And I understood what else I wanted. I wanted him to take me in his arms. I wanted to kiss him, as I had before.
I wanted him to want me.
The realization warmed my blood. My touch drifted from his face to his nape, and I drew him close.
“Paige.”
A firm hand stilled mine. His touch woke me up enough to focus on his ever-burning eyes. “No one can see us now,” I whispered. My other hand rested on his chest. “I want you.”
“You have had too much to drink. This is not you.”
“It is me.” I nuzzled his neck. “Just without a mask.”
“No. This is the mask. To hide your fear,” he said, softer. He was so warm. “Trust has no room for façades. I would look on your true face, little dreamer. And know that you had looked on mine.”
I had to make him understand that this was real, that words spoken behind a mask were no less genuine. I had to tell him about my fourth card, the Lovers, the warning, stay close. But I was so drowsy, so heavy, and the words were too slippery to figure into sentences.
“Paige.” Arcturus cupped my lolling head. “Can you stand?”
The room was a carousel. When I sank against him, he gathered me into his arms and rose.
“You have a lovely jaw,” I murmured into his shirt. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”
“Goodnight, Paige.”
He carried me to my own room, set me down on my side, and tucked my good hand under my cheek. I felt him cover me with the duvet before the pillows swallowed me whole.
****
I woke in a series of painful stirrings. My skull was an overfull glass, too heavy and precarious to lift.
Shards of memory. My fingers on his jaw. His voice and mine, the words muddled. No clarity. All I remembered in excruciating detail was how much I had wanted him to hold me. He must have felt that want through the cord. Thick and sweet as summer honey.
I should never have touched that wine. I had risked the assignment. Nothing mattered more than what I was supposed to do today.
It was almost half past four. Bleary-eyed, I switched on the lamp and dressed in the clothes I had laid out early the previous evening, trying not to move my head too much. Every time I breathed in, a blade cut into the back of my shoulder. My skin had a grayish tinge, like newspaper.
Once my hair was straightened and I had darkened my eyes with the dropper, I found the dissimulator and stole into the parlor. Arcturus was nowhere to be seen, but the decanter was just where I had left it. I emptied its contents into the sink and forced myself to drink a full glass of water.
By the time Arcturus emerged, the water had restored me a little too well. I could remember loose threads of our conversation. The position I had woken up in, with my head supported in a way that would have stopped me choking if I threw up in my sleep. I really was a class act.
“I did not expect you to be awake,” he said.
“I’m just as surprised.” I brushed my hair back. “I’m sorry about last night. Like I said, I’m not good with wine.” Before he could get a word in, I went on: “I was just thinking, there’s no need for you to come with me today. You should look for more of the graffiti we found, establish who in the citadel supports me. We should try to secure allies within the syndicate.”
After a long silence, he spoke. “Your body should be monitored by someone with experience of your gift. This assignment will strain your limits.”
“I’m sure the medic will manage.”
He seemed to digest this statement. I could see him contemplating whether or not to press the issue, questioning the fact that I was pushing him away when I most needed him.
Had I been brave, I would have told him the truth. That I needed space to nurse my pride.
“When you find the graffiti, mark the locations on our map,” I said. “We’ll see if there’s a pattern.”
Without looking at him, I did up my bootlaces and tied back the smooth hair that felt nothing like mine. “I will do as you ask,” Arcturus said, “but when you return, we should speak.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I said curtly, pulling on my jacket. “I was drunk.”
Silence reverberated across the room. Arcturus watched me collect the key from the table.
“Paige.”
Slowly, I faced him.
“I know you are still uncertain of your gift, but you are a dreamwalker. This is what you were born to do. I am proud of how far you have come,” he said. “Call if you need me. I will be at your side.”
Heat stoppered my throat. To my embarrassment, my eyes filled, and I had to look away.
“Thank you.” I fastened my jacket. “Watch yourself out there. We know the Rag and Bone Man is hunting, and he’s captured you before.”
