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dead by taking its temperature.
    I suspected the blue essence was following the Dead. In every location I knew, I had found old essence. What I couldn’t make sense of was the time frame between the Dead’s passing through and the blue essence following. The Dead essence had faded much earlier than the blue. I stepped off the curb and crouched in the gutter. Drawing on my body essence, I boosted my sensing ability to examine the Dead essence. The dark mass in my head wouldn’t let me access essence outside my body, but it let me use my sensing ability without any pain. I had learned that seeking essence was what the dark mass did. It wasn’t doing me any favors. If anything, I was doing it one.
    With my heightened sensing, the Dead essence burned brighter, allowing me to see farther along the trail. Even that tapered off to nothing a few feet away. I was stumped.
    A pink light burst into the air in front of me, and the twelve-inch-tall figure of Stinkwort—Joe, to his friends—made a wobbly somersault. Joe’s a flit, one of the small fairies no more than a foot tall. His wings were longer than he was, a bright pink that he was as self-conscious about as his real name. I’ve known him all my life. He drinks more than anyone I know, doesn’t care if I yell or snore, and has more going on in his head than I dare to contemplate.
    “Ah, there you are, my friend, in the gutter where you work best,” he said.
    I stretched to my feet. “If it wasn’t for gutters, we’d never see each other.”
    He blinked his wide eyes at me. “That’s very touching.”
    “Have you seen this blue essence that’s been showing up?”
    He tilted his head from side to side. “Up where?”
    “Here. Around the Weird. Flashes by, and people disappear,” I said.
    He pursed his lips and hovered in a circle. “Are you sure they don’t disappear because you show up? I noticed that happens a lot with you.”
    Joe was one part friend, one part reality-checker, and lots of parts drinking buddy. We tore each other down like only best friends can do and still be friends. That also means sometimes we didn’t have the same conversation we thought we were having.
    I wasn’t finding anything I hadn’t seen before and decided to call it a night. I walked toward Old Northern Avenue, with Joe flying upside down beside me. “Doesn’t that make you dizzy?” I asked.
    He laughed. “Sure, but if I get sick, I’m in the perfect position not to get anything on me. You should try it.”
    “I can’t fly, Joe,” I said.
    He righted himself. “Oh, great. Another thing for you to complain about.”
    “Will you stop? I’m not in the mood,” I said. He pouted but kept silent. We made it to Old Northern without another word. “I’m sorry I snapped,” I said.
    “I know,” he said.
    He flew beside me, sometimes a few feet ahead, sometimes wandering off to the side. A small smile stayed on his lips, as if he were thinking of something amusing.
    “You’re not mad?” I asked.
    He flipped backwards in an arc in front of me. “You had a bad day. It happens. Not my fault, right?”
    “It’s more than that. It’s Meryl and Nigel and a dead dwarf,” I said.
    He frowned in concentration. “Was this at a party you didn’t invite me to?”
    To this day, I never know if he was serious when he said things like that. “Different things, but related. Nigel wants to be friends again.”
    “And that’s”—he peered at me—“nice?”
    “Suspicious. He saw what happened when the black mass came out of me during the riots. I think his wheels are turning about how to exploit it.”
    “Well, that’s his job, init? You need to stop trying to make him into something he’s not. You thought you were friends. You weren’t. You worked together. Nigel isn’t anyone’s friend. Haven’t you noticed?”
    I stopped walking. “How do you do that?”
    He hovered in place. “Do what?”
    “Point out the completely obvious that I miss?”
    He chuckled as