Vesper stumbled as Blair yanked them into a narrow alley between two towering buildings. The bustling sounds of the Bizarre faded, replaced by the soft drip of water and whispers of magic seeping from the stones. Her eyes adjusted to the gloom, picking out weathered symbols etched into the bricks.

  “My contact operates in less…legitimate circles,” Blair said, checking over her shoulder. “But she’s got solid connections, including to the Nightweaver.”

  Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Brilliant. Because dealing with black market traders always ends well.”

  “We haven’t got time to be precious about our sources.” Blair’s watch vibrated, casting a faint blue glow. “The crystal’s our last piece. Unless you’ve got a better idea?”

  “There’s always another way that doesn’t involve⁠—”

  “Really?” Vesper raised an eyebrow at Rafe. “What about your little operation bringing things through the Fold from London?”

  “That’s different.” Rafe crossed his arms. “I deal in Jaffa Cakes and Dairy Milk bars. Hardly Class A substances, is it? The worst thing that happens is someone gets a sugar rush.”

  “Still illegal,” Blair pointed out.

  “Because the Concordat’s import laws are ridiculous. They’d have you believe a pack of chocolate Hobnobs could bring down civilisation.” Rafe’s eyes rolled skyward. “Meanwhile, actual dark artefacts slip through daily.”

  Vesper traced her fingers over the ancient symbols carved into the alley walls. The stone thrummed with a familiar resonance, like the one she’d felt in Selene’s archive. Her skin tingled as wisps of magic curled around her fingertips.

  “These markings,” she murmured. “They’re protection wards, but different from the ones at Thornhallow.”

  Rafe nodded. “Older. From before the Concordat standardised magical practices.”

  A shadow flickered at the end of the alley. Vesper’s hand instinctively went to the dagger at her hip—the one Rafe had given her on their first visit to the Bizarre. The movement drew his attention, and their eyes met briefly before he looked away.

  “Your contact,” Vesper kept her voice low, “how do they know the Nightweaver?”

  “They don’t.” Blair checked her watch again. “No one really knows the Nightweaver. But they know how to arrange a meeting.”

  “Assuming they show up at all.” Rafe’s shoulders tensed as another shadow passed by the alley entrance.

  The air grew thick with magic, pressing against Vesper’s skin like static before a storm. Her Resonant abilities picked up fragments of spells woven into the very fabric of these hidden paths—ancient magics that felt nothing like the ordered power of Thornhallow Manor.

  “Remember,” Blair whispered, “let me do the talking. And whatever you do, don’t make any deals without discussing terms first.”

  They moved through the alley, emerging into a different section of the Bizarre. Here, a long row of shops selling gold and silver trinkets took up most of the space, while a vendor selling roasted chestnuts lingered on the corner calling out his prices.

  As they made their way along the glistening street of gold, the hairs on Vesper’s neck stood on end. A familiar tingle of magic brushed against her senses—oily and wrong, like ink spreading through water. She’d felt that corrupted signature before, when Cassandra’s magic had infected the Threads leading into the Fold.

  Her steps faltered. The sensation pulsed stronger, a discordant note that made her stomach churn. Beyond the press of market-goers and beneath the glow of enchanted lanterns, shadows moved with too much purpose.

  “Rafe,” she whispered, resisting the urge to grab his arm. The last thing they needed was to alert their pursuers.

  He caught her tone, his shoulders tensing. “What is it?”

  “We’re being followed.” Vesper kept her voice low, pretending to examine a stall of carved bone trinkets. Through the reflection in a polished mirror, she glimpsed three figures weaving through the crowd. Their movements were too coordinated, too precise. “D’Arco’s people. I can feel their magic—it’s got the same taint as Cassandra’s.”

  Blair’s hand drifted to her waist where Vesper knew she kept her police issue gun in a hidden holster. “How many?”

  “At least three.” The corrupted magic signatures made her skin crawl. Like fingers of shadow trying to hook into her own power. “Behind us, moving in a pattern.”

