“We can’t. Because if we do, then our window disappears.” Kit crossed the room to stand in front of him, hands clasped behind her back. “You want what I’m offering? This is your shot. Screw it up, and there won’t be another.”

Gyre looked up into her eyes, alight with mischief, a slight grin on her lips. For a moment he was back in the tunnels, surrounded by bandits, her blaster fire the spark that ignited a sudden flare of steel and blood. Doomseeker.

He’d followed her this far. But—

“I can’t,” he said.

“You told me you’d do anything to get to the Tomb,” Kit said, her voice quiet and dangerous.

“I’ve seen precious little evidence that you can actually take me there,” Gyre said.

“Ah.” Kit regarded him in silence for a moment, then straightened up. “Tell you what. Come with me, and I’ll show you something.”

*

Gyre wasn’t sure where he’d expected Kit to lead him, but it hadn’t been here.

They’d caught a cab together, and Kit had directed the driver north and west, away from the Pit and toward the strip of manufactories and warehouses. The border between the industrial area and the residential part of the city was a ragged wound. A few small brick buildings stood together in isolated outposts where all their fellows had been knocked down to make way for encroaching industry, like the last clumps of trees on a logged-out plain.

Their cabbie deposited them in front of one of these buildings, a simple two-story town house now without its neighbors. A crust of broken bricks on one side showed where another structure had been shorn away. The walls were carved with graffiti, and all the windows had been boarded up long ago.

“Here?” Gyre said.

“Appearances can be deceptive.” Kit clapped him encouragingly on the shoulder. “Try to make a good impression.”

“Who, exactly, are we meeting? Your clients?”

“You’ll see.”

She strode up to the front door and rapped. For a moment there was no response, and then Gyre heard the scrape of a bar pulling away, and the door swung very slightly inward. Kit pushed it the rest of the way open, but Gyre could see nothing but a heavy black curtain behind it.

“Come on,” Kit said. “It’s safe. Probably safe.”

She found a seam in the curtain and slipped through. Gyre hesitated for a moment, then followed. The cloth was thick and utterly black, in several layers, folding and whispering around him. When he finally got free of it, he found himself in total darkness. His groping hands encountered Kit, and he kept hold of her shoulder.

“Kitsraea.” The voice that came out of the darkness was female, soft and musical, with the precise diction of someone speaking a foreign language. “Welcome back. You decided to take the risk, then.”