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“The sea is a hungry creature made by a hungry god.” – Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

I caught up with my coven near the edge of the forested park. The maze ended and the tower was close at hand. We took turns pushing an exhausted Ruchel in the wheelbarrow.

When my turn ended, I kept my distance from the group. We marched through rows of linden trees, the black lake on our right. The skies were starting to darken, the unnatural light fading to gray. We’d taken too long fighting through the maze.

Our pace quickened.

Asher stayed near me, always letting me know he was close with a brush of misty shadow against my shoulder or cheek. In the heat, with the forest filling with frightful movements, I didn’t mind him near. He drilled me with questions, unraveling the aspects of my life I was willing to share.

“Your father was a god?” he clarified, his voice a cautious murmur in my ear.

“The god of travelers,” I whispered.

“I’m not familiar with him. I mean no disrespect. I just know very little about the gods who live in the Upper Realm. They don’t often visit here.”

“That’s all right. Except for a few legends, I don’t know anything about the Otherworld, and my father doesn’t matter. He never stays in one place long enough to be worth remembering. You can disrespect him all you like.” None of these inquiries revealed his motivation for the interrogation. On that front, I was growing impatient.

“Mind you, I don’t doubt that you’ve god blood,” Asher muttered in my ear, like he was thinking through an equation with a solution he couldn’t solve for. “You’re too powerful to be anything else. And yet I sense no divinity in you. Not even a drop.”

I’d already answered all of this. His incessant questioning was going in circles now. “How is any of this supposed to help you?”

He went quiet for so long I thought he’d gone, then another silky brush of magic tickled my neck. “You did something I’ve never seen done before. Something I was convinced was impossible. Now that I know it can be done, I’m hoping I might be able to do the same.”

I stopped and searched for him in his darkness. Billowing night curled around me, grazing my hip, but I found him where it pooled darkest. I couldn’t see him, but I sensed the intensity of his gaze there. “What did I do?”

“You ripped a hole into the Otherworld. You even made it look easy. Ripped the roof right off and came in with your spirit. I seek to do something similar.”

“But you’re a crow. What do you need a hole to the Upper Realm for? There isn’t anywhere in any realm you can’t go. Your kind bounces from shade to shade with a thought. You . . .”

His shadows shifted, the movements uneasy. “That’s true for most reapers. But I cannot leave the Otherworld.”

My eyes went wide. “You’re a prisoner here.”

“I am,” he confessed. “I’m a traitor. Not a spy.”

A traitor? Unless he was lying to me—and that certainly was still on the table—that changed everything. I’d thought we were on opposite sides, but if we both just wanted freedom, the possibilities were endless. “Which god did you betray?”

“All of them.”

A thrill shot through me. “How?”

Though it shouldn’t have been feasible, his shadows grew darker, colder. “The gods think of reapers as servants. Glorified messengers with no concern for where they send us or how we’ll be treated once we get there. They force us into the center of their disagreements and care not if we’re hurt for it.”

“That sounds exactly like them,” I admitted. Crows weren’t known for telling lies, but that mattered little. They weren’t well-known period. Especially not in the Upper Realm. As tempting as it was to believe him, I was no fool. He’d have to prove himself first.

“I grew tired of their indifference,” he said, “and stopped doing as I was asked. Now the Otherworld is not my home. It’s my prison.”

A thousand more questions flooded my mind at once. It was difficult to pick which to voice next, though none weighed heavier than this: If the gods were his enemy as well as mine, then what did that make us?

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” I demanded.

“Well, you shot me in the heart,” he said, “and I didn’t destroy you.”

He had a point there. But that wouldn’t be the end of it. What if this was a trick to get me to serve his god in some battle over a throne I cared nothing about? Perhaps reapers were as gifted at mind games as the divines were.

But the possibilities were so tempting. A gray and a reaper working together—who could stop us?

On the train during the feast, Asher watched me eat in his mortal form, his shadows gathered beneath the table in the dining car that reminded Ruchel of home. I was too hungry for conversation, and I didn’t particularly like being watched so closely. His eyes felt like a spotlight. But he insisted on staying, and I was too depleted and starved to eat politely.

The gaslights flickered. Darkness crept along the windowpanes. A nervous murmur carried across the cabins, and passengers fled, leaving me alone in the dining car with Asher. Not even Ruchel, starved as she was, stayed behind.

