With a hiss, a lantern is lit, revealing Orso, Loup, and a hundred glittering black eyes staring at a broken thing that looks like a naked man tied to a wooden post. He’s already a mass of bruises crisscrossed with streaks of blood. His right hand is a bleeding stub of raw flesh. I wince. They’ve taken his fingers for daring to touch Ettie. The Ghosts carry no weapons, nor are they schooled in combat. Any wound inflicted on this man was done with bare hands and teeth and slow, careful purpose. I almost feel sorry for him.

“Does he live?” Orso asks.

Loup nods.

“A Trial, then.” Orso smiles grimly. “You are invited to attend, little Cat.” He bends his head in mock respect.

I shudder. I’ve never seen a Dead Trial before. The stories are the stuff of nightmares, but I dare not refuse so direct an invitation; it would be an insult to the Ghosts.

I glance at Ettie, who was so overwrought she has fallen sound asleep in a nook, away from all of this. Good.

“He has no mark on him,” Loup whispers to Orso.

No mark or tattoo means he’s one of Those Who Walk by Day.

“My children,” Orso says. “We have been wronged. There must be justice.”

The Ghosts break into terrible, deafening cries as Orso approaches the man and looks him over.

“Why would you lay a hand on my child?” Orso asks.

The Ghosts repeat the accusation, echoing it again and again, till Loup barks at them to be silent. “Let him speak!”

“I w-was f-forced,” the man tries to say through swollen lips.

His answer is received by a hiss from the Ghosts.

“Forced?” Orso’s voice is laced with disbelief. “How were you forced? Speak the truth here and perhaps you’ll be shown mercy.”

The man looks at Orso through the slit of a ruined eye. “I—I had a debt,” he moans piteously. “He said he’d call it off …”

“Who is ‘he’?”

It’s a needless question. We all know who wants Ettie.

“I can’t tell you. They said he would kill me.”

“Do not fear, my friend.” Orso traces a finger along the man’s broken face. He smiles a devilish smile. “He will not kill you.”

And all around him the Ghosts cackle and whoop.

Orso looks at the Ghosts and spreads his hands wide. “What do you say, my children?”

Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Their voices roll and echo off the walls, a tangled mess of whispers.

Loup raises a hand, and the Ghosts move to engulf the man like a swarm of rats. His cries are muffled, there are so many upon him. I turn my head away.

Orso lumbers toward me.

“You know who did this,” I say, my voice hard.

Orso surveys me and murmurs under his breath. “The Tiger is no fool; if he were named, this act would force us to go to war. You heard the Day Walker; he would not give a name.”