I looked down at my arms. ‘‘Good gods, you’re right. I’m May the Amazing Glowing Woman. How very odd . . . but we don’t have time to explore my glowiness, I’m afraid. Cy’s trail is starting to fade.’’

He nodded and gestured for me to go on. I did, my heart lightened somewhat by his presence, even if it was an insubstantial presence. We couldn’t take a taxi, since it would be impossible to follow Cyrene’s trail, which meant we had to cover a lot of ground on foot. About an hour after we started, we finally ran the trail to earth at a grimy hotel hidden in a back street in King’s Cross. We’d lost the trail a couple of times because Cyrene had evidently gotten into a car at some point, which made the little splotches of water that dropped off her scarce, but it helped having two of us to follow possible leads.

‘‘Do not go in, little bird,’’ Gabriel told me as I examined the outside of the hotel. It was more of a hostel than a hotel, obviously one used by people whose minds were more absorbed with where their next trick, fix, or bottle was coming from rather than where they laid their head at night. ‘‘It could be dangerous, and I cannot help you in this form. You wait outside until I can come to you in bodily form.’’

‘‘One of the perks of being able to shadow walk is the ability to take a look around without anyone knowing,’’ I told him as I finessed the lock on the door. It gave way with even less resistance than was normal, as if the lock itself had absorbed the miasma of hopelessness that hung so heavy in the air it left an oily taste upon the tongue.

Gabriel wasn’t happy, but he said nothing as we slipped through the door and up a narrow flight of stairs. There was a small room off to one side that served as a lobby and reception, although the room was barren of life. The detritus of people who had lost all hope lay scattered on the floor and stairs— empty bottles, fast-food wrappers, crushed cigarette packets and butts, torn fragments of lurid magazines . . . we picked our way around all of it as we crept up the first flight of stairs. The air in the hotel was foul, stale with smoke and urine and rodent droppings, and other, less-palatable scents that I refused to identify or acknowledge. Cyrene’s trail here was sporadic as well, as if she’d been dragged up the stairs. Two clear sets of her footprints stood outside one door on the second floor, however.

I glanced at Gabriel. ‘‘Can you go through walls?’’ I whispered.

He shook his head. ‘‘I can’t interact with anything, nor can I travel through solid substances. Doors have to be open for me to go through them.’’