I licked butter off my lip, glancing from the shadows that ebbed and flowed at my feet to the cosmic darkness frosting the windows. The midnight shade spread and shimmered like oil, blotting out the desert beyond. The temperature dropped. I immediately recognized the suffocating hum of power growing all around me.

I worked my throat. “Is the Old One on the train?”

Asher’s brow furrowed like the question confused him. “The Old One is always on the train.”

“What does he want?” I whispered, certain Death could hear me anyway, but it seemed more reverent to drop my voice at least a little.

“You make us curious. He’s never had anyone try to kill him before . . . That makes two of us now.”

I assumed that since we had an audience, Asher wouldn’t want to discuss our plan, but he was better at playing god games than I was. He behaved as though nothing was amiss. Unaffected, he openly vowed that the next time I saw him, he’d have answers to my questions about Bram.

* * *

Trial number five took us to a part of Wulfram that was mostly forested. Belching geysers and sinking sand littered the narrow walkways. A rapid river carved the path we followed toward the heart of the city. Garm shaped like giant lizards slumbered in the mud. Tall trees blocked out the view of the clock tower, which made navigation a challenge, but between Ruchel’s excellent senses and water magic placed in the maps Blue drew into the earth with her wand, we made it safely through.

The sixth trial was a stretch of thin sandy isthmus that separated the Schatten’s platform from the city. Sea waves lapped at both sides of the narrow path, and hungry water devils prowled the shores. There wasn’t a good way to fight them off except to run with all your might and hope you didn’t get caught in a crowd of them. They were fast, but they couldn’t breathe out of the water, which made them reluctant to chase us far.

I wasn’t built for sprinting, but we made it no worse for wear, back into the forested part of Wulfram’s great park. A waterfall emptied into a basin of brackish water that trickled into the black lake. We took turns bathing in the waterfall with soaps Emma and Liesel had made for trade.

If it weren’t for the devils, this part of Wulfram could have been a paradise. The basin glittered, full of colorful fish. Citrus trees grew a vibrant red and yellow fruit I’d never seen before in the Upper Realm, some god experiment abandoned to grow wild that delighted my senses. The tart taste was ambrosia on my tongue, and the smell reminded me of the tangy scent of powerful magic.

The seventh trial was my least favorite to date. Heights made me nauseous. Thin rope bridges were the only path forward from a high platform down into Wulfram. The ropes jerked and moved as more bodies mounted them behind me. They were slick in places, moss and mold growing on the fibers in unexpected patches.

Weight suddenly left the ropes and screaming rang in my ears. The witch in front of me lost her footing and pulled her coven mate down with her. Prisoners dropped to their deaths in the dozens.

My coven made it safely to the ground and into a district dominated by tall industrial buildings. Thick, sticky webbing caked every corner and alley. It was full of dead garm of all kinds, including the same insects that spun the webs. They feasted on whatever they caught, including each other. As small as we were in comparison, we attracted little notice, allowing us to move quickly toward the center of the city.

“Never. Touch. The webs,” Ruchel warned me.

I had no intention of doing so. The sticky masses couldn’t have looked more treacherous if lava had dripped from them.

My revolver came in handy twice. I shot two mantis-like creatures in the face with gray bullets and killed them. We used their corpses to distract a larger spider garm away from the road we needed. I only had two rounds left.

Thankfully, the fate-weavers smiled on us. We made it to the train without using another bullet.

That night in the lounge car after the feast, I removed my pocket pistol from my boot, then I took it apart piece by piece. I cleaned it thoroughly. It didn’t need to be taken apart for that, but there was something wonderfully distracting about putting it all back together again like a puzzle. Something I hoped would renew my spirits better. I was never fully replenished, forced to battle at half my capabilities. But renewing my gray was more complicated than consuming food or favorite liquids or rest. It helped to meet my needs. It just wasn’t enough.

A good poetry book written in the old Frian language would do wonders for me.

Or a hug from Lisbeth. She gave the best hugs.

Asher materialized in the chair across from me then. Witches and beast-born outside of our coven fled at the sight of him. I appreciated how Blue’s disapproving glances immediately shifted off of me and onto him. It was a nice change of pace. Blue didn’t flee exactly, but she chose then to abandon her teacup and excuse herself for bed. The green sisters packed up their knitting hastily and followed her.

“Trouble,” Asher said, pushing back his smoky hood, his bone-white hair a stark contrast to the shadows that clung to his shoulders.

