“It happened back at home,” Micah said. “My cousins saw the whole thing.”

The Mander brothers nodded in unison, like puppets lashed to the same strings.

“I was there too,” Dancer said, moving forward out of the shadows to stand on Han’s right side. “And I remember it differently.”

Bayar seemed even more startled to see Dancer. “You? What are you doing here?”

“Same as everyone else. I’m here for school,” Dancer said. He’d let go of his amulet, and now he too glittered with accumulating power.

“But you’re clanborn,” Bayar said, wetting his lips, seeming more unnerved by Dancer’s presence than by Han’s. “You’re not…” He stopped. He was probably going to say, You’re not gifted, when the evidence in front of him was plain as day. “But that’s impossible,” he said, disgust twisting his features. “Congress between copperheads and the gifted is forbidden.”

“For someone who just got here yourself, you sure got a lot of opinions, Micah Bayar,” Max said, stowing his notebook away. “We don’t have jurisdiction outside the Ford. I don’t care what happened back home. You got to leave it behind.”

By now, Micah had mastered himself. Whatever else you could say about him, he was a quick learner. He turned to Rutha, the server, who stood by watching. “I apologize for your injury and my rude behavior,” he said, inclining his head. “It was inexcusable. Please, see a healer and send the bill to me at Hampton Hall.”

Rutha nodded, sniffing. “Just watch yourself from now on.”

“You can depend on it,” Micah said. He turned to Max. “Sir,” he said, “I apologize for this incident. You won’t have any more trouble from me.”

“Good,” Max said, looking mollified. “See that I don’t. Now you two shake hands, and I’ll be about my business.”

Han looked Micah Bayar directly in the eyes and smiled, a street-lord challenge. He extended his hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Micah gripped it. Power flamed between them, a magical duel that ended in an impasse.

Micah leaned in close to Han and said, “Better watch your back, Alister. Now I know where to find you, and I’ve got plenty of time.” He let go of Han’s hand, and took a step back.

Micah swung his cape about his shoulders, fastening it at the neck with an elaborate clasp. His gaze swept over Dancer and locked on Cat, still huddled at the corner table. Micah smiled—a long, slow smile—and bowed sardonically. She twitched and hunched her shoulders, scowling.

Now that Han thought about it, Cat had been surprisingly shut-mouthed during his face-off with Bayar. After what had happened to the Raggers, was she scared of wizards now?

Still smiling at some private joke, Micah nodded to Han. “Alister,” he said. “I wish you luck.” Gesturing to the Manders to follow, he walked out of the tavern.