Jod stuffed a rag in the wounded man’s mouth and dragged him out. Hungry spirit slaves strained against chains to drink the trail of blood. They were deadly in Smokeland and the everyday. Awa stumbled to a halt at the last chamber before the Temple Hall and the front door. She leaned against a scraggly cathedral tree, fascinated, disgusted. Rokiat and Meera tugged her in vain. Hezram was claiming a new spirit slave. Awa had never seen this.

A smoke-walker’s breath body jerked and thrashed. Hezram drizzled poison in vie’s mouth and whispered a spell, until jerks became twitches, until eyes emptied out and breath was a puff of void-smoke. Jod poured blood and oil down the spirit slave’s throat. Hezram moved on. He drizzled poison and whispered chants, renewing his hold on spirit slaves whose bodies had withered only a little. Jod fed each one, careful to keep his fingers clear of gnashing teeth.

A flash of indigo light filled the chamber. Hezram startled and scowled. Jod and other acolytes feeding spirit slaves halted as their charges became more agitated. “Someone got free,” Rokiat whispered. “In Smokeland.”

Awa was thrilled to hear this.

Jod loomed over Meera. “What are you gaping at?” He pulled her close. He sniffed her neck and licked her chest. “After blood conjure, a man needs something soft and sweet.” He buried his face in frizzy golden hair and grinned at Rokiat. “Some burial detail.”

Rokiat clenched a hand behind his back and held his breath.

“Look, another one.” Awa pointed to an indigo explosion. When Jod turned and cursed, she snatched Meera away, and jumped in his face.

He turned back and looked right through her as he always had. “Fatazz! Who is doing this conjure in Smokeland?”

Awa shrugged—the conjure woman in the seventh region or someone else who knew a cure. “What’s Hezram going to do? That’s the question.” She forced a smile.

“Yes.” Jod raced to a dead smoke-walker—heart still, indigo light leaking from her eyes. Death was a doorway.

“Kyrie’s work. Or someone like her.” Hezram patted Jod. “Don’t worry. Kyrie can’t get to spirit slaves holding my Dream Gates. I’d eat her alive first.”

Rokiat, Meera, and Awa raced through the glowing Nightmare Gates that trapped Hezram’s spirit slaves. Lost souls got caught in the filigree of crossroads Vévés, but not forever—a third indigo explosion and someone was free. Hezram cursed.

“What happens to Dream Gates when Hezram runs out of smoke-walkers?” Meera asked as they slipped out the front door.