EXCERPT 1
The job is simple.

Enter the room unseen. Wait for Ajjan to distract the mark—a foreign dignitary from the south. Then acquire her handbag and deliver it to the other side of town.

No blood. No trace.

My employer was very specific about that last bit. It’s common protocol in my line of work, along with an understanding that pay will be docked by half if I’m spotted. If there’s blood, I might not get paid at all. My mark must never know I was here. Personally, I thought I’d outgrown grabbing purses in the night. But it’s an easy job, and I can use the money.

The red night moon casts the world in crimson light as I pull myself onto the third-story balcony of a slummy brothel in the west end. The window is webbed with ice, obscuring my view inside—I can only make out pale blotches of yellow light. There doesn’t seem to be any movement, but I can’t be sure the room is empty. I just have to hope the Blackbones did their job and set everything up.

I give the windowpane a shove, but it doesn’t budge. Damn. The thing hasn’t been opened in months, and it’s frozen shut. For a common thief, a frozen window stymies a job. But I’m no common thief.

I take out my trapper tone pipe, a metal cylinder with a single reed, tuned to one specific note. The reflective surface catches light from the lanterns below, illuminating my name inscribed along the side in big bold letters: BEXIS. It was a gift from my deadbeat father right before he abandoned me. It’s the last thing I have from him, and if it weren’t so damn useful, I’d have tossed it years ago.

I bring the pipe to my lips and blow. The note is inaudible, like a dog whistle, too high for the human ear to hear. But the vibration weaves through the air and seeps into my skin, where it sparks like flint on steel, and a sonorous ember catches deep in my chest. Resonance hums through my body. The ambient darkness around me shimmers with feathered lines of silver that only I can see.

A burst of power shudders through me, and I hold it within my realm of focus, like cupping a candle against a sea wind.

This is resonance trapping—the first step in performing harmonic magic. Mine is the harmony of shadow. Sparking the ember is the easy part. Trapping it is more difficult, but holding it once it’s been trapped? Well, that’s like riding an angry wolverine. If I’m not careful, I might lose control, and people could get hurt. It’s been months since that’s happened, but there’s always a chance the resonance will lash out, sending me into an episode of uncontrollable power.

Resonance quivers through my veins. I reach my hand to the glass, willing the vibration into my fingertips, and the shadows obey. Tendrils of silver swirl across my wrist and through my palm. I touch the windowpane, and the shadows run through it, seeping like oil into the hinges.

The window squeals as ice crumbles around the edges.

I shift my awareness to the space above my head. Resonance purrs in my chest as I weave gossamer strands of silver around me like a cloak. This is my greatest trick. So long as I can hold the resonance and have enough ambient shadow to work with, I can conceal myself from prying eyes. But I can’t maintain it for long; already, I can feel my energy beginning to drain as heaviness settles behind my eyes.

Best be quick now.

I heave the window open and squeeze inside.

EXCERPT 2
Juzu turns and spreads his arms. “Look. We’re here!”

I stop. We’re standing in front of a dead end. The lot is empty except for a pair of trashcans that have been pushed conspicuously under a lone lamppost. The light is out, and all the buildings are dark and deserted. There aren’t even footprints in the snow. Nobody’s been back here in days.

I can’t help but feel disappointed. After all this walking, I was expecting to end up somewhere warm. But now we’re in the middle of nowhere, and I have no idea how we got here or how to get back. “Where are we exactly?”

“You’re in for a treat.” Juzu swings his umbrella around his wrist and makes for the trashcans. “Welcome to Shytar’s workshop.”

I stand on the curb with my shoulders hunched against the cold. “Juzu, there’s nothing here. No workshop. No speaker. This was a waste of time.”

He leans on the trashcan and bashes his fist against the lid. “Keep an open mind. Shytar is one of the wisest and most powerful Dreamspeakers in all of Coppejj.”

A voice comes from inside the trashcan. “Who is it?”

My heart skips a beat. There’s someone in there.

“Wake up, Shy.” Juzu removes the lid. “I need your help.”

“Juzu?” A middle-aged woman with short black hair and layers of baggy clothes pokes out of the trashcan. She has red cheeks and a round face with large brown eyes that she rubs with her knuckles. “Hezha’s fire, you went through that bag already?”

“What?” His gaze flicks to me. “No, I—”

“It’s alright. I got you.” Shytar yawns and crosses her arms. “How much do you need?”

“No, Shy. I’m not here for that—”

“Are you kidding me?” I’m unable to contain my disbelief. “You brought us to your drug dealer? That’s why we’re out here? So you can buy more jalpe?”

“Ju.” Shytar narrows her eyes, scanning me up and down. She jams a thumb in my direction. “Who’s the square?”

“Everyone, calm down.” Juzu rubs his forehead. “Shytar, this is my new ward, Bexis. She’s alright, I think. I’m not here for jalpe. But we do need your help.”

“You’re not here for jalpe, and you need my help,” Shytar repeats. She sucks her teeth. “That can’t be good.”

“It’s not,” Juzu says. “Can we come in?”