The Black Tide (Outcast 3)

“That would be lovely,” I said coolly. “I’ll see you then.”

I signed off and then walked across to the large windows. Light and sunshine caressed my skin with warmth but did little to erase the chill gathering around me. Trouble was coming. I could feel it with every psychic piece of me, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do to avoid it. Indeed, the annoying inner voice suggested, avoiding it was possibly the worst thing I could do.

I rubbed my arms and studied the street below. There were plenty of men and women going about their business, and none of them snagged at my senses. But I had no doubt that there would be watchers down there somewhere. I’d given Dream plenty of time to put them in place.

“Let’s go for a walk.” I headed out the door and strode toward the elevator.

Where are we going? Bear asked. The market again?

A smile tugged at my lips. The last time we’d gone there, they’d spent their time chasing each other through the many higgledy-piggledy rows of textiles, meats, and produce, and had ended up upsetti

ng an entire cart, sending oranges rolling everywhere.

“I’m not sure someone of Catherine’s stature would visit such a place. But we might head down to Seven Sins and grab a macaroon.” Or two. I might as well make use of the credits while I still had them.

Macaroon? Cat said. What’s that?

I hesitated, wondering how to describe something my ghost had never seen let alone eaten. “It’s similar to a sweet biscuit, only it’s thin and crunchy on the outside, softer than a cloud on the inside, and the absolutely most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Sounds interesting, Bear said, though his mental tones were uncertain.

But that wasn’t really surprising, given that sweet things and déchet weren’t always compatible. Our taste buds tended to lean toward the bitter end of the scale—a result, no doubt, of the fact that there’d been nothing resembling sweets or desserts offered to déchet in the military bunkers, and they’d certainly been in scarce supply in most of the shifter camps I’d been sent to during the war.

I wish there was a way I could share the experience with you both, I said silently, as I stepped out onto the street. Because they do taste amazing.

Could we link? Cat said. It lets us share sight—maybe it might now let us share taste.

I paused on the step and glanced around, feigning uncertainty as to which way to go, when I was in fact looking for anyone appearing overly interested in my appearance. There didn’t appear to be, but I guessed Dream—in her Hedda Lang guise—did have the entire corps division under her control. They weren’t likely to make such a simple mistake.

We can try. I headed left. Could you both keep watch, and see if you can spot someone following me?

They buzzed around me excitedly and then whisked away. I rather suspected everyone who had the temerity to be walking in the same direction for more than a dozen steps would now be getting a ghostly once-over.

I unhurriedly made my way through the various crosswalks, and after fifteen minutes Cat said, We’ve found him.

Well done, both of you. What does he look like?

Mean, Bear said. He’s got black hair, a big nose, and small lips. He’s dressed in a white tunic like everyone else, but he has an earpiece.

Suggesting he was reporting my every move to someone. Keep an eye on him. If he makes a move toward me, or if anyone else joins him, let me know.

Will do.

I continued winding my way through the streets. I’d barely reached Sixth when Cat said, Jonas is near, though he wears a disguise.

I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder and kept on meandering. What does he want?

She hesitated. He needs to talk to you.

Tell him I’m being followed.

He says he’s aware of that. We told him where you’re going, and he said he’d see you there.

I frowned. That could be dangerous given I’m being tailed.

He said he won’t sit at the same table or acknowledge you in any way.

Okay then. I paused. And my follower? Where’s he currently?