“Traitor,” I greeted amicably.

He reached for the pistol pieces I was reassembling with interest. I was about to swat his hands away, but then he began lining them all up neatly. The screws and springs he put in order by size and shape and purpose, and I was hypnotized momentarily by his big hands working over the small parts. It was like having someone scratch an itch in the center of my back I couldn’t quite get at.

“Bram has taken over the Alwin library as his headquarters,” he told me.

I dropped the revolver’s hammer down into the frame, lining it up just right before replacing the first screw. “The library’s not far from the clock tower. I could visit there tomorrow. Nola says the next trial is manageable. It shouldn’t exhaust me.”

“You could. I’m familiar with Bram’s schedule. He’s a man who keeps a fixed routine and expects his coven to do the same,” Asher said, handing me the small tool I was using to tighten the screws.

“What else did you learn?” I hoped there was more. He’d been gone for most of three days.

“There’s a rumor Bram is god-born and has the power of all the elements,” he said. Behind him Nola did a poor job of pretending she wasn’t eavesdropping.

I snorted. “All the elements? That’s nonsense.”

“It is. But he lets the rumor fly because it’s good for recruitment. He’s a mind warlock with a powerful god-made relic he wears on his head. He has a talent for suggestion, and the circlet amplifies it. His instincts are unmatched, according to his admirers, of which there are many. In any conflict, he stays several moves ahead of his opponents, of which there are also many.”

“But is he actually god-born?” I worked the springs into place next. Wrestling the main spring was the worst of it.

“The circlet puts out so much divine energy it’s hard to decipher what’s natural and what’s not. He never takes it off. Even to sleep.”

“What are you doing tomorrow?” I asked, securing the pistol’s trigger piece in place.

His lashes lifted, and the crinkles near his eyes deepened. “Helping you get to Bram, of course.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.” And because I was not a fool, I added, “And what will you need in exchange for such a service?”

He lowered his voice to a murmur that not even snooping Nola would be able to hear clearly. “Teach me to tear an exit into the Otherworld.”

Biting my lip, I set the pistol down. “I don’t think I can.”

“Why?” He frowned at me.

I disliked the impact his disappointment had on me, tugging down my own mouth to mirror his. “Death magic isn’t compatible with others.” I rubbed at the phantom sizzle in my abdomen, remembering the way the Old One’s magic suffocated the fire in my chest. “What you touch, it smothers. It dies. The magic we want needs to be amplified, not put out. I’m the amplifier. You’re . . . the opposite of that.”

Scooting to the edge of his chair, he rolled the last of the screws between his fingers. “Then you’ll just have to do it for us.”

“I don’t know if I can do it again . . . I’m too depleted all the time just trying to survive the trials. Even if the conditions were right, it’s not like the gods leave their sigils lying about for me to use as I wish.”

Nola whispered into Ruchel’s ear like a gossiping hen.

“But you’ll try. If I secure a god sigil, you’ll try?” He rolled the screw backward and forward and backward again.

“I’ll try.” Of course I would. I needed out of here so I could plot my next move against the guilty god, whoever they were.

“In the name of our new partnership, I’ll help you with Bram, and then you’ll owe me.”

I squinted at him. “I’ll owe you what?”

“Cooperation.” In his baritone, the simple word sounded absolutely filthy, and my stomach tumbled.

The singed bullet hole in his leather waistcoat leaked a smoky essence faintly when he moved. Now that he was possibly, probably, maybe not my enemy, I didn’t like seeing it there. I placed my palm over it, stifling the leak.

He looked down at my hand, his sharp chin at a tilt like the crow he was named for, a faint smile on his lips.

The shadows that slid between my fingers were warmer than the death magic pooling around my feet, grazing my shins, brushing over my knees. “Does it hurt?”

“Like Hel,” he said fondly. “Your bullet is still in there.”

“Oh?” I blinked at him. “Should . . . should we get it out?”

He shook his head. “It’s mine now. You can’t have it back.”

I wanted not to find his brand of peculiarity charming, but there I sat, vaguely and reluctantly pleased with this enemy of my enemies. My lips twisted trying not to smile.

I reassembled my pocket pistol. Then we all shuffled off to bed and Asher followed. Nola and Ruchel said their goodbyes, disappearing into their compartment. He lingered at the doorway of my bunk long after the others were gone.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Sleeping near my coven to assist their recovery,” he said. He peeked over my head, frowning at the single bed.

