‘Wait!’ I hiss, and Rhea stops. Behind her, the doorway yawns black.
‘Something’s following me,’ I say.
She steps closer. ‘Something?’
‘I don’t know, a really tall guy with a woven mask.’ That doesn’t explain it, though – his strange gait and hollow mouth, his stretching fingers, real but inhuman. ‘I saw some members of the Osiris Club, too, on Broad Street. They were looking at me. Maybe they’re in on it, too.’
Rhea sucks in her cheeks. Scolding me, like the night of our welcome reception, when I wanted to believe in the cards. I expect her to ask me if I’m sober, but she just nods. ‘Where did you see the something or someone last?’
‘Cherry Street.’
‘Then we’ll go out the back.’
She starts digging through the garments hanging on a wheeled metal rack, shrugs on a long, camel-colore
