“It makes a kind of sense,” Chance said, forcing himself to sound more upbeat. “Humans can’t see into their future, and we are temporarily human.”

“It also makes a kind of sense if who we are comes to an end when we die as humans,” the Trickster said grimly.

“There’s that,” Chance replied, no longer upbeat.

There was a long silence.

“What do we do?” asked the Trickster at last.

Chance shook his head. “We go forward. We have to find the human who made a deal with this undying one and discover which death will be the turning point. I was told that one of the deaths is significant. It could be the last thing needed to complete the deal.”

“And that death could be mine, or yours,” said the Trickster.

Chance did not reply, already scanning the files in his memory for the next step to take. They had to go; their respite was over. Never before had time seemed so scant or so precious.

“We’re going hunting,” the Trickster sang gleefully.

Chance glared at him. “Please, focus. And while I am glad you’re enjoying this, please consider for a moment that I might not be and have some respect.”

“We all have our coping mechanisms, dear brother,” murmured the Trickster with a sudden serious twist to his mouth.

Chance nodded in sympathy.

“What do you think Miranda is doing right now?” the Trickster asked almost wistfully.

“Being safe,” Chance said brusquely.

He stooped, picked up a twig, and traced slow, careful spirals into the fine, dry soil of the riverbank. “We’re going hunting,” he confirmed, his expression strong, peaceful, and adamant. “But there is more than one way to hunt.”

The Trickster stepped closer, leaning in to watch Chance’s patterning. “Bait in a trap.”

“Better than wild chasing at this stage.” Chance twiddled his small stick, sat back on his heels like a small boy waiting to pitch marbles or an elder contemplating his next move at warri.

“To what purpose? We are not fooled by rituals, remember?”

“No, but we are drawn to them. I will craft such a labyrinth out of their images of him that he will be caught like a foolish flame between many mirrors.” Chance snapped the twig and stood. “I will need more space.”

The Trickster tilted his head, a growing light in his eyes that was part admiration, part excitement. “I almost forgot how powerful you are. In fact, I thought you had forgotten too.”

Chance curled a finger and spoke mid-transition. “I’m not sure either of us fully understands what power is.”