I stripped off my clothes, took a shower, then dried and straightened my hair. I put on lipstick and mascara and kohl. I dabbed a little perfume on my pulse points. I pinched my cheeks to make them pink. When I was done, I slipped on a black lace dress, then stepped into a pair of open-toe heels and left the apartment.
The guard looked at me strangely as I passed.
I took a cab. There was a flash house in the East End that Nadine frequented, with cheap mecks (and sometimes real, illegal alcohol) served on weekdays. It was in a rough part of II-6, an area notorious for being one of the only safe places for voyants to hang out: even Gillies didn’t like to go there.
A huge bouncer guarded the door, wearing a suit and hat. He waved me through.
It was dark and hot inside. The space was small, cramped, packed with sweating bodies. A bar ran the length of one wall, serving oxygen and mecks from different ends. To the right of the bar was a dance floor. The people were mostly amaurotic, hipster types in tweed trousers, tiny hats, and brightly colored neckties. I had no idea what I was doing here, watching amaurotics jump around to deafening music, but that was what I wanted: to be spontaneous, to forget the real world.
Nine years I had spent adoring Nick. I would make it a clean break. I wouldn’t allow myself to stop and feel.
I went to the oxygen bar and perched on a stool. The bartender looked me over, but didn’t address me. He was voyant, a seer—he wouldn’t want to talk. But it didn’t take long for someone else to notice me.
There was a group of young men at the other end of the bar, probably students from USL. They were all amaurotic, of course. Few voyants made it to University level. I was just about to order a shot of Floxy when one of them approached me. Nineteen or twenty, he was clean-shaven and a little sunburned. Must have been to another citadel for his year abroad. Scion Athens, perhaps. He wore a cap over his dark hair.
“Hey,” he said above the music. “You here by yourself?”
I nodded. He took a seat beside me. “Reuben,” he said, by way of introduction. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Mecks,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He motioned to the bartender, who clearly knew him. “Blood mecks, Gresham.”
The bartender’s brow was creased, but he kept his silence as he poured my blood mecks. It was the most expensive of the alcohol substitutes, made with cherries, black grapes, and plums. Reuben leaned in close to my ear. “So,” he said, “what are you here for?”
“No real reason.”
“You don’t have a boyfriend?”
“Maybe.” No.
“I just broke up with my girlfriend. And I was thinking, when you walked in—well, I thought stuff I probably shouldn’t think when a pretty girl walks into a bar. But then I thought a girl as pretty as you would have a boyfriend with her. Am I right?”
“No,” I said. “Just me.”
Gresham pushed my mecks across the surface of the bar. “That’ll be two,” he said. Reuben handed him two gold coins. “Am I to assume you’re eighteen, young lady?”
I showed him, he went back to cleaning out the glasses, but he kept an eye on me as I sipped my drink. I wondered what troubled him: my age, my appearance, my aura? Probably all three.
I jerked back to reality when Reuben shifted closer. His breath smelled like apples. “Are you at the University?” he said.
“No.”
“What do you do?”
“Oxygen bar.”
He nodded, sipped his drink.
I wasn’t sure how to do it. To give the sign. Was there a sign? I looked right into his eyes, ran the toe of my shoe along his leg. It seemed to work. He glanced at his friends, who had gone back to their game of shots. “You want to go somewhere?” His voice was low, hoarse. It was now or never. I nodded.
Reuben linked his fingers through mine and led me through the crowd. Gresham watched me. Probably thinking what a minx I was.
I became aware that Reuben wasn’t leading me to my imagined dark corner. He was leading me to the toilets. At least, I thought he was until he guided me through another door, out into the staff car park. It was a tiny rectangular space, only able to hold six cars. Okay, he wanted privacy. That was good. Wasn’t it? At least it meant he wasn’t just showing off for his friends.
