He froze on the steps down to the street. “What the hell is that?”

“Motorcar!” Wayne said from the back seat of the vehicle.

Wax groaned, hastening down the steps and approaching the machine. Marasi sat behind the steering mechanism, wearing a fashionable dress of lavender and lace. She looked much younger than her half sister, Steris, though only five years separated them.

She was a constable now, technically. An aide to the constable-general of this octant. She’d never fully explained to him why she would leave behind her career as a solicitor to join the constables, but at least she’d been hired on not as a beat constable, but as an analyst and executive assistant. She shouldn’t be subjected to danger in that role.

Yet here she was. A glint of eagerness shone in her eyes as she turned to him. “Are you going to get in?”

“What are you doing here?” Wax asked, opening the door with some reluctance.

“Driving. You’d rather Wayne do it?”

“I’d rather have a coach and a good team of horses.” Wax settled into one of the seats.

“Stop being so old-fashioned,” Marasi said, moving her foot and making the devilish contraption lurch forward. “Marksman robbed the First Union, as you guessed.”

Wax held on tightly. He’d guessed that Marksman would hit the bank three days ago. When it hadn’t happened, he’d thought the man had fled to the Roughs.

“Captain Reddi thinks that Marksman will run for his hideout in the Seventh Octant,” Marasi noted, steering around a horse carriage.

“Reddi is wrong,” Wax said. “Head for the Breakouts.”

She didn’t argue. The motorcar thumped and shook until they hit the new section of paving stones, where the street smoothed out and the vehicle picked up speed. This was one of the latest motorcars, the type the broadsheets had been spouting about, with rubber wheels and a gasoline engine.

The entire city was transforming to accommodate them. A lot of trouble just so people can drive these contraptions, Wax thought sourly. Horses didn’t need ground this smooth—though he did have to admit that the motorcar turned remarkably well, as Marasi took a corner at speed.

It was still a horrible lifeless heap of destruction.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Wax said as Marasi took another corner.

She kept her eyes forward. Behind them, Wayne leaned halfway out one of the windows, holding his hat to his head and grinning.

“You trained as an attorney,” Wax said. “You belong in a courtroom, not chasing a killer.”

“I’ve done well caring for myself in the past. You never complained then.”

“Each time, it felt like an exception. Yet here you are again.”

Marasi did something with the stick to her right, changing the motor’s gears. Wax never had been able to get the hang of that. She darted around several horses, causing one of the riders to shout after them. The swerving motion pushed Wax against the side of the motorcar, and he grunted.

“What’s wrong with you lately?” Marasi demanded. “You complain about the motorcar, about me being here, about your tea being too hot in the morning. One would almost think you’d made some horrible life decision that you regret deep down. Wonder what it could be.”