“I have no intention of being a prisoner again. Neither would I see you suffer that fate,” he said. “Please, Paige, do not take any unnecessary risks.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Our gazes locked. Before I could do something really stupid, I all but fled the room, grabbing my bag as I went.
In my haste, I almost forgot to disguise myself. Just before I left, I stopped by the mirror in the hallway, took out the dissimulator, and stretched it over my face. It warmed to the consistency of oil and gradually constricted. I squeezed my eyes shut, resisting the urge to pull it off, as it remolded my features. When the pressure eased, my nose was pinched, my mouth wider, my cheeks peppered with freckles. I was Flora Elizabeth Blake, a student from the University of Scion London, here to research her dissertation. Only if I looked closely could I see the tiny crinkles in my skin.
It was remarkable. Impossible. Like short-term surgery. Shame I wasn’t in the frame of mind to marvel.
Outside, it was pouring with rain. The dissimulator made my face feel badly sunburnt. I trudged through the dark, freezing and dismal, until I saw an illuminated entrance to the Métro. I bought a return ticket and waited on the platform, trying to iron out my breathing. At this rate, I would be lucky if I made it to Rue de Surène without throwing up.
When the train arrived, it was almost deserted. I took a seat at the back and burrowed deep into my jacket. Now I had a twenty-minute journey and only my thoughts to occupy it.
Eliza could spend a night with a stranger. She could share herself and walk away, all in the time it took the sun to set and rise again.
Nick could fall for kind eyes or a smile, not knowing what lay behind them. For him, love was a dive into deep waters. He trusted himself not to hit any rocks.
I had to see the depths before I jumped. I only seemed to want someone—to truly want them—when I cared for them too much to run. I wanted in ways that would always have consequences.
The first time I kissed Arcturus Mesarthim, I had known that there would be a price.
I hadn’t truly wanted him that night. Not beyond that minute in his arms and the comfort it had offered me. Faced with death, I had felt alone. He had been there and willing. That was all. Then he had come back into my life, and little by little, I had started to notice.
That I looked forward to seeing him. That he made me smile without ever smiling himself. That he challenged me. That I always wanted to hear his voice. And that even though he was a mystery, and there were shadows in him I might never disperse, I somehow knew him.
The train arrived at the right stop. I tottered back outside, into the blistering cold, feeling as if my head was stuffed with steel wool. At least the pressure on my face had eased.
A bakery glowed across the street, tempting in the predawn gloom. In my haste to leave, I had forgotten to eat breakfast. I stepped into the toasty warmth and ordered a large coffee and a chausson aux pommes. With this face, I was no longer a wanted criminal. I could do anything.
Rue de Surène was a short walk from the station. No cameras watched over it. I threw my half-finished pastry away before I found the right door and tapped the code into a pad beside it. The hallway beyond had a checkered floor. I
trudged up to the third floor.
It was a postcard apartment, made up of a bathroom and a parlor with a tiny kitchenette. Beside the compact bed was the ventilator Ducos had promised. I tugged off my boots and flopped onto the couch, where I peeled off the dissimulator and pinched some feeling back into my face.
The apartment was cold and quiet. I finished my coffee. My thoughts returned to Arcturus, like birds to their branches.
I had been the one to end it. I had cut him away before I could fall for him, not realizing I had already fallen. Not realizing it was already too late.
It was also too late to try again. Even if there were no suspicious Ranthen eyes here—even if he still wanted me back, which he might not—we were better off as allies. Anything else was too complicated.
So I had told myself, to no avail. Still I wanted to know him in every way possible, down to the last secret and sinew. Our unexpected bond had paved the way for an attraction I could no longer deny. No matter how long it took, I had to crush it.
Despite the strong coffee, I dozed off, huddled into the corner of the couch, feeling as if I might shrivel into nonexistence. I woke to a familiar voice and an unfamiliar name.
