But Lucie had darted away before Cordelia could stop her—or before James caught sight of her; he’d made his position clear on wandering off alone. Pushing through the crowd until it swallowed her, Lucie bit her lip, guilt and regret weighing like a stone in her chest. Keeping secrets from James, hiding from Daisy—she hated every bit of it. But Malcolm Fade might be Jesse’s only chance. Glancing behind her once to make sure she was out of sight of her friends, she slipped inside the blue tent.

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Matthew said, giving the side of the stall they had just left a lingering kick.

“Nonsense,” said James. “No time spent playing bridge whist with Welsh slate-mine goblins can be truly said to have been wasted. Besides, if I ever want to buy a werewolf-hair rug, I will know exactly where to come.”

The truth was that he was just as discouraged as Matthew. They’d spoken to dozens of vendors and turned up nothing useful yet, but as his parabatai seemed nervous and unhappy tonight, James was treating him with kid gloves. Earlier, James had left Matthew alone for a moment to read a sign directing customers toward UNTOLD MIRACLES OF NATURE, PRESERVED IN THE MOST LIFELIKE MANNER, only to turn back around to see Matthew swiping a bottle of wine from behind the counter of a Sighted mundane who was showing a bottle of horn polish to a faerie customer. By the time James caught back up with him, Matthew had stowed the entire bottle in his coat.

Matthew obviously did not want to be here. He seemed brightly, cheerfully miserable, alternating between chatter and silence. He was drunk already, having emptied his flask and started in on the wine bottle. It was puzzling; James had always wondered why Matthew didn’t seem to care to visit the Market. The Market-goers were a motley and disreputable lot, but Matthew enjoyed nothing more than the company of the motley and the disreputable, in James’s experience at least. Perhaps he was simply worried about Thomas? Especially since Thomas was locked in a room with Alastair Carstairs; James felt Thomas could fend for himself, but he didn’t dislike Alastair as much as Matthew did.

James stopped to consult the directory once again. It had begun to snow—thick flakes drifted down as Matthew wandered over to a display of potions that promised to attract unicorns, whether you were “virginal” or not. He was examining them when Cordelia appeared, white crystals of snow caught like delicate flowers in her red hair.