The suit fit. Really fit. I looked down at Reginald, the tailor, like he was a genius artisan. Maybe he was. The blue undershirt shone in the shop lights. It was the kind of blue that had depth. A person could lose themselves in its indigo haze if they weren’t careful. Atop that I wore a coat of purest synthetic fibers with gold embroidery along the sleeves and shoulders. Matching slacks hung loose around my legs, breezy for the hot Hallows night and cut to move with my body like the ocean against a shore. The whole outfit came with a blue bowler hat, because hats were in style again in the Hallows.

“I prefer my old hat.”

“The bowler is an upcoming trend and will stay in style for quite some time.”

I adjusted it on my head, but it still didn’t feel right. “My old hat was ruined. Got all bloody and shot up.”

Reginald cleared his throat. He was a small man. In the Hallows the servants were often imports from down the chain. “Well, a good-fitting hat is important to the outfit. I could find something more like your old hat, if you like.”

“You have a fedora?”

He winced.

“The bowler suits you,” said Beck from behind.

“The suit suits me,” I said. “The hat fits like a bad chord.”

I turned to behold the most stunning sight I’d ever seen. She wore a red sleeveless dress with a loose skirt and matching gloves that came to her elbows. Her hair was colored a deep crimson and she wore it slicked back and woven with flowers. When she smiled, her white teeth gleamed.

“You look amazing,” I said.

She touched the embroidered sleeve of my suit coat. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She held me at arm’s length. “Keep the bowler, though.”

“Are you sure? It feels wrong.”

Instead of answering, she hooked her arm in my elbow and pulled me toward the door. “Thank you, Reginald,” she said as we left. “You’ve been lovely.”

And we stepped outside into the Hallow Nicodemia night.

The air was clean and pure, scoured by a million million plants growing throughout the district. Great purple flowers of the nicotiana family bloomed their aromatic nighttime blooms around the almost-hidden entrance to the tailor’s shop. Higher up, the view of the sky was blocked by an interlacing of thick vines, with full grapes hanging at even intervals. A warm breeze coursed through the wide alley, first from right to left, then left to right, like the whole world breathing.

The place felt familiar but also very strange. It had been fifteen years since I’d set foot amongst the upper crust, but the words of wealth fit my lips same as the suit fit my body. My accent changed in my ears as soon as I stepped into the buoyant gravity of the Hallows. I only hoped the changes wouldn’t stick.

I led Beck through the wide streets of the lower city. Where Heavy Nicodemia had fish and Onegee Nicodemia had livestock, Hallow Nicodemia had plants. For the most part, these were crops that could be harvested, but the city was designed to show that agriculture was not its main export.

In the central swell of the landscape, streets fell away and the space resembled a park. The sky opened up, and far above, through the vast open space, we could see the city above.

Hallow Nicodemia’s basic layout was the same as the other two beads below, but this district had taken liberties with that original design. The upper spiral had been pared back to allow more light from the fusion reaction at the center of the city’s rotation to penetrate to the lower levels. All along the spiral’s inner fence, hanging plants draped down, lush and glossy green in the sparkling light. The sky in the lower city consisted of a false depiction of stars, but in the Hallows the sky was a clear dome, allowing the light of our power-generating false star to shine directly into the habitat. At least, that’s what it did during the day.

At night, the dome closed, and the sky filled with the sparks of a million fireflies.

“It’s beautiful,” Beck said, holding my elbow in both of her hands.

“That’s why it’s such an exclusive club,” I said. “Can’t let everyone enjoy the spoils of heaven.”

“Is that why they call it Hallow?”

I gestured up at the open air above. “The way they tell it, it used to be the Hollow Nicodemia because they emptied more of the open space in the middle. Somehow that changed to Hallow, but it fits well enough.”

“That tailor back there. He wasn’t native was he?”

“Anybody shorter than six feet probably isn’t a lifer up here. Also, anyone working a real job is probably an import from a lower district or a rebellious teen trying to tweak off his parents.”

“Is that what you did?”

I led Beck around the central hill. There were few others around to witness the morning light, but another couple passed us, smiling. It was the smile of acceptance, which had been foreign to me the last time I was here. These people believed that I belonged, and what’s more, they believed Beck belonged. It wasn’t a hard sell. She was slender and tall. Beautiful in her red dress. She was the perfect kind of stunning that residents of the Hallows appreciated.

“There’s something you need to see,” I said, leading her to the eastern side of the hill. We found a bench and sat in silence for a time. She leaned her head on my shoulder.

“Do you miss it?” she asked.

“Hallow Nicodemia?”

“Home.”

It took me a minute to understand what she was saying. “Home is like an abusive partner,” I said. “You miss it, but you want to get away. Sometimes, we succeed, but it’s almost never worth the cost.”

She looked up at me, taking measure of my expression.

“Yeah,” I said. “It was worth it in my case.”

“But you still miss it?”

“Watch,” I said, nodding to the base of the upper dome. “Just watch.”

