“I don’t know if that was a consequence. They could’ve been betrothed since before they came here.”
Eliza pulled a face. “That’s some engagement.” She was on her side now, her bare feet propped up on the cushions. “Anyway, isn’t treason reasonable grounds for ending the contract?”
“I think it was part of the punishment. She knew how much he hated her. It was more torture for him to stay as her consort, despised by other Rephaim.”
“Why wouldn’t she have just killed him? Why did she keep any of them alive?”
“Death might not be a punishment for them,” Nick said. “They’re not mortal. Not like humans.”
“Maybe we humans have more important things to think about.” I fixed my gaze on the TV. “Warden doesn’t matter any more.”
Liar.
I heard his voice as clearly as if he were in the room with me, a memory so lucid I felt it. It sent tremors working down my arms, right the way to my fingertips.
“Do you think their deal is still on?” Nick asked. “We broke out of the colony—that means their secret is in danger.”
“It must be.” I nodded to the news. “I don’t think that security is to do with Novembertide. They need to wipe out everyone who knows.”
“And then what?” Eliza said.
“Another Bone Season. To replace all the humans they just lost.”
“But they’ll have to put them somewhere else,” Nick said. “They can’t carry on using the first colony, not now its location has been exposed.”
“They’re planning to build Sheol II in France, but I don’t think they’ve even started to convert it yet,” I said. “Finding us will be their first objective.”
There was a short silence. “So the Warden wants to help humans,” Eliza said. “Where did he go?”
“To hunt Nashira.”
“We have no real proof that he’s on our side, Paige.” Nick tucked his data pad away. “I don’t trust anyone. The Rephaim are enemies until categorically proven otherwise. Including the Warden.”
Something twisted inside me, like a nail in my gut, as Nick stood and looked out at the citadel.
I couldn’t tell him about the kiss. He’d think I was insane. I trusted Warden, but it was true that I didn’t really understand his intentions; who he was, what he was.
Eliza leaned across the table. “You will come back to Dials, won’t you?”
“I quit,” I said.
“Jax will take you back. Dials is the safest place for you, and he’s a good mime-lord. He’s never made you sleep with him. There are far worse people to work for.”
“So I owe him for not turning me into his nightwalker? For not being Hector? You didn’t see him. You didn’t get this from him.” I yanked up the sleeve of my blouse, showing her the ridged white scar on my right arm. “He’s off the cot.”
“He didn’t know who you were when he did that.”
“He knew he was beating the stuffing out of a dreamwalker. I’m the only dreamwalker we know.”
“This isn’t helping.” Nick massaged the corner of his eye. “Eliza, you tell Jax that Paige and I will be back to Dials soon. In the meantime, we need to come up with some kind of action plan.”
Eliza frowned. “What do you mean, ‘action plan?’ ”
“Well, something has to be done about the Rephaim. We can’t just let them carry on with the Bone Seasons.”
“I don’t know about that.” Eliza pulled on her coat. “Look, we rescued Paige. We should all just . . . try to focus on getting back to work. Jax says we’ve lost a lot of income since you went missing,” she said to me. “We really need you back at the Garden.”
“You want to send me back to the black market?” I couldn’t help but stare at her. “Scion is a puppet government. They’re keeping voyants in a death camp.”
“We’re just lowlifes, Paige. If we keep our heads down then we’ll never be sent there.”
“We’re not just lowlifes. We’re the Seven Seals, one of the most notorious gangs in the central cohort. And we wouldn’t have to keep our heads down at all if not for Scion. We wouldn’t be criminals. Or lowlifes, for that matter. We have to bring the syndicate together, fast, before they introduce Senshield.”
“And do what?”
“Fight.”
“Scion?” She shook her head. “Paige, come on. The Unnatural Assembly would never agree to it.”
“I’ll ask for an audience and explain the situation.”
“And you think they’ll believe you?”
“Well, you believe me, don’t you?” When her expression didn’t change, I stood. “Don’t you?”
“I didn’t see it,” she said weakly. “Look, I’m sure they do have some kind of prison facility in that area, but—but you were fluxed, and it just sounds—”
“Eliza, stop it. I was there, too,” Nick said.
