They clipped down a hallway bordered by archways, some curtained off and some that opened out into more private versions of the front room, with people in various states of undress. There were also closed doors, behind which sounds emanated that made Jude blush despite himself. A few of the slyhouse workers passed them in the hallway, greeting the girl—Zinnia—cheerfully.

“Why do you work here?” Jude asked as they turned down another hallway.

“I like the ambience,” she replied flippantly. “Why? Does it offend your sensibilities?”

“No,” he said, his blush betraying him.

“What’s your type, then? Boys who blush as prettily as you? Girls who know how to take control?” She glanced back to Hector. “Tall, broad-shouldered, dark-eyed men?”

Hector coughed awkwardly.

“You know that’s not why I’m here,” Jude said darkly.

“Maybe it should be,” Zinnia replied. “You look like you need to learn how to relax.”

Jude didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, clenching his jaw as Zinnia pushed open a door near the end of the hallway, revealing another sitting room, with a low couch slouched behind a table set with a silver tray, crystal glasses, and a decanter full of dark red wine. The girl sauntered over to the table and motioned for them to take a seat on the couch as she poured a glass. Jude sat, but Hector remained hovering just inside the door.

“So,” Zinnia said, offering him the wineglass. “Jude Weatherbourne. What can I do for you?”

Jude waved off the offered wine. “I don’t—wait. You know who I am?”

She shrugged, taking a sip of wine. “I’m good at my job. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He nodded slowly.

“I also know that you’ve already hired six different bounty hunters in the past month,” she went on. “They all told you the same thing. So what makes you think I’m going to have a different answer for you?”

“They say Mrs. Tappan’s Scrying Agency is the best,” Jude replied.

“So you want to pay five times the price to hear the exact same answer?”

“Wait,” Hector spoke, coming away from the door at last. “Bounty hunter? We’re at a slyhouse looking for a bounty hunter?”

Jude ignored him. “I want to hire you to do what those other bounty hunters couldn’t.”

Zinnia chewed her lip, shaking her head. “The person you’re looking for is dead.”

Jude touched the scarf that lay folded against his breastbone. He could still remember finding it in the wreckage of the tomb of the Sacrificed Queen. How it had looked, bright blue against the crumbling red rock, and how Jude’s heart had clenched tight as a fist when he’d pulled it free. How he’d dug and dug there for another sign of Anton. But there was only this—a scrap of cloth he could tuck beside his heart. Nothing else.