Something seemed to grow from the middle of the inky surface, a bubble, which became a horn, which became a pillar twisting itself towards the sky. And then it was neither pillar nor shadow at all, but just a man in a long black coat. The man was young, no older than Painter, and perhaps even younger. His features were sharp, handsome, and he had a wide smile. But Painter saw the smile was not in the young man’s eyes. Those were dark; dark and cold and full of malice. He came and sat next to Painter.
“I’m looking for someone,” the young man said. “I wonder if you are him.”
Everything within Painter told him that there was danger, but the young man’s demeanor was patient and calm. Disarming.
“I need someone to go before me. To tell of my coming.” He leaned forward, as if revealing a secret in confidence. “I need someone to be my voice.”
Painter found that he could speak, could move freely. And while part of him cried out to flee, there was something engaging about this young man that made him want to linger. Surely it couldn’t hurt to sit and talk.
“I d-d-don’t think that’s mmmm, that’s me,” he said.
The young man smiled.
“I can help you,” he said. “I will help you. And your sister. If you’ll allow me.”
The young man held up his hand between them, and his expression was one of waiting for permission. How the young man knew about Snow and what he intended to do, Painter didn’t know. But he felt in his heart that a crucial decision lay before him, one that once made he could never unmake. An opportunity once missed, that would never come again. For a moment, he struggled against himself.
But what, in reality, would he be giving up? Here was someone who had need of him. Someone who could help him. Someone who could help Snow. Looking at the young man, still patiently waiting for his decision, Painter felt reluctance. But he couldn’t find a reason for it. Fear, unfounded. And Painter was tired of being afraid.
He nodded, and the young man extended his hand to touch Painter’s mouth. And then he smiled again and stood, and walked to the edge of the roof. He turned back to face Painter.
“When the sun rises, tell them,” he said. “Tell them I’m coming.”
And then he stepped backwards off the roof and instead of falling, he shattered into a hundred fragments, which in turn became some kind of winged creatures, black like crows or ravens. They scattered in every direction, and Painter awoke with a start, his hands shooting out reflexively.
It took a moment for him to recognize where he was. And when he did, he quickly turned this way and that, searching for the young man. But there was no one to be seen on the rooftop. He rubbed his eyes to ensure he had actually awoken from his dream. The words still echoed in his mind.
Tell them I’m coming.
Painter touched his mouth, ran his hands over his face. And then he became aware of a strange sound, like a quiet popping or soft crackling. Or like the flapping of leathery wings. Painter glanced around again to look for the source of the noise. And when it occurred to him to look over the edge of the building, his breath caught in his throat.
The streets below were teeming with Weir.
Moving through the city after dark had become more dangerous than Cass had anticipated. The curfew was still in effect, and it seemed like the number of city guards had swelled in her short absence. On top of that, there were here and there pockets of rough-looking men and women skulking in the shadows. Whether they were working in league with the guards, or just out on their own accord, they certainly weren’t operating in any official capacity. Cass wondered if these were the same kinds of people that had slain Luck and the others. But there was no time for questions now, and fortunately moving unseen had become almost second nature to her, particularly when she was on her own. The fatigue from the day’s journey slowed her some, but not as much as she would’ve expected.
Cass found her way to Aron’s shop on the eastern side of the city, in the outer ring of buildings set closest to the wall. His was one of the larger establishments in Morningside and had actually been two separate buildings at one time. The lower floors were dark, but light shone around the edges of the curtains pulled across the upstairs windows.
There was no one out front that she could see, but given what she’d seen at Mister Sun’s, Cass had every reason to expect there were guards at every door. She had no idea what kind of reception she might get, she didn’t want to risk a violent confrontation. She crept around the building looking for alternate ways in.
On the backside of the building, there was a balcony on the second floor. There were no obvious ways to gain access to it from ground, but the building next door had a decorative trellis that was easy to scale. Cass gained the roof of that building and paused there, watching for patrols. She saw only one guard on the wall. Too many in the city, too few on the walls.
When she was sure it was clear, she ran and leapt the gap between the two buildings and landed lightly on Aron’s roof. She crept to the edge and lowered herself down to the balcony. Inside, she could hear voices. She tried the handle to the door, but of course it was locked. That made her think of Wren, and she paused for a moment, wondering where he was and what was happening with him. She took a deep breath and steadied herself.
She couldn’t imagine that anyone on the Council would do him any harm. Not now. Not when he had returned so peacefully.
Actually, she could imagine it. But she refused to let herself do so. She would find Aron and, with him, answers.
Cass looked around on the balcony to see if there was anything she could use to open the door; a hidden key, or secret panel. And while she searched, the door clicked and swung open. She whirled to face the door and found herself staring into the radiant blue eyes of one of her kindred.
“What… Lady Cass?” she said, surprise evident in her voice and on her face. It was Kit. “Lady Cass, what are you doing here?”
Kit came forward and embraced her in strong arms, and then stepped back quickly, as if remembering her place. “Oh, I’m sorry, Lady,” she said. “I was just so surprised…”
Cass smiled in spite of herself and hugged Kit in return.
“Kit, it’s so good to see you. I feared you were dead.”
“No, ma’am, not yet,” she answered. “Though not for lack of trying. But really, what are you doing out here? How did you get out here?”
“I climbed. I need to see Aron.”
“OK,” Kit said. “OK, sure. He’s inside.”
Kit led her inside, through a large open room with wooden floors and a number of chairs. It was warm and comfortable, dusky with its lights turned low. There were several Awakened throughout the room, and others besides. The conversation all but stopped as Kit escorted Cass through.
They found Aron sitting in a small upstairs room in what looked like a workshop. He was sitting on a stool and had something on a workbench in front of him. He was hunched over it intently when Kit tapped on the door. There was a long wide bandage across the back of his head.
“Yep?” Aron said, without turning.
“Sorry to bother you, Aron, but someone’s here to see you.”
“Oh yeah? Who’s that?” he said, swiveling on his stool. He blinked a couple of times as his old eyes adjusted, and then his eyes opened wide and he shot to his feet.
“Easy, Aron,” Cass said. “I’m not here to fight. I just want to talk.”
His shoulders relaxed, and his eyes went a little sad.