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it’s her, then why are these wizards dead? If it’s
    her, why doesn’t she just do everyone at once and get it over with?”
    “It’s not just wizards,” Jonah reminded her. “Other mainli—guildlings are dying as well.”
    Longbranch snorted. “What happens to the other guilds is no concern of mine.”
    She was still moving, and now Jonah could see that she was headed toward a desk at the side of the room.
    Jonah watched her inch along with part of his brain while the rest wrestled with Longbranch’s revelations. “And it’s happening all over?”
    “Everywhere,” Longbranch said. “Starting about two years ago.” She’d reached her goal. Now she stood, her hips braced back against the desk, leaning on the heels of her hands. “May I ask you a question?”
    “You can ask. I may not answer.”
    “Who sent you? If you’re not working for Madison Moss, then who are you working for? McCauley?”
    “McCauley?” Jonah shook his head. “No.”
    “Hastings? Hastings, then?”
    “No. Not Hastings.”
    “I have it!” Longbranch said. “You’re working for DeVries. You were sent to find out how much we know. And then to kill us.”
    “I told you. I came for Ms. Brodie. But you tortured her, and then you murdered her.” He paused, long enough for his words to register, then said, “I want to know why. Specifically. Who’s working with you, and what are you planning to do?”
    Just then Jonah’s secure cell phone went off. Incoming Stext from Charlie Dugard, head of Nightshade’s European operation.
    He scanned the screen. Slayer down. Regent’s Canal, near Camden Lock. All hands.
    That would go out to any slayer within range.
    Taking advantage of Jonah’s momentary distraction, Longbranch scooped a dagger off her desk, turned, and lunged at him, attempting to bury the blade beneath his breastbone. Jonah intercepted her hands, gripping both wrists, and slammed her up against the wall.
    Longbranch looked down at the dagger between them, just pricking his sweatshirt, at his hands gripping her bare wrists. Then looked up into his eyes.
    “Oh,” she said, her lips curving into a dreamy smile. “My dear. You are such a pretty one.”
    Jessamine Longbranch died happy. Now Jonah Kinlock had someplace he had to be.

Chapter Three

Slayer
    Jonah took the Northern Line to the Camden Town stop. It was likely the quickest way to get there, but still—it seemed to take forever.
    Slayer down. Was it someone he knew? He’d heard that Charlie’s group had been investigating shade activity along the Regent Canal. An eighteen-year-old warrior savant, Charlie was tall, buff, and totally bald, with the gift of picking up any language within a few minutes of hearing it. That made him a good choice to head Nightshade’s European operations.
    Exiting the station, Jonah veered right, up the Camden High Street toward the lock, following the signal from Charlie’s cell phone. Crossing the canal, he descended the steps to the towpath, turning toward Regent’s Park. The breeze blowing down the canal brought with it the stink of mischief, the mingled scent of free magic and rotting flesh that signaled that hosted shades were nearby. “Where are you, Charlie?” Jonah said into the phone. “I’m close. Talk to me.”
    “On a boat,” Charlie gasped. “The one being foundered Sby shades. Can’t miss it.”
    Rounding a curve in the canal, Jonah saw, up ahead, one of the narrow cruise boats that plied the canal. It sat low in the water, drifting nearly crosswise in the channel, as if it had lost its rudder.
    On all sides of the boat, the water teemed with hosted shades, swarming up the sides, boosting themselves up and over the rail. Organized, coordinated, planned. This wasn’t a mob—it was an army.
    Shades were lone wolves, notorious for squabbling with one another, competing for fresh meat, and backstabbing, so to speak. This was something new.
    Unhosted shades were nearly invisible to the naked eye, seen as a