“Let me see it.” Cristina held out her hand. Livvy gave it to her as the waitress returned with their food: grilled cheese for Ty, a turkey sandwich for Cristina, a BLT for Julian, waffles for Emma and Livvy, and Mark’s plate of strawberries.

Cristina took out her stele and scribbled, humming, on a corner of the gold paper. Mark, looking beatific, took the dispenser of maple syrup off the table and upended it over his strawberries. He picked one up and put it in his mouth, stem and all. Julian stared at him.

“What?” Mark said. “This is a perfectly normal thing to eat.”

“Sure it is,” said Julian. “If you’re a hummingbird.”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Look,” Cristina said, and pushed the golden paper toward the middle of the table. It was no longer blank. Instead it featured the shimmering photo of a building, and beside it words in block letters.

THE FOLLOWERS OF THE GUARDIAN

INVITE YOU TO THE LOTTERY

THIS MONTH’S PERFORMANCE: AUGUST 11, 7 P.M.

THE MIDNIGHT THEATER

This ticket admits one group. Semiformal attire.

“The Lottery?” Julian echoed. “That’s the name of a famous horror story. Did they make it into a play or something?”

“It doesn’t sound like a play,” said Livvy. “It sounds creepy.”

“It could be a creepy play,” said Ty.

“It was a creepy story.” Julian picked up the ticket. There was paint under his fingernails, shimmering small crescents of blue. “And the creepiest thing about this is that this theater is shut down. I know the place; it’s up past Highland Park. It’s been been shut down for years.”

“Sixteen years,” said Ty. He had mastered the art of using his phone one-handed and was squinting at the screen. “Shut down after a fire and never rebuilt.”

“I’ve driven past it,” Emma said. “It’s all boarded up, isn’t it?”

Julian nodded. “I painted it once. I was painting abandoned buildings, places like the Murphy Ranch, closed businesses. I remember that one. It had a ghostly feel.”

“It’s interesting,” Mark said. “But does it have anything to do with the investigation? The murders?”

Everyone looked mildly surprised that Mark had asked something so practical. “I think it might,” Emma said. “I was at the Shadow Market last week—”

“I wish you’d quit going to the Shadow Market,” Julian muttered. “It’s dangerous there—”

“Oh, NO,” Emma said. “Not danger, Mr. I-Just-Almost-Bled-Out-in-My-Car.”

Julian sighed and reached for his soda. “I can’t believe I ever complained about ‘Jules’ as a nickname.”

“Maybe we should talk about the Shadow Market,” said Cristina hastily. “It is where Emma first heard information about the murders.”

“Well, you can imagine how happy the Marketers were to see me and Cameron—”

“You went with Cameron?” Julian said.

Livvy held up a hand. “In Emma’s defense, Cameron’s annoying, but he’s hot.” Julian gave her a look. “I mean, if you like guys who look like a redheaded Captain America, which I . . . don’t?”

“Captain America is definitely the most handsome Avenger,” said Cristina. “But I like the Hulk. I would like to heal his broken heart.”

“We’re Nephilim,” said Julian. “We’re not even supposed to know about the Avengers. Besides,” he added, “Iron Man is obviously the best-looking.”

“Can I finish my story?” Emma demanded. “I was at the Market with Cameron, and I remember now, I saw a booth that had a placard up that said something like ‘Sign Up for the Lottery.’ So I think it’s something supernatural, not experimental theater or whatever.”

“I have no idea who the Avengers are,” observed Mark, who had finished his strawberries and was eating sugar out of a packet. Ty looked gratified—he had no time for superheroes. “But I agree with you. This is a lead. Someone murdered Stanley Wells, and now his girlfriend is dead too. Even if it is in a completely different way.”

“I think we can all agree it can’t be a coincidence,” said Emma. “Them both dying.”

“I don’t think it is,” said Mark. “But she could have been killed because she knew something, not because she was a sacrifice like he was or part of the same ritual. Death breeds death, after all.” He looked thoughtful. “She was invited to this Lottery performance. She thought it was important enough to carry the ticket around with her. I think it could be a thread to follow.”

“Or it could be nothing,” said Jules.

“We don’t have much else to investigate,” pointed out Emma.

“We do, actually,” said Jules. “We’ve still got your photos from the inside of the cave at the convergence. And now we have whoever was at Wells’s house and shot at me—we’ve still got my gear jacket with whatever poison he used on it. Maybe Malcolm could look into that, find out if it’s associated with a particular demon or warlock who might sell it.”

“Great,” Emma said. “We can do both. August eleventh is tomorrow night.” She frowned at the ticket. “Oh God, semiformal. Fancy. I don’t think I have any dresses that fancy, and Mark will need a suit. . . .”

“Mark doesn’t have to go,” Julian said quickly. “He can stay at the Institute.”

“No,” Mark said. His voice was calm, but his eyes sparked. “I will not. I was brought here to help you investigate these murders, and that is what I will do.”

Julian sat back. “Not if we can’t rune you. It’s not safe.”

“I have protected myself without runes for many years. If I do not go with you, then those in Faerie who sent me here will learn of it, and they will not be pleased. The punishment will be severe.”

“Oh, let him go,” Livvy said, looking anxious. “Jules—”

Julian touched the edge of his shirt, the gesture half-unconscious. “How will they know to punish you,” he said, “if you don’t tell them?”

“You think it is easy to lie when you have grown up around people who do not lie?” Mark said, cheeks flushing with anger. “And do you think they do not have their own ways to ferret out lies when humans tell them?”

“You’re human,” Julian said hotly. “You’re not one of them, you don’t act like one of them—”

Mark flung himself up from the table and stalked across the room.

“What’s he doing?” Emma stared. Mark had made his way to a neighboring table of pierced and tattooed mundane girls who looked like they’d just come from a nightclub and were giggling madly as he talked to them.

“By the Angel.” Julian threw down some money on the table and scrambled to his feet, ducking out of the booth. Emma scraped everything back into Ava’s handbag and hastily followed Julian, the others at her heels.

“Might I make free with your lettuce, my lady?” Mark was saying to a girl with bright pink hair and a pile of salad on her plate. She pushed it toward him, grinning.