Before I could so much as take a breath, Reuben pushed me up against the dirty brick wall. I smelled sweat and cigarettes. To my shock, he started to unbuckle his belt. “Wait,” I said. “I didn’t mean—”
“Hey, come on. It’s just a little fun. Besides”—he dropped his belt—“it’s not like we’re cheating.”
He kissed me. His lips were firm. A wet tongue thrust into my mouth, and I tasted artificial flavoring. I’d never been kissed before. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
He was right. Just a little fun. Of course it was. What could go wrong? Normal people did this, didn’t they? They drank, they did stupid reckless things, they had sex. This was just what I needed. Jax allowed us to do this—just not to commit. I wasn’t going to commit. No strings. Eliza did it.
My head told me to stop. Why was I doing this? How had I ended up here, in the dark, with a stranger? It wouldn’t prove anything. It wouldn’t stop the pain. It would make it worse. But now Reuben was on his knees, pushing my dress up to my waist. He pressed a kiss to my bare stomach.
“You’re so pretty.”
I didn’t feel it.
“You never told me your name.” He traced the edge of my underwear. I shivered.
“Eva,” I said.
The thought of sex with him repulsed me. I didn’t know him. I didn’t want him. But I reasoned it was because I still loved Nick, and I had to make myself stop loving him. I grabbed Reuben’s hair and crushed my lips to his. He made a noise and pulled my legs around him.
A little quiver shot through me. I’d never actually done it before. Wasn’t it meant to be special, the first time? But I couldn’t stop. I had to do this.
The streetlamp shone with a fitful light, blinding me. Reuben placed his hands against the brick wall. I had no idea what to expect. It was exhilarating.
Then pain. Explosive, stunning pain. Like a fist had done a cruel uppercut into my stomach.
Reuben had no idea what had just happened. I waited for it to pass, but it didn’t. He noticed my tension.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I whispered.
“This your first time?”
“No, of course not.”
He bent his head to my neck, kissing from my shoulder to my ear. Before he even tried to move, the pain came again, worse this time, a vicious racking pain. Rueben drew back. “It is,” he said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Look, I just don’t think I should—”
“Fine.” I shoved him away. “Just—just leave me alone, then. I don’t want you. I don’t want anyone.”
I pushed off the wall and stumbled back into the flash house, pulling down my dress. I only just made it to the toilet in time to throw up. Pain lashed through my thighs and stomach. I curled myself around the toilet bowl, coughing and sobbing. Never in my life had I felt so stupid.
I thought of Nick. I thought of all the years I had spent thinking about him, wondering if he would ever come back to me. And I thought of him now, pictured his smile, how he looked after me, and it was useless: I just wanted him. I put my head in my arms and cried.
26
Change
The intensity of the memory knocked me out for a very long time. I had relived every detail of that night, down to the faintest tremor. I woke up to total darkness, with no idea what time or day it was. “It’s a Sin to Tell a Lie” strained softly from the gramophone.
There were so many memories I could have shown him. I had lived through the Molly Riots, through my father’s bereavement, through years of cruelty at the hands of Scion schoolgirls—yet I’d shown him the night I was turned down by a boy I loved. It seemed so little and s
o insignificant, but it was my one normal, human memory. The one time I had given myself to a stranger. The one and only time my heart had ever been broken.
I didn’t believe in hearts. I believed in dreamscapes and spirits. Those were what mattered. Those made money. But my heart had hurt that day. For the first time in my life I’d been forced to acknowledge my heart, and acknowledge its fragility. It could be bruised. It could humiliate me.
I was older now. Maybe I’d changed. Maybe I’d grown up, grown stronger. I wasn’t that girl on the brink of maturity, desperate to connect, to find someone to lean on. She was long gone. Now I was a weapon, a puppet to the machinations of others. I couldn’t work out which was worse.
A tongue of fire still tantalized the embers in the hearth. It cast light on the figure by the window.
“Welcome back.”
I didn’t reply. Warden glanced over his shoulder.
“Go on,” I said. “You must have something to say.”
“No, Paige.”
