Not a good sentence. Not a good sign. “I’m bad with pilgrims, Jace. I’ll mystify them with jargon until they run screaming. Look at my personality profile.”

“The profile’s a guide for growth, not a list of limits. You’ll work first with pilgrims we don’t need: fat old men trying to hide their souls from profligate children or twentysomething brides. Prove yourself there and you’ll get more interesting work. In the meantime you’ll be out of sight. And safe.”

He held his hands toward her palms up, not quite wide enough to invite an embrace. Did he know he was approaching her as he would a startled animal? Claude. Gods and hells, why’d he have to bring Claude into it? She remembered fallen cutlery, overturned tables. They only threw words at each other, but once Claude stepped on a broken glass and cut his foot, had to go to the hospital. You’re damaged, Jace might as well have said, or: you are damage.

“It isn’t that bad, Kai. I know you. Give you a goal and you’ll chase it until the sun burns out. The only mistake we’ve made so far is to offer you tasks you knew you could handle.” He approached. She resisted the urge to draw back. He almost grasped her left shoulder, stopped in time and before her flinch, and took her right instead. “Do this for me. Please.”

“I will,” she said.

“Good.” Relief spread across his face, plain and slow as a cloudy dawn. “Twilling knows you’re coming. He’s excited to have someone with your skills on board. You see. Cross-pollination’s good for everyone. We’re much more siloed than we should be around here.”

“I’m not crazy.”

“I know.”

“Okay,” she said, and turned to leave.

“I’m sorry.” His words chased her out the door.

Chapter 8

8

In a week Izza stole three purses, twenty wallets, one piece of wheeled luggage, a handful of religious symbols, a china cat, a hammer, two watches, and three rings. The last ring was the one that got her caught.

Rings were great for stealing—ceremonial rings especially, wedding rings or confirmation rings or university rings or pledge rings to religious orders, rings people wore for years at a time, rings that if they slipped off a finger in a cold bath the bearer would notice at once. Rings that became part of your hand, part of your dreams. Soulstuff nested in that kind of ring. Steal one and you could even pull more of the owner’s soul along, if you were careful and took your time.