Excerpt: Changeling Hope

"You don't have to go back to the Gray," Mael says. "You can be free. Come with me."

Their fingers touch; feet smear chalk, scuff out the laws of the mortal plane. Jaid's knees give way.

He stares up at Mael through damp tendrils of hair, gripping with fingers bony enough to hurt. "The flower-seller," he says, voice raspy again, but warm as it was before. "I used to see her from my window. She disappeared two months ago, when I was rereading Lushanu's histories. I was just starting the eighth book. I..." His mouth tightens. "I missed her."

Mael's eyes fly to the books, to the collection of slim white volumes on the far right, just where they were before on a different set of shelves.

"I have to go," he says, sweeping himself back into standard procedure as he slips his hand free. He looks away, begins to button up his coat. Black and brass, plaster and mirrors. "Doctor Iskander will come check on you tomorrow morning."

After five more hours of sleep, he takes a trip down to the Administrative Ward to start an investigation into the potter from Saffron Street.