“What do you think?” Shim asked, smirking as he watched her stare at the crowded village streets. Errol was nowhere to be seen, having scuttled into one of the many inner pockets of Shim’s cloak.

“I think humans are all mad,” she said.

“We can agree on that. And yet you’re one of them. Not that I can talk. This is nothing compared to the Mordrin Bazaar in Chychrun. Every day, more people pass through than flies.”

“I can’t even comprehend that many people.”

“It’s for the best. People are loud, and smelly, and generally obnoxious.”

“Is that why you left Zibanejad?”

“Gods no,” Shim said with a laugh. “I loved every minute living in Chychrun. Let’s just say, I made a few mistakes that pissed off the wrong kind of people. It was either leave or be fanged.”

“Fanged?” Soraya said, having never heard the word used as a verb before.

“I always forget that you grew up in the Rocklands. You have much to learn.” He opened his mouth and let his fangs flash out from his gums, there for a moment and then gone again. She’d never seen him do that, not even when he’d battled the bear. “The venom will put a human or animal to sleep for a while. It doesn’t work on those who’ve partaken of Narcissi’s blood, however, which is why I couldn’t use it against the bear.”

That made sense, Soraya supposed. “So you fled your home because you were afraid of being made to take a long nap?”

“Ah, not exactly. To my kind, the venom is deadly. Strictly speaking, fanging in Zibanejad is akin to murder, highly illegal. But the ilk I’d made the mistake of crossing didn’t care much about laws.”

“Then how did you end up in Lostwood?”

Shim, whose snakelike features were hidden beneath a hooded cloak that failed to mask his tapestry of red-and-black skin, waved away the question. “That’s a story for another time.”

Soraya scanned the crowded marketplace, her gaze drifting past buildings packed tightly together that, at first glance, had seemed normal. Upon further inspection, however, she noticed several oddities. For one, the windows were all boarded up. The work appeared haphazard at best, rushed at worst, the planks of wood planted into position crookedly, with a plethora of gaps. There was something else unusual about the barricaded windows. Some of the glass was broken, the wooden barriers scratched rather badly, like someone had dragged four knives across their surface. People are dying in the city of Seer, Cintra had told them.

“I see them,” Shim said, as if his mind had just completed the same circuitous route as hers. “I’m glad we came here. Something is amiss. The last time I was here, Seer was thriving. Now there’s something in the air…” He sniffed, as though picking up a scent. “So much fear.”