“I have not had a six-month flux flash,” I hissed. “I saw innocent people die trying to get out of that hellhole. And it’s going to happen again. Sheol II, Sheol III, Sheol IV. I will not pretend it wasn’t real.”
For a long time, nobody spoke.
“I’ll tell Jax you’ll both be back soon,” Eliza said finally, wrapping her scarf around her neck. “I hope I’ll be telling him the truth. There are already rumors that you’ve left his service.”
“And what if I have?” I said softly.
“Just think about it, Paige. You won’t last long without a gang, and you know it.”
She closed the door behind her. I waited until her footsteps had receded before I let loose.
“She’s lost her mind. What the hell does she think is going to happen when they put Senshield on the streets?”
“She’s afraid, Paige.” Nick heaved a sigh. “Eliza’s never known anything but the syndicate. She was dumped on the street and raised in some miserable cellar in Soho. She’d be nightwalking if Jaxon hadn’t given her a chance.”
I faltered. That was unexpected. “I thought she worked at the penny gaff?”
“She did. She got that job to pay her rent, but ended up spending all her wages on aster and flash houses. When she got in touch with Jaxon, he recognized her talent. He gave her expensive paints, a safe place to sleep, muses beyond her wildest imagination. I remember the day she turned up at the den,” he said. “She was so overwhelmed she broke down in tears. Keeping the Seals together is more important to her than anything.”
“If she was captured tomorrow, Jax would replace her within a day and you know it. He doesn’t care about us. Just our gifts.” I stopped for a moment, rubbing the tender spot above my eye. “Look, I know this is big. Bigger than any of us. But if we bend, they’ll win.”
Nick just looked at me.
“The Rephaim know the syndicate is a threat,” I continued. “It’s a monster they created, a monster they can’t control. But under Hector’s leadership, it’s nothing but a den of thieves. We have hundreds of voyants in the syndicate. It’s organized. It’s powerful. If we could use it against the Rephaim, instead of playing tarocchi and killing each other, we might be able to get rid of them. I have to talk to the Unnatural Assembly.”
“How? Hector hasn’t called a meeting in—” He paused. “Hector has never called a meeting.”
“Anyone can ask for one.”
“Can they?”
“I have learned some things as a mollisher.” I took a writing set from the nightstand. “Any member of the syndicate is entitled to send a summons to the Underlord so he can call the Assembly.” I wrote it out, added my section at the end, then popped it into an envelope and handed it to Nick. “Could you deliver this to the Spiritus Club, please?”
He took it. “This is a summons? To the Assembly?”
“Hector’s dead drop will be full—he never empties it. The Club will send a courier to deliver it in person.”
“Jaxon will be furious if he finds out.”
“I quit, remember?”
“You might not get fa
r without a mime-lord. Eliza’s right. You need a gang, or the syndicate will shut you out.”
“I have to try.”
He tucked the envelope into his pocket, but he looked uncertain. “This isn’t something that will happen overnight. They won’t believe a word of what you have to say, and Hector won’t particularly care. Even if they did, you’re up against decades of tradition and corruption. Centuries. You know what happens when people upset the apple cart.”
“The apples fall out.” I put my hands on the windowsill. “We can’t wait. The Rephaim need to feed, and they don’t have many voyants left in their city. Sooner or later they’re going to come for us. I don’t know how we can fight them—I don’t even know if we can fight them—but I can’t lie down and let Scion decide how my life will look. I can’t do it, Nick.”
Silence.
“No,” he said. “I can’t, either.”
3
Then There Were Five
The next day was the same. And the next. Sleeping when the sun shone, waking at night.
There was no word from the Unnatural Assembly in response to my summons. I’d give it a week before I sent another. The Spiritus Club’s couriers were fast, but Hector might not look at the note for days.
I could do nothing but wait. Without knowing what was happening in the Archon, I couldn’t make much of a plan. For now, the board belonged to Nashira.
On the fifth day, I assessed my injuries. The bruising on my back had faded to a spill of sallow brown, and most of the small cuts had healed. After checking the news—still nothing of interest—I sat on the couch and bolted down the breakfast the landlord brought me.