  Through another reflection—this time in a window displaying golden figurines—Vesper caught a better glimpse of their pursuers. They wore plain clothes that helped them blend with the market crowd, but their movements betrayed training. Military precision disguised as casual browsing.

  The magical taint grew stronger. Either more had joined the pursuit, or they were closing in. Vesper’s stomach clenched as one of the shadows broke formation, angling to cut them off ahead.

  Vesper caught Rafe’s eye and jerked her head toward a narrow gap between two shopfronts. Without breaking stride, she guided them into the shadowed passage, away from the bustling market street.

  “Bloody hell.” Rafe pressed his back against the weathered stone. “Don’t they ever learn?”

  The alley stretched deep into darkness, ancient buildings pressing close on either side. Vesper’s fingers traced the rough wall, finding more of those old protective runes carved into the stone.

  “I can create a distraction.” Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Use my Resonant abilities to scatter false echoes—make them chase shadows instead of us.”

  Blair’s hand caught her wrist. “Too risky. We don’t know what they’re capable of.”

  “We’re running out of options.” The corrupted magic signatures pulsed stronger, drawing closer like predators scenting blood. “We can’t risk another fight in the open, not if we want to contact the Nightweaver. I can do this.”

  Before either could protest further, Vesper closed her eyes and reached for that well of power within. The familiar opalescent glow flickered beneath her skin as she extended her awareness outward, preparing to cast false echoes of their presence through the marketplace.

  Something shifted. The corrupted signatures sharpened, their oily wrongness suddenly focused with laser precision. Something hooked into her consciousness, yanking her sideways into a vision.

  Silver hair gleamed in the shadow-touched lamplight. Cassandra’s features twisted into a predatory smile, her dark eyes holding an unsettling white sheen. The woman’s presence pressed against Vesper’s mind like ice water trickling down her spine.

  Found you, little Resonant.

  The words weren’t spoken aloud, but Vesper felt them reverberate through her bones. Cassandra’s form wavered like smoke, the edges of her bleeding into darkness. Dark veins spider-webbed across her temples, pulsing with corrupted power.

  Vesper tried to pull back, to slam shut the connection between them, but Cassandra’s magic had already latched on—oily tendrils of power trying to sink deeper into her consciousness. Through their linked awareness, Vesper glimpsed more figures moving through the marketplace. Not three pursuers, but seven, all connected by threads of shadow to Cassandra’s will.

  The vision fractured as Vesper wrenched herself free, gasping as reality snapped back into focus. The narrow alley walls pressed close, and her skin felt clammy with cold sweat. The opalescent glow beneath her skin winked out, leaving her feeling hollow and exposed. Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as the pieces clicked into place.

  “She’s watching me.” The words came out in a horrified whisper. Her hands clenched into fists, trembling with equal parts fury and fear. “Every time I use my magic, Cassandra can see me.”

  Rafe steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “What?”

  “I saw her. Just now, I saw her.”

  “But they haven’t tried to take the components.” Blair’s eyes narrowed as she peered down the darkened alley. “The thorn, the water—they’ve had opportunities.”

  “Because they don’t need to.” Vesper’s stomach churned as understanding dawned. “They’re waiting for us to do all the work. To complete the ritual.”

  “Then swoop in and take the Echo once we’ve done the heavy lifting.” Blair’s lip curled. “How efficient of them.”

  Vesper pressed her palms against the rough stone wall, focusing on the texture to ground herself. The urge to reach for her magic itched beneath her skin, but she forced it down. Every time she’d used her abilities, she’d unknowingly sent up a flare announcing their location.

  “I can’t use my powers.” The words tasted bitter. “Not until we figure out how to shield them from Cassandra. She’s probably watching right now, waiting for me to slip up.”

  The corrupted magical signatures still lurked at the edges of her awareness, but they felt less focused now that she’d pulled her power back. Like predators that had momentarily lost the scent of their prey.

  “We need to move.” Rafe’s voice was tight with urgency. “They know where we are.”

