Nixie crouched on the cracked tan pavement below the palace wall and watched the heir walk past for the third morning in a row. He was maybe twelve, all clean hair and clean laughter, waving at a baker's boy across the square. Nixie's teeth itched. Somewhere under that soft chest sat a bright knot of luck holding the whole kingdom upright, and she meant to yank it loose and watch the boy fall the way a birthday cake falls. But she needed a perch. Imps steal best from above, and the ground was for dogs. She sized up the roofs along the parade route. The chapel gable was taken. A one-eyed raven the size of a cat hissed at her and clacked its beak. Nixie flipped it a rude finger and scurried on. The next roof, a slate one over a wine seller, belonged to a fat tom with a chewed ear who yowled and swiped her cheek before she'd cleared the gutter. Blood ran into her mouth. She spat and grinned. The third roof was worse. A grey moss-backed gargoyle uncurled from the eaves and spoke without moving its jaw. "Move along, little thief. This ledge is paid for." Nixie dropped back down to the faded lot behind the guardhouse and kicked a loose stone. Every good perch in this city was already leased to something meaner. The heir was two streets away now. She could hear the crowd cooing at him. Then she saw the sword. A guardsman had propped it against the wall while he pissed behind a cart. It was a crimson blade with red stones in the crossguard, taller than she was, the kind of showy thing that came out for parades. Nixie didn't want to swing it. She wanted what was under it. Nothing that pretty stayed upright without luck pinning it there. She crept close, wrapped both small hands around the pommel, and pulled the luck out of the sword like a splinter. The blade tipped. It slid down the wall and clanged flat on the pavement, ringing across the square. The guardsman shouted. Every head turned, including the raven's, the tom's, and the gargoyle's. All three abandoned their roofs to see what fool had dropped a royal weapon. Nixie was already climbing. She scaled the chapel gable in four quick pulls and settled into the raven's warm hollow before the bird remembered to come back. From up here she could see the whole parade route. She could see the heir stop, turn, and stare down at the fallen crimson sword with his clean, curious face. He took one step toward it. Then another. Nixie licked the blood off her lip and smiled. She had her perch. And the boy was walking, all on his own, toward the first piece of bad luck she'd ever laid in his path.

From the chapel gable, Nixie watched the heir crouch beside the fallen crimson sword. The crowd pressed close. She hugged her knees and grinned. Then she saw the other guard. He stood apart from the parade, back to the boy, eyes on the rooftops. He was thin and hawk-faced, and he moved his gaze slow, roof by roof, like a man reading a page. His hand rested on his own crimson blade. Nixie stopped grinning. A dropped sword did not fall on its own. He knew it, and he was hunting the reason. His eyes crossed the wine seller's slate. Then the gargoyle's ledge. Then the chapel gable, where Nixie sat in plain sun. She flattened against the tiles. Too late. He had already stopped moving. He tilted his head. He took one step toward the chapel, then another, drawing the crimson blade an inch from its sheath. The red stones in the crossguard caught the light. Nixie's throat went dry. Her legs were too short to outrun a grown man on open street. The raven was gone. The tom was gone. The gargoyle was gone. She had cleared the roof herself, and now she was the only thing on it. She scanned for luck. Every object had some, holding it in its shape. The chapel bell above her hung on a thick rope. The rope was old. She could feel the small bright knot of luck keeping the fibers together. The guard was at the chapel wall now, one hand on the stone, looking up. Nixie reached out and pulled the luck from the rope. The rope split. The bell dropped. It struck the eaves and rang once, huge and flat, and the whole square turned toward the sound. The bell hit the pavement a step from the guard. He staggered back, deaf, both hands up. People screamed. Somebody yelled that the chapel was falling. In the noise, Nixie slid down the far side of the gable and dropped into a narrow gap between the chapel and the next wall. Her ankle folded under her. She bit her tongue and kept quiet. When she looked out, the parade was broken. Guards ran to the bell. Guards ran to the sword. The hawk-faced one shouted orders and pointed at the roof she had just left. Nobody pointed at the gap. The heir stood alone in the middle of the street. His clean face was turned toward the chapel, mouth open. No one was holding his hand. No one was watching him. Nixie wiped blood off her chin and started to crawl toward him along the wall. Her perch was burned. Her ankle was bad. But the boy was, for the first time, unguarded, and she was close enough now to touch.