“Flora.” A firm shake. “Paige. Did you sleep here?”
Ducos was leaning over me, hair pulled into a severe bun. She wore no makeup today. “No.” I licked my bone-dry lips. “Just got here early.”
“What about your auxiliary?”
“He’s not well.”
I expected some kind of reprimand, but all Ducos did was flick the heating on. “I suppose he was always doomed to catch your illness, with the two of you cooped up in there. Fortunately for you,” she said, “our medical officer will be here soon. She got back just in time.”
She helped me sit up. My temples pounded.
“You’ve been drinking,” she observed.
“Of course not.”
“I have been in Scion for a long time, but I know a hangover when I see one.” She raised a dour smile. “Something has to fill the hollow this life carves in us. For some agents, that something is drink. For some, it is sex. For me, it is smoking. An extension of a transgression I have already committed.”
“What transgression?”
“Hurling myself into destruction.” She held my shoulder. “You have been through a great deal, Flora. This once, I will turn a blind eye to your conduct, on the condition that this never happens again. Do I make myself clear?”
My nod was tiny. She pressed another coffee into my hands.
“Drink.”
I took an obedient sip.
“While you wake up,” Ducos said, “you can listen.” She sat on the end of the bed. “Unfortunately, the ventilator was damaged in transit and now requires manual replenishment every three hours. You’ll need to return to your body while that happens. Not ideal for creating a convincing façade.”
“I’ll make it work,” I said.
“If anyone notices your infiltration, or if you believe your physical location has been compromised, return here at once and leave the building. Steph—our courier—is keeping watch nearby. They will guide you to safety.”
“What if Scion reaches me before they do?”
“In the unlikely event that you are detained, we will not be able to assist you. Our last attempt to rescue an agent almost exposed us.” She looked me in the eye. “Do you have your kill pill?”
I nodded. The capsule of fast-acting poison was tucked into my jacket.
Ducos reached into her briefcase and unrolled a floor plan I recognized. “I wanted to draw your attention to one room in particular. The Salon Doré.” She pointed to the main building. “This is where Ménard is likely to store important and sensitive documents. His private study.”
I kept my face blank. Even if it contained nothing of use to Domino, I needed to get inside that room. It might well hide the second piece of information I wanted.
The location of Sheol II.
“We know for a fact that Ménard has a safe in the Salon Doré,” Ducos said, “and that the safe contains a number of letters that he considers too sensitive for the Scionet. Now, he will certainly be in meetings in that room all day, and for most of the evening—but watch for any opportunity to enter it. I presume a seasoned criminal like yourself can crack a safe.”
“Depends on the safe,” I said. “What if I find other information that could be useful to you?”
“Your assignment is to collect information pertaining to the relationship between Weaver and Ménard. Do not risk your cover for anything else.”
After a moment, I nodded. “Excuse me.”
Eating had been a bad idea. I locked myself into the bathroom and sighed at the unholy mess in the mirror. Bloodshot eyes, clammy face. Quietly, I heaved over the sink. All I brought up was another clot of yellow.
“Great,” I said under my breath.
Something was wrong in my body. I could feel it. I was afraid to find out what it was. If Ducos thought I was too ill, she might take me off this assignment, and I needed to do it.
I set my jaw and washed the sink out. Though it made me flinch, I dabbed my face with icy water. That and the caffeine took the edge off the hangover. I was ready. At least, that was what I told myself.
There were voices on the other side of the door. When I emerged, I saw the newcomer, a woman who was probably in her early thirties. She wore a pencil dress with short flared sleeves, which flattered her hourglass figure. White skin struck a high contrast with the deep plum velvet of the dress and the raven hair that gleamed to her chin.
“—should she be doing this, if that’s the case?” she was saying. “Surely there’s no need to rush this job.”
“There is every need, as yesterday should have taught you. Given the situation—” Ducos stopped talking at once when she noticed me. “Flora, this is our medical officer, Eléonore Cordier.”
