Sherwyd was pondering his hand and answered absently, not noticing, as Chance did, the touch of maliciousness in the other man’s tone. “He said he couldn’t make it. Double-booked.”

“Once he’s not cleaning house too,” Latky remarked, sparking another round of chuckles at Niko’s expense.

—

The laughter faded suddenly; the Trickster had tapped Chance on the shoulder and shaken his focus. He carefully removed himself from the scene and found himself in a bizarre made-world. It appeared that the Trickster had taken him very seriously after all, for he had created an ordinary sitting room for Miranda with a comfortable chair facing a large window. There was even a long, low table for her to spread out the papers from her briefcase, which she had done. She was leaning forward in the chair, flipping a pen between her fingers, engrossed in some matter.

“What?” Chance asked his brother irritably.

“Danil. Sounds familiar. One of our victims, yes?” said the Trickster.

“We’ll get to him soon enough. Don’t we want to see how close we can get to Niko’s death?”

“No,” said Miranda, eyes fixed on the papers before her.

Chance raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Not necessary. All the details are here, and I understand you’re not interested in evidence that leads to Walther Grey. You’re looking for the person who’s directing him, using him like a tool. Showing up at every death scene isn’t the most efficient way to find that out.”

She looked up at him, partly puzzled, partly annoyed. “If you can do this, simply go to whatever part of whoever’s life, why don’t you simply look at Grey’s life and find some evidence there?”

The Trickster beamed at his brother with a fake, ferocious smile. “Yes, Chance. Why don’t we simply do that? After all, that would be the sensible thing to do if we were looking for some human influence.”

Chance glared at him. This was not a conversation he wanted to have. “There are . . . other aspects to these murders, Miranda. I think you may not have fully understood what you saw when I walked the labyrinth and what you heard when we spoke to the old woman.”

Miranda tapped her pen impatiently against the papers on the table. “It’s all here, Chance. We always knew we were dealing with some kind of myth-related ritual. We’ve heard the legend about making a whole body out of parts and calling a djiena, an undying one, to ensoul it. That’s what the amulet was made for, right?”

Chance was silent.

“Right?” she pressed, her tone uncertain.

The Trickster took pity on both of them. “The legend is just a legend, Miranda. It wouldn’t work. It doesn’t stop people from trying, apparently, but there’s no way we could animate a collection of dead limbs and organs. It’s impossible.”