaged in a discussion with two other men. I examined the faces of the four conspirators and my palms began to sweat. Spex and Hastings were meeting with Fae hunters. I knew because the tall, stringy-haired man who had bound my hands was among them. I hadn't expected to remember any of their faces, but now that he was before me, his features were as recognizable as my own reflection. Based on what Thatcher had told me, the other men were likely his brothers or cousins. Besieged by trembling, I shrank into the shadows along the wall, images of a halberd flashing behind my eyes. My temples pounded, and my body jerked in an attempt to escape the phantom weapon.

I took a few deep breaths, tightening my fists at my sides, part of me wanting to rush forward and attack the culprit and part of me wanting to disappear. Shea said nothing. Her eyes were on our prey, making her oblivious to my struggle.

I gradually regained control of my emotions. There was nothing I could do about the past, however potent it was in my mind, but this meeting made it more imperative than ever to find out what Spex and Hastings might be doing. Their choice of associates left much to be desired.

Feeling tense and short-tempered, I waited with Shea at a dimly lit table near the door until the meeting broke up. The Faerie-hunters departed first, followed shortly thereafter by the odd duo we were trailing. Drinks in hand, Spex and Hastings sauntered by us, though their eyes never flicked in our direction. I frowned, for they stood at a deliberate distance from one another, their demeanors no longer that of friends or even associates. In fact, Spex stared at Hastings with unmistakable animosity.

Not wanting our presence to be detected, Shea and I delayed a bit before trailing them, stepping outside in time to see Hastings snatch the mug from Spex's hands. With a nasty laugh, he dumped the hot drink onto the street, melting the light layer of snow down to the cobblestone.

"What makes you think you get to keep that?" he sneered. "Just 'cause we had a generous customer don't mean you're one of us."

In an effort to listen without being seen, Shea and I slipped into the adjacent alley as the bald-headed man threw the mug away, obviously unconcerned with The Illusion's property. But rather than fight back, which would have been in accordance with his attitude, Spex hooked his thumbs in his suspenders and ignored the insult.

"And by the way," Hastings continued, starting once more down the street. "You keep up this farce of being in charge, me being your stupid sidekick, and I'll make you regret it, boy."

"I'm doing my job," Spex retorted. "Why change the farce when it's working? Besides, you aren't exactly customer friendly."

"Put some respect in that tone or I'll feed you to those ghouls myself."

Fear gnawed at my belly. Had I heard Hastings correctly?

"They're not attack dogs, Hastings. They're Sepulchres. They feed on purity and magic, neither of which I have in abundance. And you say people are supposed to believe you're not my stupid sidekick?"

The bald man's temper flared too quickly for protective measures, and one large hand wrenched Spex's black hair, knocking his hat off his head. I winced, afraid I would hear the snap of the young man's neck. Hastings thrust his associate into the alley wall, and we pulled up our hoods and shrunk farther back, out of range of the streetlights. Alarmed and confused, we watched Spex sink into the snow and wipe at the blood that trickled from his brow.

Hastings guffawed, shaking his head. "Come on, then. Get up."

To my shock, Spex obeyed. He grabbed his top hat and cane before stumbling after his partner as though on a leash, his posture completely devoid of dignity. Hefting my pack, I took a step after them, but Shea grabbed my sleeve.

"Anya, this isn't smart. Something's not right with these two, and I don't want to get in the middle."

"I don't have a choice," I snapped, jerking free of her grip. "I have another cousin, only fourteen years old, who would have come here not long ago. They might have hurt her."

I once more started after Hastings and Spex, only to have Shea throw her arms around me. With a burst of energy, she tugged me backward, and we stumbled over each other in the darkened alleyway.

"Let me go!" I fumed, twisting and turning in a struggle to go after the pair of criminals that was getting farther and farther away.

"Listen to me," Shea gasped, pulling me down beside her in the snow. "If Spex and Hastings think we're onto them, they could hurt us."

"I don't care. They were talking to one of the hunters who hurt me." My tone turned vicious as thoughts of revenge inflamed me. "I'd like to track those men down one by one and truly make them understand what hurt means."

"Then it's a good thing my head's on straight," Shea scoffed, yanking on my collar to snap me to my senses. "They were talking about Sepulchres, multiple Sepulchres. Remember that thing that tried to kill you for your magic? Well, I'm disposed to avoid more of those creatures. Besides, if Spex and Hastings are hunting Faeries, then this operation has to be bigger than just the two of them. There's probably a whole network out there, and it'll take more than you and me to bring it down."

