“Why aren’t you wearing your mask? Won’t they—”

“Spurs don’t sell to Senate affiliations,” said Kit, hustling them along. The gray tendrils in her neck had smoothed to a patina of fine fur and hard ridges. Anji opened her mouth to point it out, but Kit tugged her along, shaking her head. “Don’t ask questions. You’re a new recruit. My subordinate. Got it?”

Anji had a retort ready, but she stopped short as they entered the bathhouse’s shadow. The building was painted a garish red, its shutters closed on all of its four levels. Anji marveled at the woman now taking the crumbling front steps. Kit had truly gone mad with withdrawal if she thought anyone would be inside. But despite its run-down facade, the bathhouse still dominated the entire block like a bruised tongue among the whitewashed structures littered like broken teeth along the street. Harbor bells clanged in the distance. A door down the street slammed shut, and farther off Anji heard the clatter of a cart and horse before both came into view, crossing the intersection then moving out of sight. As they climbed the steps, Anji spotted a chimney topping the square roof, and now that she’d come closer she could see a thick column of steam billowing in a lazy plume from its spout. The wind carried the vapor away as soon as it crested over the metal pipe’s top. Anji rubbed at the back of her neck.

Alright, it’s open at least, she thought, looking around, open in the scrubbiest, scummiest part of town, but still—

The wooden double doors ahead clicked open and a short, balding man in a tiny vest sauntered out, followed by the sounds of muted, murmuring voices and a stringed instrument Anji couldn’t quite place. The brawny doorman barely topped Anji’s shoulder, but the stare he offered as she crested the final step sent a chill up her spine. His eyes scanned Kit up and down, assessing her lank figure, the black scale and tufts of fur beginning to creep up her neck.

“Misses,” said the doorman with a tight bow. “I regret to say we are prioritizing reservations at present. If you like, I can recommend any number of other accommodations for—”

“How much?” said Kit, untying her purse.

The doorman wrinkled his nose. “Madam, as I said before, we are prioritizing—”

“I’m here on Spur business, you stupid little man,” said Kit, her voice hard. “Call the Peak down if you’ve an issue with a sale. I don’t have time to jaw with you.”

The man leveled a look at Kit’s neck—at her reddening eyes, the black crust around her nostrils. He obviously agreed Kit didn’t have much time at all. He straightened his vest and held out a fleshy hand. “For you both, twenty.”