Two hours before sunup I was back on the street and headed for the records vault. My new boots were deliciously quiet, seeming to float me above the pavement. Valentine had been right. I turned onto the deserted street with no hesitation. My old lady spell was still working—which might account for the odd looks in the leather shop—but if no one saw me, all the better.

The I.S. chose their buildings carefully. Nearly all of the offices on this street kept to a human clock and had been closed since Friday night. Traffic hummed two streets away, but here it was quiet. I glanced behind me as I slipped into the alley between the records building and the adjacent insurance tower. My heart pounded as I passed the fire door where I had nearly been tagged. I wouldn’t bother trying to get in that way. “See a drainpipe, Jenks?” I asked.

“I’ll check around,” he said, flitting ahead to do a little reconnaissance.

I followed at a slower pace, angling for the faint tapping of metal that I heard now. Thoroughly enjoying the rush of adrenaline, I slid between a truck-sized trashcan and a pallet of cardboard. A smile edged over me as I spotted Jenks sitting on the curve of a downspout, tapping it with his boot heels. “Thanks, Jenks,” I said, taking off my bag and setting it on the dew-damp cement.

“No problem.” He flitted up to sit on the edge of a Dumpster. “For the love of Tink,” he moaned, holding his nose. “You know what’s in here?” I flicked a glance at him. Encouraged, he said, “Three-day-old lasagna, five varieties of yogurt cups, burnt popcorn …” He hesitated, his eyes closing as he sniffed. “… south of the border style, a million candy wrappers, and someone has an almost unholy need for superchunk burritos.”

“Jenks? Shut up.” The soft hiss of wheels on pavement warned me into immobility, but even the best night vision would have a difficult time spotting me back there. The alley stunk so bad, I didn’t have to worry about Weres. Even so, I waited until the street was quiet before I dug in my bag for a detection spell and finger stick. The sharp jab of it made me jump. I squeezed the required three drops onto the amulet. They soaked in immediately, and the wooden disk glowed a faint green. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I had been holding. No sentient creature but Jenks was within a hundred feet of me—and I had my doubts about Jenks. It was safe enough to spell myself into a mouse.

“Here, watch this and tell me if it turns red,” I told Jenks as I balanced the disk beside him on the rim of the Dumpster.

“Why?”

“Just do it!” I whispered. Sitting on a bundle of cardboard, I unlaced my new boots, took off my socks, and set a bare foot on the cement. It was cold and damp from last night’s rain, and a small sound of disgust slipped from me. I shot a quick glance to the end of the alley, then arranged my boots out of sight behind a bin of shredded paper with my winter coat. Feeling like a Brimstone addict, I crouched in the gutter and pulled out my vial of brew. “Way to go, Rache,” I whispered as I remembered I hadn’t set up my dissolution bowl yet.