“Technically, but there is quite an underground trade in the stuff,” said Anna. “Old steles and the like fetch a price at the Shadow Market. Not many can work the material, but it has potency as a catalyst for magic.”

“Well, there it is,” James said. “We must go to the Shadow Market. It’s in Southwark, isn’t it? Near St. Saviour’s?”

Lucie winked at Cordelia across the table. Cordelia had always wanted to go to a Shadow Market—transitory bazaars where Downworlders gathered to hawk enchanted wares, conduct business, and gossip. Many different cities had Shadow Markets, but Cordelia had never had the opportunity to visit one.

Matthew took a long drink from his flask. “I despise the Shadow Market.”

James looked puzzled. Of course, Cordelia recalled with a jolt. The potion Matthew had bought, which had nearly killed his mother—it had come from the Shadow Market. But James didn’t know that. No one else knew but her.

“Besides,” said Matthew, “if we go around asking who sells demonic adamas, I’m sure that won’t bring us any unwanted attention.”

“Well, we’ll need to be careful about it,” said James. “But adamas is valuable. And where else are valuable magical items bought and sold and appraised? I can’t think of anywhere else we might find someone with that sort of expertise, not on such short notice.”

Christopher brightened, excited by the prospect. “Capital idea. The sun’s nearly down; we can go straightaway.”

“Alas, I cannot join you,” Anna said, rising gracefully from her chair. “I have patrol tonight.”

As the rest of them gathered their things to leave, Cordelia noticed Lucie giving Anna an odd look. It was the sort of look that meant Lucie knew something that she wasn’t saying. But what on earth could she know about Anna? Cordelia wondered briefly if she should ask, but she was distracted by Matthew, who was refilling his flask from one of the bottles on the sill.

His hands trembled slightly. Cordelia wished she could approach him, say something comforting, but what he had told her was a secret. She must pretend as if she saw nothing wrong.

Troubled, she followed the others out of the tavern.

Lucie leaned out the window of the carriage she was sharing with Cordelia as they approached the southern end of London Bridge. The scent of the Market was on the air: incense and spices, hot wine and a charred smell like burning bone. Night had only just fallen, and the sunset brushed the sky with copper and flame. It was one of those times, Lucie thought, when the world seemed improbably big, and full of possibilities.