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fourth decade with a long beard, tapping an erratic beat against the table with his fan; the beautiful woman reclined on the lap of a man who looked like he could be her grandfather, his hand gripping her hip so tightly, her dress fabric creased. There was a profound sadness in the woman’s eyes that contrasted harshly with her pretty features. Then something strange happened—a soft glow of light seemed to emanate from the woman’s face, creating a fuzzy halo around her features.
    Gasping, Skybright lurched away from the railing. “That woman, her face seemed to be unnaturally lit.”
    “Interesting.” Stone paused, as if considering this. “And what else?”
    Curious, she leaned over the railing again, concentrating on the faces she could see. Her gaze settled on a brooding man sitting at a table with others but silent as if he were all alone. The golden cap he wore had caught her attention. He couldn’t have been more than thirty years, but a deep furrow already marked the place between his thick eyebrows. The man lifted his wine cup and tipped his head back, emptying its contents. He pounded a fist against the table, and a server scrambled up, filling his cup before dashing out of the way, as if afraid he’d get hit.
    A bleary haze began to obscure the man’s features, and Skybright could hear a distant buzzing in the back of her mind as she gazed at him. Frightened, she looked away, scanning the other patrons who appeared normal before she let her eyes rest on the man with the golden cap again. Now she could no longer make out his face; it appeared as if an angry swarm crackled over his countenance. The effect was aberrant and frightening, like some faceless monster sat among the other patrons in the body of a normal man. Then an image began to fill her mind: the brooding man staring in horror at a bloody knife he clutched in his hand as his victim writhed in agony at his feet, blood spilling from his abdomen onto the cobblestones.
    Skybright shook violently until Stone gripped her wrist, releasing her from the vision. “You can see then,” he said, “as your mother used to.”
    She snatched her hand away, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. With trembling fingers, she took her teacup and drank deep, welcoming the feeling of the hot liquid scalding her tongue. After she emptied the cup, she wiped her mouth with a handkerchief placed on the table—her upper lip damp with perspiration. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, her tone not as strong as she would have liked.
    Stone refilled her cup before replying. “Your mother was able to see the true essence of people; gauge their sins. I was not certain if you had inherited this ability. It seemed unique to Opal. She used it to choose her victims.”
    Skybright began to feel lightheaded. “Do you mean that Opal was some sort of … vigilante?”
    “I never thought of it like that, but I suppose she was.” Stone took in the raucous scene below them, his expression unreadable. “She killed men she thought deserved to be killed—bad men.”
    “But who is she to judge? She was not a god or a hell lord—”
    “She seduced and killed, Skybright. The fact that she singled out the cruel men: murderers, thieves, and rapists, that was her own sport. I have told you she took much pleasure in it.”
    Skybright gazed downward again, unable to believe what she had seen. All the faces were blurred: some haloed dimly, some with a fiercer light from within. Then there were those men whose features were obscured, buzzing with dissonance. For some, she could still see their eyes, catch the tip of a nose, or an angular cheekbone, but other men’s faces were completely clouded over, as the brooding man with the golden cap had been.
    She shoved back from the banister, feeling as if she’d throw up all she had eaten. Stone seemed not to notice.
    “I was hoping her gift was passed on to you,” Stone said. “You can continue with Opal’s legacy—be a judge