I turn over, close my eyes, and try to think of all that has happened.

I visited the Assassins and survived. I visited the Ghosts and rescued St. Juste. I broke into the Châtelet and stole the Dead Lord. I freed a member of the Guild of Letters. I kept Ettie safe. I’m the Black Cat of the Thieves Guild, and these are the things I have done. I won’t think about anything else. I won’t.

13

The Miracle Court

“Nina!”

Ettie’s voice wakes me from a deep sleep. Like a good Cat, I leap instinctively to my feet, dagger in hand before my eyes are fully open.

Ettie is sitting up, staring at me. She giggles.

I blink, taking in our surroundings. Sulfur and bone, we’re still in the Halls of the Dead. I lower my dagger.

“How long have I been sleeping?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I just woke up myself.”

There’s a smell of food in the air. I can’t remember the last time I ate.

My things have been cleaned and left in a small pile beside me. I grab for them as I sit down. My lock-picks, climbing claws, tin of matches, rope, and hooks. I’m naked without them. I tuck them into various pockets of the gray robe. Ettie’s scarf is still slightly damp. I also pocket a tin cup I stole from the prison, with the emblem of the Châtelet stamped into it. A gift for Tomasis.

“They left these.” Ettie points to two bowls of brown stew. My stomach growls. I grab a bowl, tip it to my lips, sip, and swallow.

Ettie is pulling bits of brown meat out of hers and inspecting them.

“Do you remember them threatening to feed us to the pot?” she asks worriedly.

I laugh. “Do you remember the horse Orso rode in on last night?” I ask.

Ettie goes slightly green.

“Better eat fast,” says a voice. Loup is at the entrance of our cavern holding a candle; its wavering light casts horrifying shadows on his face and the hole where his nose should be.

I finish a last gulp of stew, put down my bowl, and wipe my mouth with my sleeve.

At the entrance of the cavern a parade of lights dances past us. The Ghosts are on the move.

“Eat up,” I tell Ettie. “It’s time to go.”

Ettie finishes her bowl, and I pull her to her feet. We grab candle stubs and slip into the sea of moving Ghosts. The sea parts and there’s Orso, freshly clad in a massive gray robe, his scarred face alight with a crooked smile. He’s carrying Gavroche on his shoulders. A chain of silver is draped around his neck with six dusty signet rings hanging from it. Ghosts are not given to wearing jewelry or anything distinguishable, so I’ve always wondered what the rings signify. In all the years I’ve known of him, he’s never added to their number. Perhaps they belonged to the previous Lords of the Dead.