The first crack of light appeared as a scarlet line piercing through the misty haze. It ran laser-sharp straight across the city where it seared a line on the opposing side. The red-refracted light gave way to orange, then a piercing yellow. Brightness intensified, and the line of light walked down the wall behind us until it touched the lower levels.

Then, it hit us. Pure white light from the fusion core of the generation ship washed over us like the scouring hand of god. Its light burned through me, and its fire scoured every sin in my tainted soul. Burned it clear. When I looked down at Beck, I saw her dress glowed in the light. The crosses painted into her nails shone with gold. The embroidery in my own coat did the same.

Still, it got brighter. More of the dome opened and even with my eyes closed the bright light hurt. It pierced through all the aches and exhaustion of the past few days to energize and purify. Through my closed eyelids, I witnessed the actions of Saint Jerome and the new gangster Frank Lauder. Visions of Retch flashed in front of me, his clever grin watching me as I fumbled through life. I saw Violet Ruiz in her luxury ship, and the strange man following us through Onegee Nicodemia. Who he was, I didn’t know, but his face burned itself into the back of my skull with a crystalline clarity only available in this hallowed light.

Beck slid on some sleek sunglasses, and when I couldn’t stand the light anymore, I did the same.

“I used to be able to handle the light longer,” I said. “I’ve adjusted too much to the dark.”

“Maybe that’s for the best.” Beck tossed me a roll of dimes.

“Still feels light,” I said.

“How many times have I paid you?”

“I don’t know. Three. Maybe four.”

“And how many of those dimes have you gambled away?”

“A few more dimes might buy some better luck.”

“You can buy all the luck you need once we find that painting.”

I drew in a long breath. “It’s somewhere in the city. I can smell it.”

“This whole place smells like mulch.”

“That’s what money smells like.”

We left the hilltop garden to find transport along the inner ring where the spiral led upward. Where the other districts had trolleys, the Hallows invested heavily in flying transports. In the lighter gravity and thick air, these became the cheapest, quickest way to move people around. I’d never been convinced of their safety, but even after the energizing effects of a Hallow Nicodemia sunrise, I wasn’t up for a walk halfway up the city. We found a piloted transport, its long, loping rotors lazily spinning overhead.

“Two to the cathedral,” I said, tossing a couple dimes to the pilot. He waved us aboard and soon the transport flew through the hollow inside of the ship.

“You really like cathedrals, don’t you?”

“After the one in Onegee, I’m not so sure.” I watched the green city fly past as the transport quietly rose past each of the levels. “But if I’m looking for a religiously themed painting, it’s not a bad place to start.”

“What about Trey’s new name? August Savior?”

“He’s around. We need to figure out what connections he’s made before we try to find him. It’s all about who you know up here.”

She pulled away from me and took a good look at the side of my face. “We should just find him. He’ll know where the painting went.”

“No.”

Beck’s fists clenched at her side. “I’m tired of this, Demarco. You did this in Onegee, too.”

“What?” I was genuinely confused.

“You fucked around. When we had clues to follow, you went off and what? What did you even do?”

I couldn’t tell her why I’d been sidetracked. “It was important.”

“I’m paying you, aren’t I?”

“Is that what this is all about?” I took the roll of dimes from my pocket and held it up. “It’s all dimes and business between us?”

“Well, it’s not sunrises and—”

I held up a hand. “Quiet.”

She glared daggers at me, but stayed quiet.

Layers of city flew past and I strained at the edge of the transport to get another look at the others around.

There! The transport below and clockwise held a single occupant. He wore the same hat and coat I’d seen him in when he’d acted the drunk outside the gambling hall. His face was the grim mask I’d seen when he’d last confronted me.

It was the stranger. The other excommunicated man. Alone in a transport that shouldn’t be recognizing him. How was he doing that? Trinity had protocols it ran when a transport flew empty. It would return to its base location. Nothing more. The man’s transport didn’t do that. As our own drone swooped along the spiral toward the cathedral, his transport followed. He was driving it manually.

“It’s him,” I whispered.

Beck peered out the side of the transport next to me. “Vitez?”

“No,” I said. “This is the guy who’s been following me.”

She slumped back into her seat, eyes wide. Her hands went to a place on her leg where I knew she hid a knife. I still hadn’t given back her gun, though she’d asked plenty of times. I don’t know if I wanted the extra protection or if I just didn’t trust her to not shoot anyone. Maybe a little of both.

I drew the pistol and held its crimson barrel up to the light. Etching along the side said Finger of God, but what had the etching on McCay’s pistol said? I figured I wouldn’t like the answer, and not knowing was just another reason not to give the gun back to Beck. How many of these cheap, printed pistols wandered the streets of Nicodemia. The more I stared at the weapon the more I didn’t like where the train of thought took me. I put it away.

“Well,” she said, “nothing’s ever simple around you, is it?”

“We’re going to need to move fast,” I said as we landed in front of the cathedral. Our follower swept past. “And things are going to stay a lot simpler if we don’t shoot any priests.”

I mounted the steps in front of the shining cathedral and threw the doors wide.