The woman regarded me with sparkling corvine eyes. Her lips were painted the same plum as her dress.
“Flora,” she said with a smile. “Welcome to Mannequin.” Her handshake was delicate, and her accent, as far as I could tell, was French. “I hear you’ve given Scion more trouble than the rest of this organization put together. And that you’ve had a persistent cough. I’d do a checkup now, but we’re out of time. Madelle Guillotine is about to wake up.”
“We would not be out of time if you had been on time,” Ducos muttered.
“Would you sooner I had not been careful?” When Ducos pursed her lips, Cordier sighed and turned back to me. “Flora, are you absolutely sure you feel up to this?” she asked, serious. “From the little I know about what you can do, this will put a lot of strain on your body.”
“I’ll cope,” I said. “I want to do my part.”
Ducos gave a satisfied nod.
“All right.” Cordier steered me toward the bed. “Make yourself comfortable, then, and we’ll get you hooked up.”
I lay on my back. Cordier tucked a couple of pillows under my head while Ducos switched on the ventilator. Now I wished Arcturus had come with me. It was unnerving to leave my body vulnerable with two people I barely knew.
“We’re almost ready to go.” Cordier reached into her bag. “Just need to give you the sedative.”
“What?” I sat back up. “Why?”
“For the ventilator.” Cordier showed me a narrow tube. “I need to sedate you to insert this.”
Danica had custom-made my old ventilator for a dreamwalker. All it had required was a face mask. “If you sedate me, I won’t be able to dreamwalk.” When Cordier looked blank, I said, “Project my spirit.”
She exchanged a troubled glance with Ducos. They were amaurotics, with little idea how my gift worked. “Sorry, Flora. This is all new to us,” Cordier admitted. “Any ideas?”
“I can go into my dreamscape. I’ll be less aware of my body.”
Cordier brightened. “I have no idea what dreamscape means, but that sounds like a fabulous solution.”
She took a spray can from her bag. “Let me give you this, at least, to numb your throat. It won’t make you drowsy.”
“Fine.” I tried to relax. “When we’re ready to go, pinch me hard. I’ll feel it.”
“I’ll do that.” She gave the can a shake. “Open wide for me.”
I did, and she blasted something foul-tasting into the back of my mouth. It trickled down my throat.
“Watch the clock,” Ducos told me. “Remember, you have three hours. Bon courage.”
With a nod, I withdrew into my dreamscape. Red flowers opened their petals around me. I was distantly conscious of a strangeness, a discomfort, before the pinch came. I jumped into the æther.
The Hôtel Garuche was close, and I had met Luce Ménard Frère before. Her dreamscape was a beacon. When I took hold of her, it was quick, but gentle. Like catching a mouse by the end of its tail.
****
The first thing I felt was silk against my cheek. My eyelids fluttered as my borrowed senses woke. In the deep blue light of morning, I could see that I was lying on my side in a canopy bed.
Slowly, I lifted one hand to find soft, delicate fingers and manicured nails. I knew I was in the right host when I saw the spousal ring—a ruby flanked by diamonds, mounted on a band of pure gold.
Frère had offered no resistance. She had never been taught to see or react to intruders in her mind. Unlike Hildred Vance, the last Scion official I had walked in, her dreamscape had not been surgically clean, though it was colorless, like every amaurotic mind. It resembled the affluent Place des Vosges, where she and Ménard had first lived together.
A floral scent crept up on me as I settled into my host. I savored it. It had been so long since I had been able to take a deep breath without a stab of chest pain. Still lethargic, I looked around the room, at the lavish crimson furnishings, the dark and polished floor, the vase of fresh white roses. Embroidered gold anchors bordered the sheets.
I checked for a nosebleed and found nothing. Time to go. Filled with resolve, I propped Frère up on her elbows—and remembered she was nineteen weeks pregnant. Her abdomen bulged.
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