I pushed him backwards, away from my compartment, discouraging any notions about sharing. There were plenty of empty cabins elsewhere. “Reapers sleep?”

“When we want to. I don’t need to, but I enjoy dreaming.” He moved one door down and knocked on it.

“That one’s taken,” I told him.

Asher shoved the door open. “Get out,” he rumbled.

A beast-born with ram horns fled the cabin, half-dressed. I shook my head at Asher, bemused.

He helped himself to the bottom bunk. I watched him sink onto the mattress and ready his pillow, the act making him seem oddly human. His shadows draped like a rippling waterfall over the edge of the bed, rebounding in puffs of cloud as they touched the floor, and the effect immediately wore off. He was Otherworldly again.

I returned to my room. Our beds were separated by a thin bone wall. My previous neighbor had snored terribly in his sleep. When he woke me in the night, I had unkind thoughts about him not surviving the next trial. I turned down the gas lamp and crawled under the covers, glad that at least I would no longer have to wish an innocent man dead.

Asher knocked against our shared wall in three quick successions. My fist hung there, tempted to knock back, unsure if I should encourage . . . whatever this was. I tapped once against the wall in compromise.

“I hope you don’t snore,” I said.

“Goodnight, troublemaker,” he replied.

* * *

In the morning, my sleeper cabin was not empty. Ruchel sat at the foot of my bed and Nola paced the small quarters in front of the pitcher and basin for washing.

They waited until I sat up and stretched before pouncing—a small blessing.

“What’s this about opening an exit to the Upper Realm?” Nola demanded.

“Could I at least have breakfast first?” I asked.

“No,” they shouted at me in unison.

While I dressed, I told them in more explicit detail how I’d ended up on the Schatten, explaining the hole I’d torn into the Otherworld. Ruchel helped me fasten my corset over my chemise while I shared my plans for revenge and for Bram.

A shimmer of hope lit Ruchel’s ochre eyes. She sat down heavily at the foot of my bed. “If you kill him, could that help you get in a better ‘condition’ for opening this exit? Would it raise your spirits enough?”

Nola had different worries. “If this isn’t handled right, we’ll put a target on all of our backs.”

I hated disappointing them, but I wouldn’t lie. “I don’t know if it will fix me, and I have no intention of starting the games early and aiming all the trouble at our coven either. If Bram can’t convince me he didn’t kill my sister, then he dies today. Either way, I vote we keep working toward our exit plan as best we can.”

“In and out, one man dead, no witnesses,” Nola said, already plotting. “This is much smarter than a public assault in a market square, ducky. We’ll help you make sure things stay that way.”

I shouted at the wall I shared with Asher and invited him over. His shadows poured in through the corner vent. Our plotting had just started when it was interrupted by a rapid knock at the door.

“Nola, is that you I hear in there?” a male voice called from the hall. Another round of knocks followed in rapid succession, a thunderous sound that rattled the wood.

“Brick?” Nola jumped up to answer it, sliding it open wide.

A young man leaned against the frame. He wore a woolen cap over short autumn hair, and his waistcoat was a thick tweed favored in Sebrak. The crimson amulet around his neck marked him as a red witch.

“Why, hello there, beautiful,” the young man said for my benefit, his smile filling out his freckled cheeks. “The name’s Brick. Thief of the gods, they call me, but you can call me whatever you’d like.”

Nola snorted so loudly it echoed. “No one calls you that, Brick. You can drop the act. Maven’s one of us now.”

“Ah, good. Another one for the ‘secret alliance,’ eh?” he stage-whispered, nudging Nola with his thin elbow.

Nola pinched the bridge of her nose. “For the love of the Crone,” she groaned. “You’re not supposed to say it out loud. It’s not a secret if you blabber on about it all the time.”

“This is why I keep telling you to cut all the rogues loose,” Ruchel grumbled. Glaring from the foot of my bed, she crossed both arms over her middle. “They’ll give everything away.”

“Oi! Who you calling a rogue?” Brick protested.

“Don’t act offended. We’re all crooks, thieves, and troublemakers here on Death’s train.” Nola cast a glance my way and winked. “There isn’t a virtuous one amongst us. There’s no need to pretend otherwise. Now, get to it. What do you want?”

“I’ve decided to bless you lovely ladies with my company today. I’m going to travel with you instead of the insipid bumblers you stuck me with.” Brick flashed another wide smile. “No need to thank me all at once.”

