“Shut it!” Now the girl looked angry and frightened at the same time. “We’ve got nothing to do with whatever Cuffs Alister be up to. He not in the Raggers anymore. He don’t give the orders in Ragmarket. Now let’s see what you got in your carry bag, hmm?”

The Raggers closed in on Raisa, and she backed away until she came up against the wall of the building.

An older boy in a faded red velvet coat reached out and fingered her hair, and she slapped his hand away. He smiled, revealing a tongue bright red from chewing razorleaf. “You got any family, girlie? Somebody who might pay to get you back?” He leaned closer, and his razorleaf breath made her eyes water. He seemed jumpy and jittery, like leaf users often did.

“There you are, Rebecca!” Everyone swiveled, and Cuffs came swaggering down the alley like some pirate prince, in his clan leggings, fancy clan-made boots, and a beat up deerskin jacket overtop.

He nodded to the other Raggers. “Hey, Velvet, thanks, mate, for looking after my girlie for me. I tell you, she’s been nothing but trouble.”

As Velvet gawked at him, Cuffs grabbed Raisa’s arm and shoved her behind him, planting himself between her and the others. He pressed something into her hand, and she felt cold metal. Her knife. She palmed it and peeked out from behind his back, head spinning with confusion.

The Raggers stared at Cuffs with the avid interest given murderers, adulterers, kings, actors, and other notorious people.

All except the tattooed girl. The expression on her face was more complex: a mixture of anger, desire, and betrayal.

She’s sweet on him, Raisa thought. And he’s jilted her.

“Get off, Alister,” the tattooed girl said to Cuffs. “The girlie’s ours.”

“Nuh-uh, Cat,” he said. “I saw her first. Not much swag for a flimper like you, but she’s pretty, at least.”

“Is she the one that beat you up?” Cat sneered. “Or was it the Southies, like everyone says?”

“What’s all that in your hair, mate?” Velvet asked. “Blood or dirt?”

Cuffs touched his head, looking momentarily puzzled. “Oh. Right,” he said, his confusion clearing. “Just trying out a new color. What d’you think?”

“He’s in disguise, mates,” Cat said. “Can’t even walk the streets as himself anymore.”

“Are you coming back, Cuffs?” a younger boy piped up hopefully. “Shares was always good when you was streetlord.” He clapped his mouth shut and darted a nervous glance at Cat.

“No, he’s not coming back,” Cat said, stepping out in front of the others, her hand on the dagger shoved into the waistband of her breeches. “It’s his fault Flinn and the others got pinched. Cuffs is poison. We gang up with him, the bluejackets’ll be all over us.”