“You drink?” he asked, pouring her a half glass of the pale drink that glimmered like a jewel. The syrupy scent stung her nose and took her back to the poison, when things had at least made a horrid kind of sense.

“No,” she admitted as she picked it up. There was wine at the church, sacramental and ordinary, but no one ever offered either to her. But everyone else here was drinking. She could at least try to fit in.

“To health and holiness.” They clinked their glasses together, and Csilla took a small sip. It was sharp, with a slight linger of apricot that brightened on her tongue even as it burned.

When she looked up, Mihály had his hand resting on his chin, half-smiling at her. She turned her attention back to the brandy, took a gulp, and choked. Her dining companion said nothing, only passed her a linen napkin. Csilla was grateful when the bread was served and she could absorb the taste with dark rye.

More and more people were coming in, spotted furs and tall hats. Csilla recognized a few from their parading into the cathedral, others were looking around like they’d never seen the room. Early pilgrims come to greet the Incarnate’s return, then. Or refugees. Wealth didn’t protect people from Shadow, though perhaps it guarded them from other things. There’d been no murder on the finely maintained streets of this district.

Yet another reason they shouldn’t be wasting their time here, even if the bread was fresh and the wine plentiful. It was a mockery to sit here and feast while evil went unchecked.

Mihály’s foot brushed her ankle under the table, and she jumped, rattling the drink again. “You look very dour for someone dressed so prettily. Smile, will you?”

She tried, but the stretch of her cheeks hurt. “I’m thinking. We don’t even have a plan-”

“Exactly.” He nudged her again, toe skimming her calf as she stared. “I’m no ascetic. I refuse to sit in the dark wearing haircloth and wait for a revelation when I might as well do it with an elegant dinner and charming company.”

Csilla examined the surface of the brandy, the color close to the magic stirred by souls. The dinner was certainly elegant, but she knew she was lacking in charm. She wasn’t even sure how she would put on a show of it.

She took another sip. Maybe it would help. “So you were expelled?”

Mihály winced as his own drink went down wrong and he snatched the napkin back. “So much for the charming company. But yes. My ideas weren’t any more popular at school than they are with the Church. It’s their loss.”

“And you knew Evaline at school? And that’s how you know Madame Varga.”

He nodded, though his eyes stayed on his glass. “Two years below me. I was her tutor, at first. Her mother was always a great help to my accounts.”

So there was a time when he was fine with her charity. Csilla pressed her lips together. She was hardly one to judge.

A young man in a dark coat beckoned to Mihály from across the room, and Mihály raised his hand in an answering wave.

“Another admirer?” Csilla asked, grateful for the distraction. Her questions had dragged a gloomy cloud over what was already an awkward meal.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“No. Why don’t you go talk to him.” She pushed away from the table and stood. She didn’t belong here. She wanted to think. To be alone. “You can ask them if they know anything. I’d rather just go...”

There was no home. There was a church who didn’t want her and a fine and drafty house she didn’t know.

“I’ll go with you, then.” A desperation had lit in his eyes, and she flinched.

“I’m just tired. I’m not running away. This has been a lot for me.” Her eyes dropped at the intensity of his expression. No one had ever cared that much about where she was. “Please, stay and enjoy yourself. I’m sure you’ll have more fun if I’m not here falling asleep into my soup.” He studied her for a moment, then nodded.

“Here.” He fished coins out of his pocket. “Take a cab. Any of them will know the Varga house.”

“Thank you,” she said, though her first instinct was to refuse. Her feet had always served her well.

But when she stepped into the night, the idea of the claustrophobia of the little box cabs set her head pounding.

She could wait out here. It wasn’t too bad- except her hands were cold, and he’d forgotten to buy her the gloves he’d promised. Impatient horses pawed at the cobblestones, every breath frosted.

Through the windows she could see Mihály looking at her, morose and betrayed as he sipped from her glass, his own empty. Maybe he really did want her company, and she was the one being petty by choosing to sit alone where he could still see.

His own fault for wanting to spend the evening on dining or cards or smoking or any of the things that weren’t quite sin, but were still ill-advised. There were plenty of people approaching him; it was hardly like he would spend the evening lacking companionship.

“Are you waiting for a ride, miss?” A coachwoman called. “Do you need me to get something? It’s easy to freeze after drinking.”

She could protest that she hadn’t been drinking, at least not enough to matter. But she should be kind and at least move out of Mihály’s line of sight and let him get on with more pleasant things than sulking. She climbed up into the cab with a final, guilty glance over her shoulder and a wave he didn’t return.

The driver opened the top hatch. “Where to, miss?”

“Could we just...ride around a bit?” The only thing waiting for her at the estate was a draft and a dead woman’s nightclothes, and possibly more of Madame Varga’s pointed questions.

“It’s your money.” The woman accepted the coins with a dark-gloved hand.

The clack of the horse’s hooves created a pleasing rhythm, and she stared at the black ceiling of the cab, dozing and coming to over and over in exhaustion. The reflection out of the corner of her eye was depressing- a young woman, brown hair mussed, sprawled in the back of a cab that was both too much and not enough like a confessional booth, wasting money by the hoof beat. And that’s you.

She’d barely left the safety of the cathedral, and now this.

Mihály was right- they had no plan. It was easier to think without him hovering, no unexpected touches or offhandedly flirtatious remarks to derail her thoughts. They’d start by asking the kin of the victims for any details that may have been missed by the church, and perhaps Mihály could send word to scholars more willing to help. Surely he still had some well-connected friends despite the expulsion.

She stood, jostling at the bounce of wheel on stone, and opened the top door again. “Can I ask you something?”

The woman woahed the horse to a stop. “Ready to give me an actual destination, miss? Your fare is running out.”

Csilla gave an apologetic shake of her head that the woman probably couldn’t see. “I just...I imagine you see a lot of the city. You know that people have been killed...”

“Nothing anywhere close to this district, miss. You’re perfectly safe. Taáj’s protection is strong, and I keep to these streets.”

Because this was where the money was, in the homes once visited by the angel of dirt and prosperity. Csilla pressed her lips together. Not that an affinity that should keep a killer away, but what did she know? The rich always did seem to be protected in some way. She’d never wanted to believe them any more loved or blessed, but the abundance at Mihály’s table argued otherwise.

She needed to just go back before the cabbie dumped her at the far corner of the district and she compounded the waste of money with a long walk. She had promised to stay off the streets at night, what felt like a long time ago, when she was a different person.

“I’m ready now. Take me to...”

Before she could finish, a woman with a child too large to be carried in her arms, another girl trailing them, caught her eye, the woman’s stumbling and upward glances showing she didn’t know where she was. Csilla opened the door and slid out as the driver exclaimed a curse of surprise. “Do you need help?”

“On our way to a mercy hall,” the woman said. “He’s burning up, and the one in our district is full. But we’ll manage.”

The coachwoman offered a prayer, but not her hand, still watching Csilla. Csilla motioned for them to join her. Unless things had changed very much in the two days since she left the church, there wouldn’t be any more room at the next nearest mercy hall. They would be given medicine if there was some to spare, but they would be turned away and even farther from their lodging.

“Take us back. Is there enough on the fare for that?” Mihály could be useful in this if he wasn’t drunk. A little part of her was also pleased at the chance to alleviate the guilt of leaving him to dine alone.

“Not a problem of money,” the coachwoman said with narrow brows, “The charity is a credit to your soul, but I don’t need the air in my box tainted.”

“Surely you won’t blacken your soul by refusing mercy.”

The woman sighed and gestured to the door. “I’ll be keeping the excess fare.”