I SAT IN the passenger seat of our car and watched Julie walk toward the Casino. The beautiful white palace all but floated above the parking lot. She strode between the long stretches of rectangular fountains carrying the green and blue standard.

Next to me Curran sat quietly, watching Julie. He reached over and covered my hand with his.

“Nervous, ass kicker?”

“No. I don’t want to kill them.” I would if I had to. I wished I didn’t have to. The technology was up. If I went in there during magic, I could’ve used it to impress the navigators.

“You can do this. You will walk in there like you own the place and you will kick ass. Don’t let them think and don’t give them any reason to doubt. Walk in and hit them with everything you’ve got.”

In my head, I kept going through the People’s leadership. The lineup had changed over the years. Currently, there were eight Masters of the Dead. First, Ghastek and Rowena. Orlando Beasley, a trim, short black man with smart eyes and a quiet, cultured voice. Constance Hyde, an older woman with a platinum head of hair who always looked mildly displeased. Ryan Kelly, tall, well-built and well-groomed, every inch a CEO, except for his purple Mohawk. Filipa, a Hispanic woman, about my age, who wore glasses with a red rim and never said anything in my presence. Toakasu Kakau, a dark-eyed woman of Tongan ancestry, in her forties, with a white smile and the kind of no-nonsense gaze that stopped you in your tracks. Dennis Pillman, a tall, thin man with a two-thousand-dollar haircut, whose suits were always a size too large.

Julie walked through the gates into the Casino.

“It’s time,” my aunt said in my ear.

I stepped out of the car and followed Julie. Curran walked next to me. Adora shadowed me on the right. She’d changed back into her sahanu outfit, but instead of purple she’d now added a green-and-blue scarf. I didn’t want to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

Christopher Steed walked on Curran’s left. Barabas had no idea what he was missing. The coal-black suit combined with Christopher’s nearly white hair made a killer impression. The seamstress in the shop had actually stammered while cutting and sewing the slits for his wings. Time was short, but the suit was a necessity. The Masters of the Dead had to recognize him.

“Feel the land,” Erra said in my ear. “Feel it breathe.”