The boy fidgeted in his chair, and for a moment Anji thought he was about to leave, but he stayed put, fingering his spoon, rocking it back and forth.

“Are you gonna kill us?”

“Berip,” snapped Jared, “it isn’t nice to—”

The pot on the stove sputtered, steam hissing up around the lid. The lid toppled over and yellow foam bubbled over the rim.

“Nine!” Berip shot up from his chair, eyes wide, and scurried around the clutter and up onto his stool again.

Jared rose from the table as Berip fussed and cursed over the soup.

“Berip, what did I—”

“It’s fine! I like it like this!” Berip made a shooing motion with one hand while he stirred the pot, a gesture that made him look older than what Anji guessed couldn’t be more than twelve years.

Jared sighed, then raised an eyebrow to Anji and motioned at the kitchen door and the common room beyond.

“I’ve got something out here I need a hand with—I mean.” His jaw dropped and he slapped a palm to his forehead. “Nine, I’m sorry, I only meant—”

A muscle twitched in Anji’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it,” she said, lifting herself gently from the chair. “I guess I’ll have to get used to that. I don’t know how much use I’ll be, but I suppose I owe you.” She didn’t feel much like doing any physical labor, but the kitchen was stifling and filling with more smoke and steam the longer she sat there. She wanted some air.

“Excellent,” Jared said, then he rounded on Berip. “Turn the heat down and keep stirring, Berip. Not everyone likes crust on their soup.”

Berip waved them out, little teeth dug into his bottom lip as he stirred.

Chapter 27

27

The common room was still empty, but the fire in the corner had been stacked to a merry roar. A poster identical to the ones she’d seen plastered on the buildings outside was tacked to the brick above the mantel, depicting a Dredger crawling toward the viewer with a red-eyed, snarling face. The caption underneath read the same as it had in the bar so many days past. Anji heard a clink behind her and whirled to see Jared shutting the door to the kitchen with one hand and offering two green vials of dark powder in the other.

The vials rolled to a stop in Jared’s outstretched hand, and Anji looked up at him, confused. “I don’t—”

“Not for you,” he said, jerking his chin to the ceiling. “I saw the black phlegm she hacked up on the steps when I went out to get that bag of hers. She’s thinner than I’ve ever seen her. I haven’t checked under her clothes, but judging by her weight and the rattle in her throat, she’s started to turn.”