Nola shook her head. “Absolutely not. Have you already forgotten how they went for you last time? Or do I need to stick your ginger head inside another flush toilet until the point swims into your ears?”

Brick huffed at her. “You can’t keep shoving me off with the red crew. They’re a bunch of whiny tosspots.”

“What’d you steal from them this time?” Ruchel demanded.

“It’s unfair to assume that,” Brick said, blue eyes going soft and puppy-like. “The other reds are so short-sighted and irritating I can’t bear the thought of facing another trial with them. You can’t make me. I’ll go on strike.”

“There’s no union of crooks in the Otherworld,” Ruchel ground out.

“Stop picking their pockets, maybe?” Nola said, gesturing broadly. “I bet then the other reds will become more agreeable.”

Brick did a double-take, suddenly noticing the intimidating reaper playing a statue in the corner. “Well, aren’t you a tall drink of water,” the red witch said, dragging his gaze appreciatively up and down Asher’s cloaked and hooded form. “Almost didn’t see you there. You’re not half bad-looking for a crow.”

“You’re a child,” Asher replied dismissively.

Brick sucked in a breath, appalled. “I am not! That’s a lie, that is. Why is everyone in such a rotten mood this morning?”

He was only a bit younger than Lisbeth but certainly a child compared to Asher and me. I chuckled at him. I didn’t have the energy to like anyone else—my quota on that front was overly full—but I didn’t dislike this Brick fellow. He seemed harmless to me.

“We don’t have time for your troubles today, Brick. Go make up with the other reds,” Nola said, ushering him out the door. “Whatever you did this time, try saying you’re sorry for once in your foolish life, and maybe people will stop threatening to stick your head into the toilet or worse.”

* * *

The first trial opened into a residential district, the main road lined with brownstones and gaslights. The streets were decorated with colorful mosaics depicting Hel, a goddess of terrifying beauty who once ruled the Otherworld. She was overthrown by her children Nott and Mara, her essence transformed into the icy realm now bearing her name. A home to lost malevolent spirits made by nightmares, the shades, and vicious garm beasts.

Shades haunted a phantom fog that hovered between the buildings. But the mist was not a problem for us. Emma and Liesel had made a special wax which we used to plug our ears to prevent the beings from entering our minds to drink our energy and haunt us with bad dreams. Candles were plentiful on the train, and the roots to cast the earth spell were easy to find.

Nola and Ruchel told the others that they would be meeting with Guardian recruiters at the Alwin library near the clock tower to arrange a trade for more ammunition, something we dearly needed. Blue was not favored by the Guardians because of how often she discouraged others like Talia from taking up their cause.

She excused herself from joining us, and the sisters followed her as usual.

We arrived at the library with hours to spare. Nola and Ruchel used the time to make themselves more familiar with the place, drawing eyes to the atrium of the building, away from me.

Asher and I holed up near a back entrance.

Thanks to him, I was dressed in black broadcloth, blending in with the others who happened by. Asher didn’t kill people, but he thought nothing of stealing from them. The pockets of my borrowed trousers contained a pouch of tobacco, rolling papers, and a lighter. I wore my hair in a coiled braid like the other witches did, pinned just above the nape of my neck, and I smoked a rolled cigarette slowly.

The crowd dispersed, and Asher materialized beside me, seated on the cobblestones to wait for the prime moment. He removed a leather journal from his waistcoat and wrote furiously to pass the time. He was writing right to left.

“Are you journaling in Frian?” I asked.

“I am,” he said, without looking up from his work, propping the journal up against his knee. “I’ve always liked Frian best, though books written in it reach the Otherworld less and less often now. Those priestesses knew what they were doing.”

Pride warmed my chest. Then curiosity made worse by the slow passing of time got the better of me. “What are you writing?”

It was none of my business.

I was dying to know.

“Just my thoughts. A few verses here and there,” he admitted. I chewed on my cheek, resisting the urge to attempt to read over his shoulder.

When I leaned closer, he shuffled away, a white brow raised in a question I didn’t have a good answer for. The dying light cast his fair skin in a warm glow.

“Just curious,” I told him.

“You’ll have to remain curious,” he said dismissively.

The crowd thinned further. Guardians departed for their homes to take shelter from the beasts that ruled the night, and the skies darkened. It was time.

“Stay near,” I told him.

He melted into his wraith-like form and bathed me in his shadows. “Right behind you, Trouble.”