The new driver took them through a long, circuitous route across the darkened city. Inside the filter, the streets of Amtullah were paved in smooth, colored stones. It was quiet. Nyx had expected a young, drunk crowd of arty types or spoiled kids, but aside from the occasional creeper or order keeper patrol, there was nothing.

“You put in a curfew?” Nyx asked.

“Six weeks ago,” the driver said. “Had a lot of trouble with the boys who were let in early, after the ceasefire. Lots of rioting. Looting. There were too many to lock up all at once. It’s been quieter, last few weeks.”

They came to a ten-foot wall marking the border between the city proper and the private residences beyond. Even from this distance, Nyx could see how large the residences were, all of them carved neatly into the side of a hill overlooking the city. Beyond the wall, Nyx saw another filter. The guards at the gate had to code Nyx into the filter for safe passage into the district.

They drove through. The filter wasn’t nearly as sticky as the one that prevented the bugs, organics, and contagions of the rest of the world from entering Amtullah. This one just kept out the dangerous plague that was the Nasheenian underclass. Going through two tight filters in quick succession made Nyx’s skin itch.

Twisted thorn trees and hardy butterstalk hybrids with plate-sized leaves lined the roads. The compounds here were all walled. The tops of the walls were lined in hanging gardens of yellow spiderstalk, magnolia vine, amber grass, and lilac. The streets were clean as dinner plates. It put Nyx in mind of Tirhan and their blinding sidewalks and gratuitous parks. She even saw a wasp swarm patrolling a narrow alley.

“Have you been up here before?” the driver asked.

“My clients meet me on my turf. I don’t go to theirs,” Nyx said.

The driver eyed her over. “Yeah, I imagine that’s true.”

They pulled up to an amber-colored compound at the far end of the hill. Most of it was built into the hill itself, so all Nyx saw as she climbed out inside the compound wall was the main floor. But even from the ass-end of the place, she caught a striking view of the city.

“Your mom knows how to pick them,” Nyx said.

“I picked it,” Mercia said. “Fatima had a dozen houses to choose from.”

Nyx wondered just how deep Mercia had put herself into Fatima’s pocket.

A small staff met them at the gate. The on-site magician introduced herself as Yah Rafika. The others were a half-breed servant and a housekeeper, and nobody bothered telling Nyx their names.

“This is Nyx,” Mercia told the housekeeper. “She is our guest. Please, see her in.”

The housekeeper took in Nyx’s full measure with an accusing stare. “This way,” the housekeeper said.