“You will be given identification numbers in due course. Those of you who are clairvoyant will now be assigned a Rephaite keeper.” She indicated her companions. “Your keeper is your master in all things. He or she will test your abilities and assess your value. If any of you show cowardice, you will be given the yellow tunic: that of a coward. Those of you who are amaurotic—that is, the few of you who have no idea what I am talking about,” she added, “will be put to work in our residences. To serve us.”
Seb didn’t appear to be breathing.
“If you do not pass your first test, or if you earn the yellow tunic twice, you will be placed under the care of the Overseer, who will mold you into a performer. Performers are there for our entertainment, and the entertainment of those in our employ.”
I wondered at the choice: circus freak or conscription. My lips shook, and my free hand balled into a fist. I had imagined many reasons for voyants being taken, but nothing like this.
Human trafficking. No, voyant trafficking. Scion had sent us into slavery.
A few people were weeping now; others stood in rapt horror. Nashira didn’t seem to notice. She hadn’t even blinked when the girl died. She hadn’t blinked at all.
“Rephaim do not forgive. Those of you who adapt to this system will be rewarded. Those who do not will be punished. None of us want that to happen, but should you show us disrespect, you will suffer. This is your life now.”
Seb fainted. Julian and I propped him up between us, but he was still a dead weight.
The nine Rephaim stepped down from their plinths. I kept my head down.
“These Rephaim have offered their services as keepers,” Nashira informed us. “They will decide which of you they wish to take.”
Seven of the nine began to walk around the room, between the rows. The last one—the one I’d looked at—stayed with Nashira. I didn’t dare look at Julian, but I said in a whisper, “It can’t be true.”
“Look at them.” He barely moved his lips. Our proximity on either side of Seb was all that allowed me to hear him. “They’re not human. They’re from somewhere else.”
“You mean this ‘Netherworld’?” I shut my mouth when a Reph passed, then continued: “The only other dimension is the æther. That’s it.”
“The æther exists alongside meatspace—around us, not outside of us. This is something more.”
A frantic laugh bubbled up inside me. “Scion’s gone mad.”
Julian didn’t answer. Across the room, a Rephaite took Carl by the elbow. “XX-59-1,” she said, “I lay claim to you.” Carl swallowed as he was led to a plinth, but he kept up his brave face. Once he was deposited, the Rephaim returned to their circling, like flimps sizing up a wealthy target.
I wondered how they were choosing us. Was it bad for Carl to have been chosen so soon?
Minutes ticked by. The rows dwindled. The whisperer, now XX-59-2, joined Carl. The oracle went with Pleione, seemingly uninterested by the procedure. A cruel-faced male dragged the palmist to his plinth. She started to cry, gasping “please” over and over, to no avail. Soon Julian was taken. XX-59-26. He shot me a look, nodded, and went with his new keeper to the plinths.
Twelve more names were changed to numbers. They got to 38. Finally there were eight of us left: the six amaurotics, a julker, and me.
Someone had to choose me. Several of the Rephaim had examined me, paying close attention to my body and my eyes, but none had claimed me. What would happen if I wasn’t chosen?
The julker, a small boy with cornrows, was led away by Pleione. 39. Now I was the only voyant left.
The Rephaim looked to Nashira. She looked at those of us who remained. My spine pulled tight as rope.
Then the one that had watched me stepped forward. He didn’t speak, but he drew closer to Nashira, and his head tilted toward me. Her eyes flicked to my face. She raised a hand and crooked a long finger. Like Pleione, she wore black gloves. All of them did.
Seb was still unconscious. I tried to let him slide to the floor, but he clung. Noticing my predicament, one of the amaurotic men took him from my arms.
Every eye was on me as I walked across the marble floor and stopped in front of the pair. Nashira seemed much taller up close, and the male stood a clear foot above me.
“Your name?”
“Paige Mahoney.”
“Where are you from?”
“I Cohort.”
“Not originally.”
They must have seen my records. “Ireland,” I said. A tremor passed through the room.
“Scion Belfast?”
“No, the free part of Ireland.” Somebody gasped.
“I see. A free spirit, then.” Her eyes seemed bioluminescent. “We are intrigued by your aura. Tell me: what are you?”
“A cipher,” I said.
I turned cold under her stare.
“I have good news for you, Paige Mahoney.” Nashira placed her hand on her companion’s arm. “You have attracted the attention of the blood-consort: Arcturus, Warden of the Mesarthim. He has decided to be your keeper.”
The Rephaim looked at each other. They didn’t speak, but their auras seemed to ripple.
“It is rare that he takes interest in a human,” Nashira said, her voice as quiet as if she were entrusting me with some closely guarded secret. “You are very, very fortunate.”
I didn’t feel fortunate. I was sickened.
The blood-consort leaned down to my level. A long way down. I didn’t look away.
“XX-59-40.” His voice was deep and soft. “I lay claim to you.”
So this man was to be my master. I looked right into his eyes, even though I shouldn’t. I wanted to know the face of my enemy.
