Chapter 24.

The night air hung over the city, heavy with a thick damp that clung to everything it touched.

It held every bit of smoke that flowed from every chimney and wrapped it low over the streets and alleys like a vile fog of grime.

The night was cool and clammy and full of portent that promised no good

to anyone. Kit Baxter could feel that portent hanging in the air. She would rarely admit

to such a thing even to herself and almost never when she wore the mask of the flying squirrel.

She still felt the adrenaline rushing through her veins,

coiling her muscles like finely-tuned machines,

ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

But something in the air this night carried the scent of doom,

and she couldn't shake the feeling no matter what she did.

Her eyes never wavered from the doorway she watched,

down the blind alley, almost lost in shadows, but her right hand twitched slightly, as if it itched.

She played with her fingers a little. She didn't want to seem nervous. On the other hand,

if he valued her instincts, she raised her hand

half the distance from the ledge on which it rested to her eyes. Without looking away from

the doorway below, she glanced at the dull black ring she wore outside her glove. It lacked

any sort of lustre that might reflect in the darkness which so often kept them safe.

In place of any sort of adornment, there was a small, flat plate in the same dull tone,

and within that round plate there was a series of red circles within circles.

The pattern looked almost hypnotic, though she knew it was the sending and receiving antennae,

built within the plate in the form of tiny microcircuitary that took the place of normal radio tubes.

...