The brothers closely examined those who responded to the call. Some ran to make themselves useful; some gawked on the periphery; still others looked on briefly, then fled the ugly sight. One old woman touched her heart, forehead, and lips nervously in a gesture invoking protection. There was a babel of voices at the core of the growing crowd and a murmur at the edges.

The Trickster twitched, breaking his focus on the tableau, and cocked his head inquiringly at his brother. “Do you realize how close we came to arriving at the time of the attack?”

“Someone’s blocking us,” Chance agreed. “Or at least me. I told you, you might be able to go where I can’t. Try now.”

The Trickster blinked and concentrated, but soon shook his head in frustration. “Definite interference. There’s more to it than just you, then.” His face brightened. “Well! This is a challenge! Just like old times, hmm?”

“Except,” Chance said soberly, “that in these new times, we care a little bit more when humans die needlessly. Being human ourselves and all.”

“Oh, no,” said the Trickster, ignoring his brother’s attempt to dampen his levity. “I don’t care unless they happen to be humans I know.”

Chance glared at him. The Trickster shrugged. “A lot of humans think the same way I do, Chance. You’re too tenderhearted—always have been. You mustn’t let things get to you. Now, where next?”

Chance closed his eyes as if reading something inside his head. “There’s something in Miranda’s nightmare that matches something I found in the case notes. This amputation was hastily done, but not inexpertly so, which explains why the Mermaid was able to survive. It makes me think that the initial intent was not to kill but simply to take the required limbs.”

“Building a body out of spare parts?” The Trickster laughed without humor. “How unoriginal.”

Chance ignored him. “So it’s possible that at some point, for whatever reason, someone issued instructions to add a ritual component to the attacks.”

“Someone being the person you think was pulling the strings on Walther Grey.”

Chance nodded. “Remember all the faces here. There has to be some common denominator. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found there was at least one person who knew all the victims whose name is not Walther Grey.”