Mira nodded, and Cole, Jace, Twitch, Joe, and Verilan left the dressing room. Verilan led them out to the stage. They sat on the edge in a row with their legs dangling.

“Think Skye could darken my tan?” Jace asked.

“She could make you look like anything,” Verilan said. “You’ve got plenty of color already. My natural skin tone is quite pale.”

“You’re part of the resistance too?” Cole asked.

“Yes,” Verilan said. “I’m also a member of the Unseen, but Skye is more heavily involved.”

“Are you bummed to lose her?” Jace asked.

“What do you think?” Verilan said. “The woman has irreplaceable talent. Her capacity for seemings is nothing short of astonishing.”

“How are you in a fight?” Jace asked. “Maybe you could join us too.”

Verilan chuckled. “I’m no warrior. I’ll take some time off, work on a new show with a new partner. You’re lucky to have her help. She knows her way around Elloweer. Your chances of success just went way up.”

When Skye finally emerged, she was accompanied by a short, plump, middle-aged woman. A scarf bound the woman’s brown hair. She had a plain face and wore simple clothes.

“Is that you, Mira?” Cole asked.

“What do you think?” the woman asked, not sounding like Mira at all.

“Perfect,” Joe said. “Nothing about you stands out.”

Cole agreed. The woman wasn’t ugly or pretty, tall or short, heavy or thin. She looked very ordinary.

“Skye is a genius,” the woman said.

“I’m glad you’re pleased,” Skye said. “I’m wiped out. Joe, why don’t we meet tomorrow at Trellis Square? You know the place?”

“I’ll find it,” Joe said.

“Look for me around the third hour of the day,” Skye said. “Verilan will show you to a stage door. Did you come by coach?”

“We did,” Joe said.

“You should find it near the north curb,” Skye said. “The officials won’t let coaches linger out front without passengers present. Until tomorrow.”

Verilan guided them across the stage to the opposite wing from Skye’s dressing room and out a simple, unmarked door. Their coach waited not too far down the side street, near a couple of others. Streetlamps glared brightly enough to wash out most of the stars overhead. The side street didn’t have much pedestrian traffic, but Cole kept his head down, just in case. In less than a day, he would have a disguise that would render him invisible to his enemies. It would be nice to walk in public without a constant fear of discovery.

In the coach, Joe asked Mira some trivia to ensure it was really her. Cole didn’t blame him. Mira looked and sounded like a complete stranger.

After the coach dropped them off a few blocks from the inn, they made their way to their rooms without trouble. In bed, Cole relived the events of the day with gratitude. He knew where to find Dalton! He could still hardly believe it. How many days before he got to see his friend again? They also had a lead about Honor’s location, and a guide to help them get there. As he drifted off to sleep, Cole wondered what Skye would make him look like in the morning.

Chapter 11

TAKEN

“Cole,” Twitch whispered urgently. “You hear that?”

The words reached Cole through an exhausted haze. Twitch and his bed were dim shapes in the darkness. Cole felt deliciously cozy inside the pocket of warmth between his covers. He wanted to ignore the question and sink back to sleep. Instead, he propped himself up on one elbow. “Huh?”

“Listen,” Twitch whispered quietly.

Twitch had never awakened him like this. What did he think he had heard? Was he being paranoid? Twitch was cautious, but not stupid.

A faint metallic scraping came from over by the door.

“That?” Cole asked, tensing up.

“Oh, no,” Twitch said, swinging his grasshopper legs out of his bed.

With a final click, the door burst open. A lantern backlit the stealthy figures racing into the room. Cole had barely sat up before rough hands seized him and squashed a coarse rag against his nose and mouth.

Struggling, Cole inhaled a chemical scent from the damp rag. The fumes burned inside his nostrils and throat, making him instantly woozy. Coughing and choking, Cole bucked and twisted as strong arms picked him up. One assailant pinned Cole’s arms to his torso while the other held his legs together.

The rag remained over his face. Having coughed out his air supply, Cole inhaled the piquant odor again. His senses receded. He thought he heard glass breaking. A gruff voice gave terse, unintelligible orders. They were carrying him. Or was he floating? He couldn’t resist anymore. It was hard to move. He could feel his consciousness slipping away, and tried to fight it, but his mind was already too far adrift. Insensibility overcame him.

“Kid’s coming around,” a dry voice said.

“About time,” another voice answered.

Cole decided he should pretend to still be asleep. He was sitting up, tied to a chair, with a sharp ache behind the center of his forehead. He kept his head down and his eyes closed.

“Don’t play possum,” the first voice said. “I know you’re listening. Your breathing changed.”

Cole recognized the voice. Full of despair and dread, he opened his eyes.

Pushing his hat back a little, Ansel grinned. “Scarecrow! I just knew we’d meet again.”

They were in a squalid, bare room with old brick walls. Ansel and Ham sat in worn wooden chairs by a rickety table. They had apparently been playing cards. The room had no windows and a single sturdy wooden door. A pair of lanterns provided light, showing dark stains on the walls and floor, perhaps from flooding.

Cole found that he still had both of his hands. That was a relief. But Ansel was free to carry out his threat at any moment. Cole tried not to fixate on the sickle.

“Where are we?” Cole asked.

The grin disappeared. “I’ll ask the questions.”

Cole squirmed, testing his bindings. Thick ropes held him in a snug, scratchy embrace. His torso was lashed to the back of the chair, and his legs were bound to the wooden legs.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Ansel said. “Best to shake off any thoughts of freedom. That’s all in the past. You lasted longer than most runaways. You still have your hand.”

“I noticed,” Cole said.

“The freemark on your wrist is remarkable. Looks completely authentic. No hint you ever bore a slavemark. Where’d you get it?”