Nick had collected a few more supplies for me from Seven Dials, including PVS2, the oxygen mask that kept me alive when I used my gift for long periods of time. I lay down on the bed and clamped it over my mouth and nose. I hadn’t looked into my dreamscape for days, but if I was to even attempt to fight, both my body and my gift had to be fully functional. Now that it had matured, my spirit would be my best weapon. I switched on the mask and withdrew into my mind.
It hurt to immerse myself. When I finally broke through, wilting poppies brushed my cheeks. I opened my dream-eyes. I was standing at the edge of my sunlit zone, my feet pillowed by petals, and the sky beat red and hot above me. An arid wind whipped at my hair.
Great patches of the field had been uprooted. That was the fabric of my mind, torn and scarred, as if it had been ploughed by some infernal engine.
I knelt beside a dying poppy and scooped its seeds into my palm. At the touch of my hand, each one grew a tiny stalk and flowered—but they weren’t quite poppies now. A deeper red. A smaller bloom. The smell of fire.
Blood of Adonis. The only thing that could do harm to the Rephaim. They broke across my dreamscape like a red wave.
A hundred thousand poppy anemones.
****
I didn’t try dreamwalking. A mental storm of that magnitude would take time to dissipate. It would be a few more days before I could enter the æther.
I thought about my options. There was a good chance that Hector wouldn’t listen to the summons. If he didn’t, I’d have to strike out on my own.
There were two serious problems: money and respect. Or, more specifically, my lack of them.
If I left Jaxon’s service, I’d need a lot of money to survive. I had some cash sewn into my pillow at the den. Maybe Nick and I could start our own gang. If we pooled our savings—his money from Scion, mine from Jaxon—we might have enough to buy a small den in one of the outlying cohorts, if nothing else. Then we could start looking for allies.
I walked over to the balcony, my arms folded. There was the second problem. The only thing money couldn’t buy was respect. I wasn’t a mime-queen. Without Jaxon, I wasn’t even a mollisher.
There were rules. If Nick and I were to form our own gang in another section, we’d have to seek permission from the mime-lord or mime-queen there. The Underlord would have to give his blessing, which he almost never did. If we did it anyway, we’d have our throats cut, as would anyone we’d been foolish or selfish enough to employ.
If I returned to the Seven Seals on the other hand, Jaxon would welcome me back with an open wallet and a dance for joy. If I refused to work for him, I’d not only lose every drop of respect I’d ever had, but I’d also become a pariah in the syndicate, shunned by other voyants. And if Frank Weaver put a bounty on my head, those voyants would be falling over themselves to sell me out to the Archon.
Jaxon hadn’t explicitly said that he wouldn’t help me work against the Rephaim, but I’d seen things in him that I couldn’t unsee. Maybe it had taken him beating me senseless in Trafalgar Square or throttling me on the meadow before I’d got the message that Jaxon Hall was a dangerous man, and he wasn’t above hurting his own.
Yet he might be my only hope of having a voice in the syndicate. Maybe my best chance was to move back to Seven Dials and keep my head down, as I always had. Because if there was one thing more dangerous than having Jaxon Hall as a boss, it was having him as an enemy.
Frustrated, I turned away from the window. I couldn’t stay in here forever. Now that I was healed, I should go to Seven Dials and face him.
No. Not yet. First I should go to Camden, where Ivy had said she would go. I wanted to make sure she’d made it.
My bag of clothes hung on the back of the door. I took it into the bathroom, where I stood in front of the mirror and set about disguising myself. I belted on a black woolen coat, turned the collar up to cover my neck, and tugged a peaked hat over my hair. If I ducked my head, my dark lips were hidden by the bloodred cravat draped around my neck.
Warden’s gift to me—a sublimed pendant, able to deflect malicious spirits—was hanging from the bedpost. I pulled the chain around my neck and held the wings between my fingers. The metalwork was like filigree, complex and delicate. An item like this would be valuable on the streets, where some of London’s most notorious murderers still wandered in their spirit forms.
