I said, “When everybody gets here Sterling can hand out the Shining Shadows and then we’l treat this square like it’s actual y round and we’re the hands of a clock with Ahmed at the center. Half of us wil move clockwise. The other half wil go the opposite direction, starting at the edges and working our way inward. We’l mark the Weres we find, and whoever sees Vayl first wil alert the others. At which point we’l meet up again on him.”
Before I’d finished talking my crew had found me. I expected more teasing about Yousef the Spankmeister, but they’d al pul ed on their work masks. And since Cole was away scouting sniping spots, nobody thought to make a crack
about
the
Shining
Shadows’
remarkable
resemblance to guinea pig wangs as our warlock handed out the cinnamon stick–sized tubes. They were ful of colorless powder held in place by plain paper glued to each end of the tube.
“Puncture the paper just before you’re ready to use the blowtube,” Sterling instructed. “Aim and exhale hard, just as if it was a dart gun. The powder wil do the rest.” I said, “Remember, we’re just working the powder until we’ve made sure al the Weres glow. Nobody makes an aggressive move until we’re a ful group and Cole’s found a likely spot for sniping. That means you, Kyphas.” The demon didn’t even try to defend herself. Just said,
“Who’s my partner for this party?” Brightly. Like she wasn’t aware of how deep Bergman’s hate ran or how Sterling itched to zap her back to hel .
My heart sank. I knew I had to pair with her. Neither of them would make it ten steps before al -out war broke out.
Then Sterling said, “I’l do it.”
I turned to him. “Are you sure?”
He leaned his head, just a tick, toward Miles. Whose face had gone bright red with suppressed emotion as Kyphas smiled invitingly at him. “You can scent Weres,” he said. “I have my own ways of finding them. It’l be faster like this.”
But no safer, I thought as I watched him stride past Kyphas, not even waiting to see whether or not she’d fol ow him into the crowd. She gave us a mocking salute before turning to trot after him.
“That demon…” Bergman growled.
“Isn’t worth your dried scabs,” I finished. I tugged at his sleeve. “Come on.” We walked away from the dancing Berbers and their clapping audience, letting ourselves be swal owed by the human tide that ebbed and flowed around the Djemaa el Fna.
Three minutes of searching yielded our first targets, standing among another mob of spectators. They were listening to a toothless old storytel er weave a tale of how listening to a toothless old storytel er weave a tale of how the spirit of a spring named Amina once chased an old widower named Khalid straight into his hut, and wouldn’t al ow him to haul water to his garden until he promised to let his son marry her.
As the storytel er spoke, he threw glittering salts into the boiling pot at his feet. Out of the smoke danced an image of Amina, her blue-skinned body as fluid as water, her silver eyes flashing as she ran after Khalid waving an oar-shaped fish that looked just as alarmed as the old man at the violence she threatened. Meanwhile Khalid’s son, who the storytel er identified as an innocent youth named Said, stood beside the hut’s door like a potted shrub, so paralyzed by the conflict he didn’t know who to cheer for.
While the storytel er captivated his audience with a chase scene that included fish slapping and clotheslining, I walked right up behind the Were, whose arm rested on the shoulders of what looked like an eight-year-old boy who was trembling al over. But the Luureken was neither a kid nor scared. He was just barely containing a constant, maddening rage.
I opened my psyche—took a big sniff just to be sure.
When I nearly puked from the scent of burning flesh and blood, I signaled to Bergman. He pul ed the stick from his pocket, broke open the wrapping, and pretended to cough.
Sterling’s spel ed powder shot out of its container and onto our marks’ backs, leaving a splatter I could see only because lately I found it harder not to.
We’d just turned away from the crowd and begun a new search when Sterling’s report came into our earpieces.
“We’ve got two over here. Shining them up right now.” I said, “Excel ent. We’ve just done a pair and I’m sensing more ahead of us.”
I signaled Bergman to hand me a powder stick and step back, because we were approaching one of the tent restaurants. I’d spotted two male Weres standing together beside a half-size picnic table while their Luureken tore into bowls of, wel , it sure as hel looked liked sheep’s heads from here. “Two pairs on our end,” I told Sterling as Bergman and I maneuvered toward the counter.
My heart threw itself against the wal of my chest as Cole said, “I’m in position on a roof at the eastern edge of the square. I’ve been scouting the area through my scope”—pause for a metal ic-sounding adjustment—“and I’ve found Vayl. Looks like he’s tracking somebody.”
“Where is he?” I asked, scratching my nose to hide my demand.
“Almost underneath me at booth number eleven. I’l keep an eye on him.”
