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Evvy, who’d removed her scarf to scratch her head. “She’ll know where they’re hid. That’s real power for Vipers.”
    Orlana and Sajiv traded looks of dawning wonder. Without further debate they settled down to wait Evvy out.
     
    Briar had sensed that he had company just as the Traveler’s Joy vine got emotional enough to drop on him. The poor thing was suffering with a kind of fungus infection. Briar sent his power through every vein the Joy plant had, scorching through every hair on its roots, cooking the fungus to a fine white dust. Normally Briar had nothing against fungi, but when they preyed on other plants, he always sided with the victims.
    The sense that he was followed continued after he left the vine. Peeks back down the street as he walked north showed him nothing, until he remembered the roads over the city’s roofs. He couldn’t look up without giving himself away, so he waited until he was at his own door before checking the skyline. There: quick movement back from the edge, a head scarf the nameless color of dirt, across the street. Feeling for the magic vine he’d attached to her, he found it was short and fairly thick. It was Evvy.
    Well, well, Briar thought, opening his door. I made kitty curious. He considered ways to deal with her that wouldn’t scare her into running away.
    A door across the street opened. One of his young neighbors knelt to place a saucer heaped with chopped meat on the ground. A gray-and-black spotted cat separated itself from the shadows at the base of the wall and trotted over to devour the food. Smiling, the girl petted the cat as it ate. Briar grinned.

Chapter Three
    Rosethorn had set the table for midday when Briar came in. She watched, startled, as he took food out of the pantry and set it on a tray: a cooked sausage, several thick slices of cheese, hardboiled eggs, cold slices of fried eggplant, and flatbread. Glancing at the table, he saw she’d been to the souk that morning. Lamb dumplings steamed in a bowl next to mutton-and-barley stew. “Can I have these?” he asked, hooking three dumplings onto his tray, then blowing on his scorched fingers. “I won’t eat any.”
    Rosethorn propped her fists on her hips as he grabbed oranges from a bowl. “Boy, what in Mila’s name are you doing?” she demanded.
    “Start without me,” Briar said, ignoring her question. “I’ll be right back.” He put a clean drying cloth over his shoulder and carried his tray to the roof.
    He glanced at the loomhouse. Again there was a quick flutter on its higher roof, as if someone had just ducked below the rim. Briar grinned again and set tray and cloth on the bench in plain view. The many plants around him craned in, trying to see if there was anything on the tray they would like.
    “Stop it,” Briar chided. “That’s people food. Or cat food. You get more than enough food of your own. I need one of you to go back inside with me. I want to know if anyone comes to take this.”
    If there was a discussion - he was never sure if the plants talked among themselves - the Yanjing jasmine won. It extended a creeper that grew longer and longer to keep up as he went back inside. It followed him all the way to the table, and busied itself twining between his chair and Rosethorn’s, as if they formed a trellis.
    Briar dished up a bowl of stew for himself. “Whatever you feed them to move them along, it sure makes them active,” he commented. “I hope they’re worth all the fuss you’re making over them.”
    “Yes.” Rosethorn cleaned her bowl with a piece of bread. Putting so much of her power into so many plants, bringing them through a year’s growing cycle in days, made her eat well at every meal without gaining a pound. “Who else are we feeding, anyway?”
    Briar told her about his morning’s adventure as he ate. After they finished, he washed the dishes with no alarm from the jasmine. Rosethorn went to run errands while Briar got the vine to follow him into their