“Where to now?” she slurred.
Fatma looked her over. “I’m thinking you might be a bit much for your family.”
“I sleep in Auntie Aziza’s room. She doesn’t notice much.”
“Not so sure of that. Just come back to my place.”
Siti winked. “As if that’s not where I was going all along.”
“You’ll have to settle for the front door. I don’t do windows.”
“Going to explain me to that nosy bewab? He’s always there.”
The man was always there. “He can think whatever he wants. I’m the one paying rent.”
Siti snickered. “We don’t have to go yet. I still have my dress on under this.” She gestured beneath her dark kaftan.
Fatma looked dubious. She’d barely survived all-nighters with Siti before. “How about we go home, I make tea, and we catch up. It’s Friday. We can even sleep in.”
Siti nuzzled her ear. “Such a romantic. Going to start wooing me with poetry next?”
Fatma raised an eyebrow. “You like poetry?”
“Only the old stuff. I can recite the poetry of Majnun by heart.”
“Impressive. You have a thing for Persian romances?”
“Nothing quite like tragic and unrequited love. Know some Antar too.”
“That explains your aunt. She thought I should recite you poetry.”
“Auntie Aziza told you that?”
“Aywa. Said it might win over your heart.”
“Crafty old woman,” Siti muttered.
“She said you had too much of your father in you. And that’s why you like to wander.” The ensuing silence made Fatma want to take the words back immediately.
“Well.” Siti said after a while, her arm loosening. “Auntie does like to talk.”
“Sorry,” Fatma said, cursing her runaway mouth. “I shouldn’t have—”
Siti gestured as if to dismiss the comment—or maybe her absent father. “I think some tea and talk sounds fine.” She tapped beneath one eye. “But is he coming with us?”
“What?” Fatma turned to look, but Siti clicked her tongue. “Not right at him!”
She settled for glancing out of the corner of her eye, catching a dark shape. They were being followed.
“How long has he been there?” she hissed.
“Not sure. Probably followed us from the Spot.”
Fatma gazed about. Lots of shadows for skulking in these backstreets.
“Isn’t this how we met?” Siti asked.
“You pocket-picked me to get my attention. Because you’re strange. He’s likely a thief.”
“Or a homicidal maniac! Who preys on young women out about town!”
“Too bad for him.”
Siti’s rejoinder was almost a growl. “Too bad.”
The two turned a corner, passing under a pointed archway and down stairs leading to shadows. There they parted, taking positions at opposite ends. Fatma gripped her cane’s pommel, easing the sword out a few inches. People always wanted to learn the hard way the thing wasn’t just for show. Siti was on the balls of her feet, teeth bared and eager.
Their pursuer’s approach sounded in the quiet. He hesitated before descending the stairs and entering the shadows. A figure in a dark cloak and hood, walking right between them.
Amateur, Fatma thought. She waited until he passed before drawing her sword, letting the sound of sliding steel reverberate. He spun just in time to catch the flat of the blade on both knees. A howl of pain came as his legs folded. It was cut off as Siti pounced, bearing him down with a hard smack! She pinned his chest with a knee as he fought to catch his breath.
“Picked the wrong women to go hunting! Are you a maniac or what? Talk!”
The man struggled, flailing in his robes and gurgling.
“I don’t think he can talk with you on him like that,” Fatma noted.
“His problem. Not mine.” She pressed her knee harder, and the man yelped.
Fatma bent down, pulling back his hood. “Listen, friend, you’d better—” She stopped at seeing his face. Bald, with skin a pale shade of gray. And no eyebrows.
“Ahmad?” Siti asked, lifting her knee.
He gasped before rumbling weakly. “You may call me Lord Sobek. The Rager. Def—”
“Ahmad!”
He winced, running a pink tongue over sharp teeth. “Yes?”
Siti jumped up, giving Fatma a confused gesture. “What are you doing here, Ahmad?”
The strange man climbed to his feet. His dark green eyes flickered to Fatma. “I came looking for you. Saw you enter that place. Then Siti. Figured you’d leave sometime.”
Fatma frowned. “You followed me? How long?”
“Since your apartment.” He backed off as she stepped forward. “I had good reason!”
“For stalking me?”
“I wanted to see how you were handling the case!” Fatma paused, and he took the moment to speak. “I expected the Ministry to be working day and night to catch Ester’s murderer. Instead, I find you cavorting as if nothing matters!”
Fatma was taken aback. “I don’t need you to tell me how to do my job. I get to have a life.”
“Have a life?” Skin rose where eyebrows should have. “I went to the police today, to identify Ester. So that her family could know.” His face twisted. “The body was so burned I couldn’t make out her face. I couldn’t…”
Fatma’s anger eased. He didn’t have the right to follow her. But she understood grief.
“Ahmad,” Siti spoke gently. “I’m sorry for what you must be going through. But prowling in the dark after us isn’t helping. Why didn’t you just come up and talk?”
He shrugged. “I was waiting for a good time. Didn’t want to seem … creepy.”
Siti blew out a breath. “That ship’s sailed, Ahmad.”
“The Ministry’s doing the best we can,” Fatma told him. “We’re hunting every lead.”
Ahmad’s dark eyes glittered. “I think I’ve found one of those. A lead.” He met their puzzled looks. “I’ll take you there. It’s something you have to see for yourselves.”
Fatma snuck glances at Ahmad opposite her in the automated carriage. The man had pulled out his silver scarab beetle lighter to start a third Nefertari, blowing cigarette smoke out the window. There was a more crocodilian look to him: as if his face had elongated.
“Didn’t he have more of a nose this morning?” she whispered.
Beside her, Siti spared a look. Her voice had lost its slur, and she seemed sober and alert. “He’s been like