I stared at her, her words pricking me like bee stings. At last grasping her logic, I gazed at the muddy snow beneath my folded legs.

"The sad truth is this, Anya. If your cousin's been snatched, she's not in Oaray anymore. There's too much risk of discovery here. We won't gain anything by playing our hand this soon. We have to hold on to the information until we have more to go on."

I sunk into myself and sprawled on my back on the cold ground, letting the fight drain out of me. My temples were throbbing, and in the center of my forehead there was a tug, urging me down some deep tunnel I instinctively dreaded. I squeezed my eyes shut to chase away the sensation, only to be flooded with vivid images of a place and time I thought I'd left behind.

"I'm sorry if I offended you earlier," said the little girl, her shape so frail and tiny that I couldn't help thinking her a child, though she was but two years younger than me.

"It's all right," I assured her, watching her brush a hand along the indentation in the walls to ignite it. "You didn't offend me."

"I realize that you and Aunt share the same views. But I know why my father believed what he did, and I'm honoring him."

"What do you believe, Illumina?"

She looked up at me, her green eyes almost afraid, though I couldn't fathom the reason. If one of us was to be afraid, it should have been me in light of the things Illumina had said that afternoon in argument with the Queen. Human-lovers were traitors, she had asserted, not peacemakers. If we wanted to ally ourselves with humans, we should leave the Realm of the Fae and roll in the mud with them. Faeries were the elite species, and humans were oxen, and human-lovers floundered in between, not deserving what either side had to offer. She had practically said we pacifists didn't deserve to live. Her words might have given me pause when she'd asked me to come and see her, had I not known that her vehemence in speech was rarely linked to action.

"What are you really asking?" Illumina astutely countered.

"How would you feel if you saw a human in need? A child crying, or a man or woman drowning and calling out to you for help?"

"It doesn't matter what I'd feel. What matters is right and wrong. Humans make ruins of everything they touch. They're a stupid, vile race that should be eliminated like vermin, whether or not they could incite sympathy in me under the right circumstances. That's what it means to be a real warrior-to be able to put aside feelings in favor of the greater good. That's how the world is changed."

"There's no such thing as the greater good if you're busy killing and destroying along the way," I argued, appalled by her logic, the logic instilled in her by Ubiqua's brother, my own uncle. "Besides, who said it was your calling to be a warrior? You're only thirteen. It's not up to you to change the world."

She homed in on me like a bird of prey, coming around the love-carved bench between us with such determination that I backed away.

"Age doesn't matter," she spat. "All that matters is belief, strength, power, and letting nothing stand in your way."

Illumina was breathing heavily, her eyes glistening with angry tears; then she gasped in a lungful of air and her mood abruptly changed. In the blink of an eye, she was the same girl I'd seen upon entering her shelter: a petite, kind, sweet-voiced angel.

"I'm sorry, Anya. I can be so rude sometimes. I don't mean it."

She turned away from me to contemplate the images that covered her walls.

"Why, Illumina? Why do you believe these things?"

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled a little half smile. "Because."

She took hold of the hem of her tunic and lifted it, slowly and purposefully so that her bare back was exposed to me. Scarred into her skin were the words: belief, strength, power, perseverance.

My clearest thought was that she could never have reached to do this to herself.

"Anya, what's this other cousin's name?" Shea asked, shaking my shoulder. Her tone implied this wasn't the first time she had asked the question. She was kneeling beside me, brushing back her snow-dampened hair, concern written all over her face.

"Illumina," I croaked, propping myself up on my elbows. I felt hazy, like I was recovering from too much Sale. I glanced around, trying to clear my confusion. Where exactly was I?

"Well, I hate to be the one to say this," Shea went on, "but it seems you need to decide which cousin is more important to find-Zabriel or Illumina."

Oaray. The alley from which I'd watched Spex and Hastings disappear. I covered my face with my hands, the bitter snow trying to burrow beneath my knuckles, my faculties restored. I needed to find Zabriel, even if it meant abandoning Illumina to some unknown fate. Queen Ubiqua's desires were paramount.

"You're right," I sighed, shifting into a sitting position. "Zabriel is our priority."

Shea nodded and rose to her feet, then extended a hand to pull me up beside her. Clammy and frozen, we trudged back to The Emporium, where I retrieved an actual room key from the berry-crowned blonde at the front desk. As we climbed to the second floor, neither of us in a mood to explore our surroundings, memories of a conversation with my father surfaced, ominous and unsettling. He had hinted that Ubiqua might not have intended for Illumina to return to Chrior. If my young cousin had come into contact with Spex and Hastings, I had an unproven but firm belief that my aunt may have gotten her wish.

