I’d have chosen a less-crowded destination, but this was the place in the market I knew best—and hence could draw best—and the gateway had been a breeze to create. My only other option was the oh-so-famous fish market upstairs, and that was way too exposed for an out-of-thin-air appearance. At least down here there were doorways to pretend to pass through, not to mention alcohol to dull any onlookers’ senses.

“Lead the way,” I told Constance, holding my arm out for her to pass me by. I figured I didn’t have to worry about her bolting—helping us was her only chance at surviving the disease. The only way she’d ever get to see her kids again. The only way her son would get better.

Pike Place Market is a multistoried maze, with ramps and hallways and in-between floors aplenty, and our route through the tangle was far from a straight shot. We headed up to the main outdoor level, passing by the famed fish market, narrowly dodging the huge Coho salmon being lobbed around to entertain the tourists, and wound through the throng to an offshooting stairway that led to the lower floors—or, at least, to parts of the lower floors. We passed by a free-trade jewelry and trinkets shop, a seller of miniature cars, animals, and pretty much everything else, and a kitschy magic shop on our way to a locked door marked “Restricted” tucked between the odorific men’s restroom and a used bookstore.

When we reached the door, Constance produced an inky black key made of anti-At, and Nik and I both recoiled instinctively, however minutely. Touching the stuff wouldn’t hurt Constance, since she didn’t have an eternal ba—yet—but it would unmake any Nejeret from the soul out. Except for me, thanks to the protective Eye of Horus symbol tattooed into my palm. The At-inked symbol had already saved my life and my ba from the effects of anti-At, and it had the obsidian striations marbling through the opalescent ink to prove it.

Constance unlocked the door, and the three of us entered a narrow, steep stairwell lit only by a few ancient-looking bulbs in caged light fixtures high up on the walls.

“Cozy,” I commented, eyeing the flickering lights. About one in three bulbs actually worked.

“This leads to an old utilities room,” Constance explained without looking back. She was concentrating on the slightly uneven stairs. “The market made some updates a few years ago, and this area’s not in use anymore.”

“That explains the excellent upkeep,” I said, glancing back at Nik.

He breathed a laugh, but no hint of a smile touched his lips. He had his game face on. Not surprising—Mari wasn’t his favorite person, and she was one of the few people whose sheut power was a match for his. She was one of the few people who could pose an actual threat to him.

Constance led us deeper into the market’s underbelly, and we entered a defunct boiler room with a hodgepodge of breaker boxes lining the brick walls to what appeared to be a bricked-over doorway. At least, until Constance wound her way through the ancient machinery filling the room and depressed a single brick to the right of the old doorway, then pushed on the area of newer bricks. It gave in with the grind of stone on stone until there was an opening plenty wide enough for a person to fit through. The space beyond was pitch-black, even to my sensitive eyes.