HE STOPPED AT THE END of the avenue, with the tall towers looming over him, and stood facing the Temple of Shadows. There was no sign of life in the square black opening that served as a door for the featureless stone block, dark but not as dark as a Shadow.
He threw back his head and called: “Mayron!”
The worshippers huddled around him. Vigil, like them, was throwing anxious looks over his shoulders as the city’s Shadows crowded closer.
Adelie murmured: “There he is.”
And he was, trotting lightly down the steps, smiling. He wore his human skin as naturally as if it were more than a cloak, and Greaves had to look hard to see that when he smiled his lips stretched but no teeth showed.
“Well, Man in all your pride. Are you ready?”
“Ready as any man. How do you propose to go about this?