  They slipped out of the alley and between stalls of shimmering fabrics. The press of bodies and cacophony of merchant calls provided cover, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Without her magic to guide them, she felt half-blind. How quickly she’d come to rely on her magic…

  Blair grabbed her elbow, yanking her sideways as a shadow passed overhead. “Down here.”

  They ducked beneath a string of copper bells into a cramped passage between two shops. The walls pressed close, forcing them to move single file. Vesper’s boots splashed through puddles that reflected the dim glow of enchanted lanterns above.

  Blair led them through a maze of increasingly narrow alleys. Left, right, doubling back occasionally to confuse any trail. The detective moved with practised ease, as if she’d memorised every twist and turn.

  “Watch your step,” Rafe warned as they crossed a section where the cobblestones had partially collapsed. “The tunnels run right beneath us.”

  Vesper picked her way carefully across the unstable ground. The corrupted magical signatures felt more distant now, spread thin as their pursuers searched the wrong sections of the market.

  “They’re gone,” she murmured. “Looking on the other side of the market.”

  “Good,” Blair said. “We’re almost there.”

  They emerged into a small courtyard tucked between three weathered buildings. Strings of dried herbs hung from rusted hooks, and the walls bore faded advertisements for leather goods. In one corner, beneath a sagging wooden awning, a hooded figure waited.

  “Told you my contact would come through.” Blair raised her hand in greeting. “Wait here.”

  Vesper watched Blair approach the hooded figure, her shoulders tense despite her casual stride. The contact’s face remained shadowed, but something about her bearing set Vesper on edge. Power radiated from the woman in subtle waves—not the corrupted magic of their pursuers, but something older and wilder.

  The woman’s hood shifted as she tilted her head, revealing sharp features and eyes that seemed to catch every flicker of movement. Her gaze swept over Vesper and Rafe, lingering a fraction too long. A knowing smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  Blair leaned in close, her words too quiet to catch. The contact’s response came in barely more than a whisper, yet each syllable seemed to hang in the air like smoke. Vesper caught fragments of their exchange—something about shadows and timing, about leaving the right signs in the right places.

  From her sleeve, the woman produced a piece of parchment, folded into precise triangles. The paper itself seemed to absorb light, its surface swimming with barely visible symbols that made Vesper’s eyes water when she tried to focus on them.

  Blair accepted the note with a curt nod. “Much obliged.”

  The contact’s smile widened, revealing teeth that gleamed too white in the shadows. Without another word, she stepped backward into a narrow passage between two of the neighbouring buildings. One moment she was there, the next she had vanished completely, leaving only the lingering sensation of ancient magic in her wake.

  Vesper watched the hooded figure’s departure, her mind already racing ahead to their next move. Through gaps between the weathered buildings, she glimpsed the vibrant chaos of the Bizarre—merchants hawking their wares, magical lights dancing between stalls, the press of bodies moving like a living tide.

  The sight sparked a memory: Ash’s shop, with its towering shelves and brass reading lamps, the air thick with preservation spells and the earthy scent of his endless cups of tea. If anyone knew how to mask magical signatures…and he could be trusted.

  “Got the protocol,” Blair said, rejoining them. “Now we can contact the Nightweaver and have a little chat about a certain crystal.”

  “I need to see Ash,” Vesper said, turning back to Rafe and Blair. “He might know ways to shield Resonant magic. His whole shop is built on preservation and protection spells.”

  “Who’s Ash?” the detective asked.

  “Ash de Brigue,” Rafe told her. “He owns a rare bookshop here. He helped mentor Vesper ahead of the third trial.”

  “He knows everything,” Vesper added. “And can be trusted.”

  Blair’s hand strayed to her watch, its surface gleaming. “The Nightweaver won’t wait forever.”

  “Then we split up. You two work on arranging the meeting while I see what Ash can do about Cassandra’s tracking.” Vesper touched the silver pendant at her throat, drawing comfort from the familiar weight. “We can’t risk her watching every move I make. If I go with you, she’ll follow. I can only hope that she hasn’t found the archive. If not, I can’t lead her back there.”

  Rafe stepped closer, his voice low. “You sure about this?”