Once I had loved throwing myself into the labyrinth of London, loved living on its corruption. Once I wouldn’t have thought twice about going outside, even with the NVD roaming the streets. I’d kept a handle on my double life, as many voyants did. It was easy enough to slip past Scion’s security unnoticed: avoid streets with cameras, keep a safe distance from sighted guards, don’t stop walking. Head down, eyes open, as Nick had always taught me. But I knew now that I lived in a façade, and that puppet masters dwelled in the shadows.
I almost lost my nerve. But then I looked at the couch where I’d lain crippled with terror every morning and night, waiting for Scion to break down the door, and I knew that if I didn’t go out now, I’d never go out again. I pushed up the window and swung my legs on to the fire escape.
Cold wind clawed at my face. For a minute, I just stayed there, paralyzed with dread.
Freedom. This was what it looked like.
The first tremor hit me. I gripped the windowsill, pulling my legs back. The room was safe. I shouldn’t leave it.
But the streets were my life. I’d fought tooth and nail to get back to this, shed blood for it. With clammy hands, I turned and took hold of the ladder, taking each step as though it were my last.
As soon as my boots touched asphalt, I looked over my shoulder, reaching for the æther. A couple of mediums stood beside a phone booth, talking in low voices, one wearing dark glasses. Neither of them looked at me.
Camden was a good forty minutes’ walk. My fingers worked under my cap, tucking every strand of blonde away.
People brushed past, talking and laughing. I thought about all the times I’d walked through London. Had I ever stopped to look at someone’s face? Unlikely. Why should anybody look at me?
I headed out to the main road, where engines roared and headlights blazed. The buck cabs were all in use, and no unlicensed rickshaws stopped for me. White cabs, white velotaxis, white pedicabs with patent black seats. White triple-decker
buses with curving black windows. Buildings loomed above me, all neon glow and banners bearing anchors, and skyscrapers that seemed to touch the stars. Everything was too bright, too loud, too fast. I was used to streets with no electric lights, devoid of noise pollution. This world seemed mad in comparison. My sordid, sacred SciLo, my prison and my home.
Piccadilly Circus soon came into my line of sight. Hard to miss, with those gargantuan screens stacked high on the buildings, showing off an electronic spectrum of advertising and information and propaganda. The hot spots were held by Brekkabox and Floxy, the commercial bigwigs, while smaller screens showed off the latest data pad programs: Eye Spy, Busk Trust, KillKlock—all for helping denizens spot, avoid, or entertain themselves at the expense of unnaturals. One wide monitor scrolled through a series of security alerts from Scion: BEWARE OF CIVIL INATTENTION. NIGHT VIGILES ARE NOW ON DUTY IN THE CAPITAL. ALERT THE GUILD OF VIGI- LANCE IF YOU SUSPECT UNNATURAL BEHAVIOR. PLEASE STAND BY FOR PUBLIC SAFETY ANNOUNCEMENTS. The clamor was incredible: snatches of music, engines, sirens, talking and shouting, voices from the screens and the throaty rattle of the rickshaw rank. Glym jacks stood under lamp posts, holding their green lanterns, offering protection from lurking unnaturals. I headed toward the rickshaws.
An amaurotic woman stood in front of me, a cream coat folded over her arm. A Burnish-style dress, ruched red velvet, was molded to her figure. She had a phone pinned between her shoulder and her ear.
“. . . be stupid, it’s just a phase! No, I’m just off to the O2 bar. Might be able to catch that hanging.”
She climbed into a rickshaw, laughing. I waited by the railing, my fist clenched around the metal.
The next rickshaw to arrive was mine. They were electric-assist pedicabs with a lightweight, closed cab behind the driver, able to take one or two passengers. I clambered in.
“Camden Market, please,” I said, using my best English accent. If they were looking for me, they’d be looking for a brogue.
The rickshaw cut through I Cohort, heading north to II-4. I kept well back in the seat. This was risky, but there was something exhilarating about the ride. My blood rushed in my veins. Here I was, riding through the very heart of SciLo, bold as brass, and no one seemed to notice. Fifteen minutes later, I was stepping off the rick and groping in my pocket for the fare.