The last of the voyants had been taken from the floor. Nashira raised her voice to the six amaurotics. “You six will wait here. An escort will be sent to lead you to the barracks. The rest of you will go with your keepers to the residences. Good luck to you all, and remember: the choices you make here are yours alone. I only hope you make the right ones.”
With that, she turned and walked away. Two red-jackets followed her. I was left to stand with my new keeper, numb.
Arcturus moved toward the door. He made a motion with his hand, beckoning me to follow. When I didn’t come at once, he stopped and waited.
Everyone was looking at me. My head spun. I saw red, then white. I walked out after him.
The first stain of dawn had touched the spires. The voyants came out after their keepers, three or four to each group. I was the only one with an individual keeper.
Arcturus came to stand beside me. Too close. My back stiffened.
“You should know that we sleep by day here.”
I said nothing.
“You should also know that it is not my custom to take tenants.” What a nice word for prisoners. “If you pass your tests, you will live with me on a permanent basis. If you do not, I will be forced to evict you. And the streets here are not kind.”
I still said nothing. I knew that streets weren’t kind. They couldn’t be much worse than they were in London.
“You are not mute,” he said. “Speak.”
“I didn’t know I was allowed to speak without permission.”
“I will allow you that privilege.”
“There’s nothing to say.”
Arcturus examined me. His eyes held a dead heat.
“We are stationed at the Residence of Magdalen.” He turned his back from the dawn. “I take it you are strong enough to walk, girl?”
“I can walk,” I said.
“Good.”
So we walked. We walked out of the building and onto the street, where the sinister performance had come to an end. I spotted the contortionist near the stage, feeding her silks into a bag. She met my eyes, then looked away. She had the delicate aura of a cartomancer. And the bruises of a prisoner.
Magdalen was a magnificent building. It was from a different age, a different world. It had a chapel and bell towers and
high glass windows that burned with the ferocious light of torches. A bell clanged out five chimes as we approached and went through a small door. A boy in a red tunic bowed when we passed a series of cloisters. I followed Arcturus into the gloom. He went up a winding stone staircase and stopped before a heavy door, which he unlocked with a small brass key. “In here,” he said to me. “This will be your new home. The Founder’s Tower.”
I looked into my prison.
Behind the door was a large rectangular room. The furnishings were nothing short of opulent. The walls were white, devoid of clutter. All that hung on them was a crest, topped with three flowers, with a black-and-white pattern beneath them. A slanted chessboard. Heavy red curtains fell on either side of the windows, which looked out over courtyards. Two armchairs faced a magnificent wood-burning fireplace, and a red daybed sat in the corner, piled with silk cushions. Beside it, a grandfather clock stood against the wall. A gramophone played “Gloomy Sunday” from a dark wood writing table, and there was an elegant nightstand beside the lavish four-poster bed. Beneath my feet was a richly patterned carpet.
Arcturus locked the door. I watched him tuck the key away. “I have little knowledge of humans. You may have to remind me of your needs.” He tapped his finger on the table. “In here are medicinal substances. You are to take one of each pill every night.”
I didn’t speak, but I skimmed his dreamscape. Ancient and strange, indurated by time. A magic lantern in the æther.
The stranger in I-4 had most definitely been one of them.
I sensed his eyes reading beyond my face, studying my aura, trying to work out what he’d saddled himself with. Or what buried treasure he’d uncovered. The thought brought on another surge of hatred.
“Look at me.”
It was an order. I raised my chin, met his gaze. I’d be damned if I let him see the fear he stirred in me.
“You do not have the spirit sight,” he observed. “That will be a disadvantage here. Unless you have some means of compensating, of course. Perhaps a stronger sixth sense.”
I didn’t answer. It had always been my dream to be at least half-sighted, but I remained spirit-blind. I couldn’t see the æther’s little lights; I could only ever sense them. Jaxon had never thought it a weakness.
“Do you have any questions?” His unpitying eyes searched every inch of my face.
“Where do I sleep?”
“I will have a room prepared for you. For now you will sleep here.” He indicated the daybed. “Anything else?”
“No.”
“I will be away tomorrow. You may acquaint yourself with the city in my absence. You will be back by dawn every day. You will return to this room at once if you hear the siren. If you steal or touch or otherwise meddle with anything, I will know.”
“Yes, sir.”
The sir just slipped out.
“Take this.” He held out a capsule. “Take a second tomorrow night, along with the others.”
I didn’t take it. Arcturus poured a glass of water from a decanter, not looking at me. He handed me the glass and the capsule. I wet my lips.
“What if I don’t take it?”
There was a long silence.
“It was an order,” he said. “Not a request.”
My heart palpitated. I rolled it between my fingers. It was olive in color, tinged with gray. I swallowed it. It tasted bitter.
He took the glass.
“One more thing.” Arcturus grasped the back of my head in his free hand, turning it to face him. A cold tremor rolled down my spine. “You will address me only by my ceremonial title: Warden. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
I forced myself to say it. He looked right into my eyes, burning his message into my skull, before he loosened his hand. “We will begin your training upon my return.” He made for the door. “Sleep well.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed a low, bitter laugh.
