Before he could speak, she set a finger to her lips. He closed his mouth. Izza thanked whoever was responsible that she was a girl, and skinny. She might be a threat, but she didn’t look it. If she’d been larger, or a boy, Margot might have cried for help before he recognized her.

“Pick up your pen,” she said.

“What?”

“Your pen,” she repeated.

He looked down. In surprise he’d let the pen droop to paper, and a pool of green ink had welled around the tip. He wiped the pen and slid it into a metal stand. “Thank you.”

“Do you know me?”

He nodded. “From dreams. And”—hasty, remembering their last meeting—“the police station. The girl whose name isn’t Marthe.”

“That’s right.”

“You sought me.”

“You’re not hard to find.”

“Artists learn not to be. Obscurity is our mortal enemy. I’ve seen minstrels in Palatine stand between lanes of traffic, holding their sonnets overhead.” He mimed in miniature, hands not higher than his eyes. “Painted on pine boards, you know. Dripping. Atrocious calligraphy. The word ’God’ ends up indistinguishable from ’gad.’”

“Good poems?”

“Not as a rule.”

She leaned back against the balcony. “How did you find me at the watch station?”

“Visions,” he said, and covered his mouth, and coughed. “As I said.”

“Visions of the Blue Lady?”

Drunks stumbled down the alley behind her, singing sea shanties off-key. Margot’s eyes were the same shade as the ink spilled from his pen. Fear showed in the green, under light. “I hadn’t dreamed of her for weeks. You understand? Find the love of your life. Fear her at first. Welcome her into your mind, your work. And one morning, wake to find you’ve lost her for good. You cannot even dream her anymore. Watch your fame grow in her absence as you struggle to mate dead words on dry paper. Then, when you stand drunk in a spotlight reciting stale work, you see a vision, strong and clear as yours used to be—a girl, in danger.”

“You saw her.” Izza had not meant to whisper. “That night.”

“I didn’t,” he said. “I saw you. I knew where you were, and I tried to help. I thought you could lead me to her again.”

She’d felt nothing since the Lady died. No presence, no dreams. But Cat said ties still bound the faithful, even once their gods were gone. If so, she’d never be free, no matter how far she ran. Unless she gave the Lady up forever.

“Please,” Margot said. “Tell me about the Blue Lady. I miss her. Where did she go?”