I recapped the Sharpie and stuffed it into my back pocket with several others, all in various states of running out of ink. I was finding that sometimes the partially dried-out markers were the best for shading and texture. I should know, I’d been drawing on walls with them a lot lately.

I yanked open the door to Dorman’s office and poked my head out. The space beyond had been converted into a reception and waiting area, with the half-dozen rooms scattered around the perimeter functioning as offices for Dorman and the other Tent District “officials.” The district was a big place, housing thousands of people, however unconventionally, and this repurposed air control tower operated as the central nervous system. And, so far as I could tell, it operated pretty damn well.

“Hey, Caleb,” I said, calling out the reception guy’s name.

A baby-faced young man sitting at a desk just a few yards from the door to Dorman’s office spun his chair around to look at me, eyebrows raised. He was human, for now, but his dad was Nejeret and his mother was a known Nejeret carrier. His older sister had already manifested Nejeret traits, and only time would tell whether the same would happen for Caleb.

“Let your boss know I’m leaving, will you?” As an afterthought, I added, “And don’t let anyone but him come in here, alright?” I was worried about others finding the pair of gateways.

Caleb nodded twice.

“Awesome. Thanks.” I pulled the door shut once more, then grabbed my things. Less than a minute later, I was passing through the gateway to my apartment.

I entered my bedroom as though I was walking through the doorway, except a quick glance over my shoulder showed me that the door was still closed. When I left the bedroom, I was relieved to find that the blinds were all drawn and that the apartment was dark, only the glow from streetlights, storefronts, and cars passing by on Broadway leaking into the apartment in strips of light.

Washing up was a main priority, but I didn’t want to strip off my clothes and hop into the shower until Nik knew I was here. The thought of him finding me in there, well . . . that wasn’t an option. So, I decided to settle in at the kitchen table with a bottle of bourbon and my trusty deck of tarot cards. Luckily, there was a full bottle of Widow Jane—ten-year—in the cupboard. I didn’t even bother pouring the booze into a glass; I just drank it straight out of the bottle.

I started shuffling the deck, but I made it through only two rounds before the cards slipped free from my hands, spraying across the edge of the table. I’d washed my hands back in the Tent District, but blood still smudged the backs of my hands in a few places, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the faint stains for long enough to focus on what my fingers were supposed to be doing with the cards.