He half-turned his head. I watched his eyes empty. Without another word, he left. The key turned in the lock.
5
The Indifferent
A red sun glinted through the window. The light roused me from a deep sleep. There was a bad taste in my mouth. For a moment I thought I was back in my bedroom in I-5, away from Jax, away from work.
Then I remembered. Bone Seasons. Rephaim. A gunshot and a body.
I was definitely not in I-5.
The cushions lay on the floor, cast off in the night. I sat up to assess my surroundings, rubbing my stiff neck. The small of my back ached, and my head pounded. One of my “hangovers,’’ as Nick called them. Arcturus—Warden—was nowhere to be seen.
The gramophone was still sorrowing away. I recognized Saint-Saënss’s “Danse Macabre” immediately, and with alarm: Jax listened to it when he was particularly cantankerous, usually over a glass of vintage wine. It had always given me the creeps. I switched it off, pushed the drapes from the window, and looked down at the east-facing courtyard. There was a Rephaite guard positioned by a pair of giant oak doors.
A fresh uniform had been laid out on the bed. I found a note on the pillow, written in a bold black cursive.
Wait for the bell.
I thought back to the oration. Nobody had mentioned a bell. I scrunched the note into my hand and tossed it into the hearth, where other scraps were waiting to be burned.
I spent a few minutes scouring the room, checking every corner. There were no bars on these windows, but they couldn’t be opened. The walls hid no secret seams or sliding panels. There were two more doors, one of which was hidden behind thick red drapes—and locked. The other led to a large bathroom. Finding no light switch, I took one of the oil lamps inside. The bath was the same black marble as the library floor, surrounded by diaphanous curtains. A gilded mirror took up most of one wall. I approached this first, curious to see if the mutilation of my life showed on my face.
It didn’t. Save for the cut lip, I looked just the same as I had before they caught me. I sat in the darkness, thinking.
The Rephaim had struck their deal in 1859, exactly two centuries ago. That was Lord Palmerston’s time in office, if I remembered my classes correctly. It was long before the end of the monarchy in 1901, when a new Republic of England took power and declared war on unnaturalness. The republic had taken the country through nearly three decades of indoctrination and propaganda before it was named Scion in 1929. That was when the First Inquisitor was chosen, and London became the first Scion citadel. All this suggested to me that, somehow, the Rephaim’s arrival had triggered Scion. All that bullshit about unnaturalness, just to sate these creatures that had come from nowhere.
I took a deep breath. There must be more to this, there must be. Somehow I would understand. My first priority was to get out of here. Until I could do that, I would search this place for answers. I couldn’t just walk away, not now I knew where voyants were being sent. I couldn’t forget all I’d heard and seen.
First I would find Seb. His amaurosis made him ignorant and scared, but he was only a kid. He didn’t deserve this. Once I’d located him, I’d find Julian and the other detainees from Bone Season XX. I wanted to know more about the Emim, and until my keeper got back, they were my only source of information.
A bell rang in the tower outside, echoed by another, louder chime in the distance. Wait for the bell. There must be a curfew.
I placed the lamp on the edge of the bath. As I splashed my face with cold water, I considered my options. It was best to play along with the Rephaim for now. If I survived long enough I would try and contact Jax. Jax would come for me. He never left a voyant behind. Not a voyant he employed, anyway. I’d seen him leave buskers to die more than once.
It was getting darker in the chamber. I pulled open the middle drawer of the writing table. Inside were three blister packs of pills. I didn’t want to take them, but I had a feeling he might count them to make sure I did. Unless I just threw them away.
I popped out one from each packet. Red, whi
te, and green. None of them were labeled.
The city was full of nonhumans, full of things I didn’t yet understand. These pills might be there to protect me from something: toxins, radiation—the contamination Scion had warned us about. Maybe it wasn’t a lie. Maybe I should take them. I would have to in the end, when he came back.
But he wasn’t here now. He couldn’t see me. I washed all three pills down the sink. He could take his medicine and choke.
When I tried the door, I found it unlocked. I descended the stone steps, back into the cloisters. This residence was enormous. At the door to the street, a bony girl with a pink nose and dirty blond hair had replaced the boy in the red. She looked up from a counter when I approached.
“Hello,” she said. “You must be new.”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ve started your journey in a great place. Welcome to Magdalen, the best residence in Sheol I. I’m XIX-49-33, the night porter. How can I help you?”
“You can let me go outside.”
“Do you have permission?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t care, either.
“Okay. I’ll check for you.” Her smile was getting tense. “Can I take your number?”
“XX-59-40.”
The girl consulted her ledger. When she found the right page, she looked up at me with wide eyes. “You’re the one the Warden took in.”
Well, took in was one way of putting it.
“He’s never taken a human tenant before,” she continued. “Not many of them do at Magdalen. Mostly it’s just Rephs with a few human assistants. You’re very lucky to be lodging with him, you know.”
“So I’ve been told,” I said. “I have a few questions about this place, if you don’t mind.”
The Bone Season Page 6
