“Of course,” Nyx said. The dream was fading, but the feeling it left her with was still there—a terrible premonition. She went to the sink and washed her face and hands.

“That new beggar is still there,” Ahmed said.

“I expected he would be.”

“How do you want to deal with it?”

“I don’t,” Nyx said. “Let them come.”

It was the anticipation that nagged at her most. She didn’t know how to solve anything unless she had the option of putting a bullet in it.

Fatima’s little spies showed up after dawn prayer.

Both women were young and scrappy, and there was something about the way they stood that made Nyx wonder if they were sisters or lovers. Whichever it was, they had known each other a long time.

The magician came in first, thrusting a scrap of paper at her that Nyx assumed was supposed to be a voucher from Fatima.

Nyx sized her up. She was a small woman, mid-twenties, with thick, dark hair tangled back with a frayed ribbon. Most of the flesh of her face seemed to have been packed into her cheeks, giving her a warmer, rounder appearance than her figure warranted. Her face was clean, but her clothes were grimy and tattered. She wore male garb—long khameez and trousers and somber colors—but her old burnous was a faded scarlet red.

The bel dame shadowed her. She was a head taller than her companion, wiry where the magician was skinny. She wore a sturdy pack and sensible boots. In the harsh light of dawn, the left side of her cheek and neck was a pocked ruin, as if flesh beetles had gnawed on the twisted face of some terrible demon. She turned her furrowed face to Nyx and said nothing. What was she, twenty-six? Twenty-seven? Hard to tell with a face like that.

The bel dame met her stare. She must have been used to people looking away, because when Nyx held her gaze, it was the bel dame who broke away first.

“This is my team,” Nyx said. She introduced Ahmed, Kage, and Eshe.

The bel dame remained expressionless, but Nyx saw her staring off behind the three of them, as if searching for more bodies.

“That’s it,” Nyx said. “Six is already too many if it turns out we’re headed north. What are your names?”

The magician jutted her little chin out. “Eskander Ilyas,” she said proudly, as if the name should mean something.

“And you?” Nyx asked the bel dame.

“Khatijah,” she said.

“Good enough,” Nyx said. “Khat, let’s go into my office and you can brief us.”

“Khatijah,” the bel dame insisted as she slid off her pack.

Nyx ignored her and escorted the team into her office.