“Now, if you could both look closely at this.” Corday’s tone indicates we have little choice.

I squint at the tiny gilt thing; it has Roman numerals of black, and hands like knives behind its glass face.

As the watch moves back and forth, the numbers blur together. I try to focus on them, but my thoughts seem to slow and the room grows wider, stranger; the crackling of the fire is loud in my ears.

Behind me, Ettie gives an odd sigh.

I try to turn to her, but my feet won’t obey. My fingers scrabble uselessly at my coat, trying to grab for my dagger, but I can’t seem to lift them. A wave of dizziness overcomes me. Have the Death Dealers given me some drug after all?

With a thud, Ettie crumples to the floor.

“You’re a fighter, aren’t you?” Corday says to me, her voice seeming to come from far away. “That’s good.”

“We came for your help.” My words catch on my tongue and trip at my teeth.

I slump to my knees.

“It doesn’t work on everyone. Some can fight it. Few are immune. The trick, little Cat, is not to look.”

The last thing I see are Corday’s eyes, wide and bright, drowning me inside them.

I hear a sound like someone clapping their hands together.

“Nous sommes d’un sang, little Cat. I hope we meet again soon.”

9

The Dead

The first thing I do when I open my eyes is to make sure I’m not floating on the festering waters of the Great Serpent—the Seine—with my throat slit. My head aches, my mouth is dry, and my stomach churns. I narrow my eyes and peer away from the streetlight into the darkness, smelling the rain as it falls, trying to make out where we are.

Ettie wakes, too, and leans her head on my shoulder as we try to clear our minds from the heavy fog that shrouds them.

“How did they drug me if I drank nothing?” she mutters.

I ignore her, because my head is ringing. I should be relieved. We survived a direct encounter with the Lady of Assassins, even if it feels like someone has stabbed at my brain.

“Maybe it was a mist in the air,” Ettie muses. “I always feel strange after the Dreamers have been smoking their pipes in the inn.”

“There was something about the watch.” I hesitate. “It did something to us.”

Ettie rubs her eyes and shakes herself. We get to our feet, and she looks around at the dark street.

“Do you think the Dead Lord will want to take me?” she asks doubtfully.

I smile. “I think so. We have to find him first.”

Each Guild of the Miracle Court has hundreds of its own calls, to speak over long distances, to give warning, to summon, or simply to announce their presence. The Thieves even have a complicated language of day and night calls. Then there are the Master Calls, calls that are universal in their meaning and that every child of the Miracle Court is taught to recognize.