A moment passed in silence.
“You think it was stupid. You’re right.” I looked at my hands. “I just—I wanted—”
“To be seen.” He looked into the fire. “I believe I understand why that memory affects you so deeply. It is at the heart of your greatest fear: that there is nothing to you beyond your gift. Beyond the dreamwalker. That is the part of you you see as truly valuable—your livelihood. You lost your other parts in Ireland. Now you rely on Jaxon Hall, who treats you as his commodity. To him, you are nothing more than quick flesh grafted to a ghost; a priceless gift in human wrapping. But Nick Nygård showed you more than that.”
I was looking at him now.
“That night opened your eyes. When you realized Nick loved another, you faced your greatest fear: that you would never be acknowledged as a human—as the sum of all your parts. Only as a curiosity. You had no choice but to show yourself otherwise. To find the first person who would have you, someone who knew nothing of the dreamwalker. That was all you had left.”
“Don’t even think about pitying me,” I said.
“I do not pity you. But I do know what it feels like. To be wanted only for what you are.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“But your solitude did not keep you safe. Did it?”
I looked away. I hated that he knew. I hated that I’d let him work me out. Warden came to sit beside me on the bed.
“The mind of an amaurotic is like water. Bland, gray, transparent. Enough to sustain life, but no more. But a clairvoyant mind is more like oil, richer in every way. And like oil and water, they can never truly mix.”
“You’re saying that because he was amaurotic—”
“Yes.”
At least there wasn’t anything wrong with my body. I had never been brave enough to see a doctor about that night. Scion doctors were cold and unforgiving on such matters.
Something occurred to me. “If voyant minds are like oil”—I weighed my words—“what are your minds like?”
For a moment, I wasn’t sure he was going to reply. Finally, in a thick, velvet undertone, he said one word.
“Fire.”
That single word sent a tremor through my skin. I thought of what oil and fire did together: exploded.
No. I couldn’t think about him like that. He wasn’t human. Whether or not he understood me was irrelevant. He was still my keeper. He was still a Rephaite. He was everything he’d been at the beginning.
Warden turned to face me. “Paige,” he said, “there was another memory. Before you passed out.”
“What memory?”
“Blood. A great deal of it.”
I shook my head, too tired to think about it. “Probably when my clairvoyance came out. The poltergeist had a lot of blood in her memories.”
“No. I have seen that memory. There was far more blood in this one. All around you, choking you.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” And I didn’t. I really didn’t.
Warden regarded me for a while.
“Sleep a little longer,” he finally said. “When you wake up tomorrow, put your mind to better things.”
“Like what?”
“Like escaping from this city. When the time comes, you must be ready.”
“So you’re going to help me.” When he didn’t answer, I lost my patience. “I’ve shown you everything of mine—my life, my memories. I still have no idea what your motives are. What do you want?”
“While Nashira has us both under her thumb, it is best that you know as little as possible. That way, if she interrogates you again, you can safely say that you have no knowledge of the matter.”
“What ‘matter’?”
“You are very persistent.”
“Why do you think I’m still alive?”
“Because you are inured to danger.” He clasped his hands on his knees. “I cannot tell you about my motives, but I will tell you a little about the red flower, if you wish.”
The offer took me by surprise. “Go on.”
“Do you know the story of Adonis?”
“They don’t teach the classics in Scion schools.”
“Of course. Forgive me.”
“Wait.” I thought of Jax’s stolen books. Jax loved mythology. He called it deliciously illicit. “Was he a god?”
“The beloved of Aphrodite. He was a youthful, beautiful, mortal hunter. Aphrodite was so taken with his beauty, she preferred his company even to that of the other gods. Legend tells that her paramour, the war god Ares, grew so jealous of the pair that he turned himself into a boar and slaughtered Adonis. He died in Aphrodite’s arms, and his blood stained the earth.