  “Ash knows more about magical theory than anyone else in Nightreach. He taught me how to understand my magic.” She met his concerned gaze. “And right now, we need every advantage we can get. We can’t let them ruin the ritual and take the Echo.”

  “She’s got a point,” Blair said to Rafe. “We need Vesper’s magic for this plan to work. The ritual, using the Echo… She needs to mask her magic.”

  Vesper narrowed her eyes. She’d just become a massive liability. “Rafe, if they can track me, they can take me.”

  His expression softened. “I know.”

  Blair placed a reassuring hand on Vesper’s shoulder. “Once we’ve got the crystal, we’ll head back to the archive.”

  Vesper nodded. “Okay. I’ll meet you there.”

  Rafe caught Vesper’s arm before she could leave, his fingers gentle but insistent against her sleeve. The worry lines around his eyes deepened as he studied her face. “Be careful. If Cassandra’s watching…” His voice dropped lower. “I don’t like the idea of you going alone.” The tension in his shoulders betrayed how much it cost him to let her walk away.

  Vesper’s hand found the ornate hilt of her dagger—the one he’d pressed into her palm that first day in the Bizarre, insisting she learn to defend herself. “You taught me all the best places to stab someone, remember?” Her thumb traced the familiar handle. “Besides, Ash’s shop is one of the safest places in Nightreach. More wards than Thornhallow, even if they’re not as showy.” The ghost of a smile tugged at her lips as she patted his arm. “Stop worrying. I’ll be fine.”

  “No magic⁠—”

  “No magic until we’re certain Ash can help.”

  He stared at her, his eyes betraying his conflict.

  “C’mon,” Blair said. “We need that crystal ASAP.”

  They emerged from the courtyard separately—Blair and Rafe heading deeper into the market’s shadows. Vesper waited a few moments before stepping out herself, letting the crowd’s flow carry her toward the familiar stretch where Brigue & Sons waited.

  Chapter 14

  Ember hurried through the gloom of the dusty back passage, her breathing shallow.

  The usual bustle of Thornhallow felt muted here in the forgotten passages. Portraits of long-dead witches hung silent, their frames coated in decades of dust, their animation charms long faded. She paused at an intersection, pressing herself against the wall as voices drifted past.

  “Three hours.” A guard’s boots clicked against the floor in the adjacent hallway. “High Witch’s orders are clear—they’ll send a delegation at dawn.”

  Ember’s jaw clenched. The execution wasn’t about justice—it was Beatrice tying up loose ends. The evidence in the trial chamber proved the High Witch’s manipulation went deeper than anyone suspected. Anyone meaning Marina and now her.

  And if Marina was gone, then Ember didn’t stand a chance at bringing down Beatrice.

  A rat scurried past her feet as she descended a narrow spiral staircase. The temperature dropped with each step, the dank air heavy with old magic. The rear entrance to the cells lay ahead, behind three layers of protective wards.

  The first ward recognised her as a member of the Concordat. The second would alert the guards. The third…Ember withdrew a small crystal from her pocket, one she’d prepared after discovering Beatrice’s deception. It contained a copy of the High Witch’s magical signature—not perfect, but enough to fool the wards for a few precious minutes.

  Her heart hammered as she pressed the crystal to the final barrier. The ward shimmered, tasting the magical signature. One wrong move and every guard in Thornhallow would descend upon her.

  The barrier rippled like water and parted.

  Ember slipped through, the cold intensifying as she entered the prison proper. Marina’s cell waited at the end of the corridor—and with it, the truth about how deep Beatrice’s betrayal truly ran.

  The shadows deepened around Ember as she crept forward. Two guards stood at attention near Marina’s cell, their silver-trimmed armoured uniforms marking them as elite members of the Concordat’s security force. Forces that should be maintaining the Fold, not standing around in corridors.

  A twist of her fingers sent a tendril of magic towards the nearest lamp. The enchanted flame sputtered, casting wild shadows across the stone walls. She wove the spell with delicate precision—too much power would trigger the wards, too little wouldn’t draw their attention.