Some fifteen minutes later, I closed in on the enormous hangars at the heart of the district and was surprised to find a crowd of Nejerets watching my approach. They fanned out behind a smallish man wearing jeans, brown leather work boots, and a navy blue raincoat, the hood pulled down to reveal a Mariners baseball cap. Like all Nejerets, he appeared to be in the prime of his life, both youthful and ageless. Well, all Nejerets who aren’t me; I’ll look eighteen until the day I die.

“That’s Dorman,” Dom said.

I removed my right hand from my pocket to zip up the sweatshirt under my coat a few more inches, concealing Dom. He would still be able to hear what was going on around us, he just wouldn’t be able to see anything. It was unfortunate, losing a second set of eyes, but it had to be done. He was the ace up my sleeve. Or down my shirt, in his case. But still, he was my secret weapon. Secret being the key word.

I nodded to Dorman as I approached.

He took a few steps toward me, his hand extended, a tentative smile curving his lips and rounding the apples of his cheeks. At first glance, he seemed a jolly fellow. Warm and welcoming, too. I glanced around, fearing that I was being punked. Practical jokes aren’t really my thing. Like, at all. My ex-partner-in-sanctioned-crime Mari tried pulling one once, back during our days as the Senate’s dynamic assassinating duo, and she’d ended up with a face full of salt water and spit and a pretty decent shiner. She’d only tried once.

“You’re Dorman, I take it?” I said, shaking the Nejeret’s proffered hand.

He nodded. “And you’re Katarina Dubois.” His eyebrows danced over his kind, hazel eyes, and his grin widened. He had the accent and charm of a country gentleman, and there was something familiar about him. “The Ink Witch.” He released my hand.

I pressed my lips together, none too pleased. I’d come to embrace the nickname, but I wanted to know how Dorman knew it: from my work as a finder of lost people, or from the night I burned the Ouroboros scientist who’d torn Dom’s soul—his ba—out of his body, leading to my brother’s eventual death?

“I wondered how long it would take you to venture into our humble abode,” Dorman said. As he spoke, the sense of familiarity increased.

“Have we met before?” I asked, brows drawing together.

Dorman blinked, his smile amping back up to full wattage. “Once,” he said. “A couple decades ago.”

My eyes rounded. “You were the one in the old tent city—you told me where to find Mari.”

He placed his hands in his jeans pockets and rocked back on his heels. “And you nearly got yourself killed. I warned you she could take care of herself.”

I felt a wry smile twist my lips, and I shook my head. “Fair enough.” I’d liked him then on impulse, and I felt the same thing now. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen or heard from Mari? Or that you know how to get ahold of her?” I asked, hope high but expectations low. She would make a powerful ally in Heru’s war, if I could track her down. It was a big if, especially considering she’d vanished with her mother, Mei, a Nejeret with a gifted sheut that gave her the power to teleport, among other things.