“As she cradled the body of her beloved, Aphrodite sprinkled nectar over his blood. And from the blood of Adonis sprang the anemone: a short-lived, perennial flower, stained as red as the blood itself—and the spirit of Adonis was sent, like all spirits, to languish in the underworld. Zeus heard Aphrodite crying for her love, and out of pity for the goddess, he agreed to let Adonis spend half the year in life, and half in death.” Warden looked at me. “Consider it, Paige. There may not be any such thing as monsters, but there are still some pockets of truth in the shrouds of your mythology.”
“Don’t tell me you’re gods. I don’t think I could stand the thought of Nashira being holy.”
“We are many things, but ‘holy’ is not one of them.” He paused. “I have said too much. You need rest.”
“I’m not tired.”
“Even so, you need to sleep. I have something to show you tomorrow night.”
I leaned back against the pillows. I did feel tired.
“This doesn’t mean I trust you,” I said. “It just means I’m trying.”
“Then I can ask no more of you.” He patted the sheets. “Sleep well, little dreamer.”
I couldn’t hold out any longer. I turned over and closed my eyes, still thinking of red flowers and gods.
I woke to the sound of a knock. The sky outside was rosy, bloodshot. Warden stood by the fire, his hand on the mantelpiece. His gaze slashed toward the door.
“Paige,” he said, “hide. Quickly.”
I got out of the bed and went straight to the door behind the drapes. I left it slightly ajar, pulling the red velvet over the gap, and listened. I could still see the fireplace.
The chamber door unlocked and opened. Nashira stepped into the light of the fire. She must have a key to his tower. Warden knelt, but did not complete the ritual. She ran her fingers over the bed.
“Where is she?”
“Sleeping,” Warden said.
“In her own room?”
“Yes.”
“Liar. She sleeps here. The sheets smell of her.” Her bare fingers grasped his chin. “Do you really want to go down that road?”
“I do not understand your meaning. I think of nothing and no one but you.”
“Perhaps.” Her fingers tightened. “The chains still hang. Do not think for a moment
that I will hesitate to send you back to the House. Do not think for a moment that there will be a repeat of Bone Season XVIII. If there is, I will not spare a single life. Not even yours. Not this time. Do you understand me?” When he didn’t reply, she struck him across the face, hard. I flinched. “Answer me.”
“I have had twenty years to reflect on my folly. You were right. Humans cannot be trusted.”
There was a brief silence. “I am pleased to hear it.” Her voice was softer. “All will be well. We will have this tower all to ourselves soon. You can make good on your vow to me.”
She was insane. How could she go from hitting him to making that kind of overture?
“Am I to understand,” Warden said, “that 40’s time has run out?”
I stayed absolutely still, listening.
“She is ready. I know she took possession of 12 in the citadel. Your cousin told me.” She ran her finger under his chin. “You have nurtured her gift well.”
“For you, my sovereign.” He looked up at her. “Will you claim her in the shadows? Or will you show all of Scion your great power?”
“Either will suffice. At last I will have the ability to dreamwalk. At last I will have the power to invade, to possess. All thanks to you, my beloved Arcturus.” She placed a small vial on the mantelpiece, and her voice grew cold again. “This will be your last dose of amaranth until the Bicentenary. I believe you need time to reflect on your scars. To remember why you should look to the future. Not to the past.”
“I will suffer whatever you ask of me.”
“You will not have to suffer for long. Soon we will have our bliss.” She turned toward the door. “Take care of her, Arcturus.”
The door closed.
Warden stood. For a moment I wasn’t sure what he would do. Then he threw out a fist and smashed the glass urn on the mantelpiece. I went to my bed and listened to the silence.
He wasn’t my enemy. Not the enemy I’d thought he was.
She’d said she would send him back to the House. Proof that he was involved in Bone Season XVIII. Proof of his betrayal. That was what Thuban had meant when he’d threatened Terebell. They’d tried to help us and been punished for it. They’d chosen the wrong side. The losing side.
The Bone Season Page 35