Chapter 6 · Funeral for a False Key

"Avery Vale."

The copper throats screamed her name before the street tried to swallow her boots.

"Avery Vale."

She slammed into a stall, caught herself on a rack of hanging knives. Kellan's sword clanged against the stones. Around her the market folded inward like a fist.

Shop fronts slammed shut. Balconies bent. Pipes burst from the walls and spat black water across the cobbles.

"Move!" Sera grabbed her coat and yanked her sideways. "Stop staring at the city if you wanna stay alive."

"I'm not—"

"You're walking backward."

Avery looked down. Her heels were sliding toward the copper-root door behind them. It had pushed through the market wall without breaking a brick. Just grew there, wide and wet-looking, its seams flexing like lips.

Kellan shoved between them and the door. His face was pale from the curse backlash but his hand found the hilt at his hip.

"Not that way," he said.

"You got a better way?"

"Several."

"Great. Pick one."

A bell rang above them. The crowd split.

A man in a red market coat strode through with six ash-armored hunters behind him. Silver case chained to his wrist. Black key painted across the lid.

Sera swore.