“A thief!” The crimson man whirled around, pivoting to find who had emptied his pockets.

We saw a small shadow dart through the crowd and down an alleyway.

“Thief!” The High-Kith man shouted more loudly this time. “Catch him!” he cried, and ran toward where the boy had vanished.

His brother remained where he was—oblivious, it seemed, to anything around him.

I had been twice tricked. Once by him, and once by the boy, who had sent me on a fool’s errand to use me as a distraction.

I sighed, lifting my eyes to the sky, which was when I noticed that it had grayed with light from the coming morning.

My stomach jolted. I had to get back. Soon, everyone in the tavern would be awake.

I rushed toward the wall, weaving through the diminishing crowd. The night buyers, weary, were heading home, too. I cast a glance over my shoulder. Behind me, the High-Kith man stood, stock-still, where I had left him. He disappeared behind me as I raced toward the gate.

Then invisible fingers tugged at the elbow of my coat. I yelped.

“Shh,” said the boy, who pulled me into the alley where he had been hiding.

“You,” I said.

“Don’t be mad. You were great. Here, take one.” He opened his hands. Eight vials rested on his palms.

“I don’t want one.” I had enough trouble telling what was real. “I don’t need dreams.”

“Boring! Go on.”

“You probably kept the best one for yourself.”

“You are a smart fly,” he said cheerfully.

I looked at the labels on the vials. Dream of demons. Dream of saviors. Dream of purple donkeys. Dream of kisses … I stopped reading. I did not want kisses. I already knew what they were like.

The vials rocked gently on the boy’s palms.

Dream of now, said one label, and I paused, then saw that the writing was scribbled. I had misread it.

Dream of new.

“That one.” Why had I risked going beyond the wall, if not in search of some kind of beginning?

He handed it to me. “See, I was right,” he said. “About those High men, how they like bad even better than good.”

I wasn’t thinking anymore about the vial in my hand. I was remembering how the man had frozen, staring. “My blood did something to him.”

The boy shrugged, stowing the other vials into his pockets. “Nah. Those two were foxed.”

“Foxed?”

“Drunk. Drugged. Or both. They definitely drank or ate something weird long before they began roaming the night market. The High Kith have got all sorts of stuff to addle their brains.”

“Magic,” I said.