I felt ill the entire night we spent in Oaray, suffering from both chills and flashes of heat. The sensation was bizarre-even during my on-and-off recovery at the More house, I hadn't thought of myself as sick. Fae were all but immune to traditional human illness, but Zabriel had described something similar to me. He said fever was like inhospitable weather that got inside you-no shade or water could relieve you.

After dragging myself out of bed in the morning, I dropped off our room key at the front desk, then Shea and I found a little restaurant in which to have breakfast. Thankfully, my symptoms had abated enough that my hands were no longer shaking.

We took seats at a corner table, Shea taking care not to remove her overcoat-her belt full of bullets would have drawn immediate attention since the people of Oaray were so fond of their facade of joviality. The one person who probably wouldn't have noticed was the owner of the restaurant, for he was too busy bickering with another patron to pay us much heed, even as he took our orders.

"I told you," he called over his shoulder while he set down our plates. "I won the bet! I got the goods to prove it." Looking at us as though we were an interruption, he blustered, "Anything else?"

"I'll tip you five pieces if you take that man and show him your winnings," Shea murmured, and I cocked an eyebrow at her, not understanding her purpose. "But just him. Not his friend."

The proprietor examined us with a confounded expression, and I stole a glance behind him. My eyes landed on Hastings and Spex at a far table, and I gave Shea an appreciative nod.

"Oi!" the owner called, turning away from us, apparently having decided he could use some extra jingle. "You come and see what I got right now. I don't have time for all this sniveling and arguing."

With a gruff laugh, Hastings stood, stretching his bulky arms before gripping Spex by the back of his shirt.

"Leave the kid, Hastings," our new accomplice barked. "If anything goes missing from my stash, I want to know who to gut."

Hastings scowled and pushed Spex back into his chair.

"Stay put," he ordered, then he followed the proprietor up a narrow flight of stairs.

I sprang to my feet, not about to waste time, and hastened to the seat Hastings had vacated. Shea followed, taking up the spot on Spex's other side.

"There's a reason he's nothing but a lackey," Spex remarked, referring to his absent companion. "I saw you two come in. I knew what you were going to do before you did."

"What's your interest in Faeries?" I demanded, my voice conspiratorial. "Tell me quick, before your keeper comes back."

Spex's eyeliner was smeared, his hair unwashed. He hadn't changed clothes since last night, whether for lack of an opportunity or for lack of caring, I didn't know. In the morning sunlight that streamed through the windows, he struck me as pathetic. In his defiant eyes, however, was a rejection of my judgment. I didn't know anything about him.

"You got your problems, I got mine, honey," he said, taking a stab at the floor with his cane. "Just leave it alone."

He pulled on his cloak, making to leave, but Shea slammed her hand down on his hat before he could pick it up, crunching the brim. With her other hand, she tugged aside the corner of her coat, revealing a section of her belt. Bullets winked at Spex warningly, and I gave him my best glare. This was quite a game into which we were wading.

Spex pursed his lips and sat back. "You want the truth? I don't give a shit about Faeries. All I do is spot them." He pointed at me. "You used to be one. Lost your wings. I can tell because the magic is floating around you. I'm a resource for some important people, and that's all. If you want real answers, talk to Hastings. Good luck, mind you."

"What happens to the Faeries you identify?" I persisted.

Spex had answers he wasn't giving up. I glanced at the cut on his forehead from when Hastings had thrown him into the wall, wondering if reopening it would encourage his cooperation. Normally, I wouldn't have considered violence, but I'd hit the man lusting after Shea in Strong, and this fellow disgusted me even more. He'd described himself as a resource, as though that were an honorable profession. He was nothing more and nothing less than a hunter's accomplice.

"I don't know," he replied, the words punctuated, and I had the impression he'd read my mind. "Now get out of here before he comes back. Unless you want to get me killed."

"Why should we care?" Shea sneered.

"Because Hastings will kill you, too." Spex was growing desperate, hazel eyes darting about the room, body bent toward the staircase from which Hastings would emerge as he strained to listen for footsteps. "What is it you want from me?"

I took a breath, abandoning my frustration with him. He was a prisoner of some kind, not the threat I imagined him to be.

"I need to know if you identified two Faeries, both female. One has long black hair and is small, younger than us. You might have noticed scars on her body. She would have been through here about three weeks ago."

Spex shook his head. "Haven't had a Faerie besides you in the last month. Doesn't sound familiar."