Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (41 page)

This was the center of the citadel, according to the map: I Cohort, Section 1. Voyants avoided this area like the plague. I looked up at the Westminster Archon, my fingers dripping blood. The clock face burned red, the hands and digits black against the light. This was where Frank Weaver’s puppets danced. Had I been in a less life-threatening situation, I would have liked to leave some choice graffiti on the walls.

I ran toward the Starch. Situla was just ahead of me. When she reached the bridge, Antoinette turned to face her foe. Her skin seemed stretched across her bones, like a thin layer of paint, and her lips were pursed and white.

“You are surrounded, oracle.” Situla stepped toward her. “Surrender yourself.”

“Do not call me ‘oracle,’ creature.” Antoinette raised her hand. “Stay and find out what I am.”

The air iced over.

Situla was indifferent to the threat, she had nothing to fear from a mere human. She made toward Antoinette. Before she could try anything, she was lifted off her feet and thrown backward, almost off the bridge. I started. Spirit. A breacher. I reached for the æther, trying to identify it. It was something like a guardian angel, a very old and powerful one.

Archangel. An angel that remained with one family for generations, even after the person it saved had died. They were notoriously difficult to exorcise. The threnody wouldn’t banish it for long.

Situla regained her footing. “Hold still.” She took another step. “Let us find out what you are.”

She reached for a passing spirit—then another, and another, until she had a trembling spool. Antoinette kept her hand outstretched, but her face contorted when Situla began to feed on her. Her eyes turned a terrible vermilion, almost red. For a moment, I thought Antoinette would fall. A bead of blood slipped from her left eye. Then she cut her arm toward Situla, and the archangel shot toward her. The spool surged together to meet it. As the æther burst open, I ran.

Most Gillies were sighted. They’d be distracted by the collision between the spirits. They wouldn’t see me. They couldn’t. I
had
to get back to Dials. I sprinted toward Station I-1A.

Beneath my boots, the bridge shuddered with energy. I didn’t stop. I could see the sign above the station on the other side of the street. I shed my jacket and my body armor. It would make me faster, and once I got this damned mask off, I wouldn’t look like a red-jacket. Just a girl in a red shirt. I scanned the buildings, searching for footholds. If I couldn’t get into the station, I’d have to climb my way out of this. If I could just get onto the rooftops, I’d be safe.

Then I was aware of something else.

Pain.

I didn’t stop, but it was suddenly harder to run. It couldn’t be a bad injury. The archangel hadn’t come anywhere near me. Its concern was with Situla, the threat. I must have pulled a muscle.

Then a sticky warmth bloomed below my ribs. When I looked down, my red shirt was turning a different shade of red, and there was a small, round hole above my hip.

They’d shot me. Shot me like they’d shot the Irish students.

I had to keep running. I lurched onward, heading for the street, where traffic was still racing up from the Embankment.
Come on, Paige, come on. Run.
Nick could fix me up. I just had to reach Dials. I could see the station now. Another shot came, but they missed. I had to get out of range. I forced myself to keep moving, but the pain was growing and I couldn’t put weight on my right side. My staggering run had turned into a limp. There were pillars outside the station. If I could just get to them, I could stanch the blood and disappear.

I ran behind a bus, using it for cover, and caught the first pillar on the other side of the street. All the strength drained from my bones. I tried to keep moving, but a sharp pain erupted above my hip. My knees buckled.

How quickly death crept up on me. Like it had been waiting for years. The physical world softened to a haze. Lights flashed past. The sounds of the fight were still close, but they were in the æther, not on the street.

So much for the dreamwalker.

I didn’t have much time. They might shoot me again. I dragged myself behind one of the pillars, out of sight of the station entrance, where commuters were trying to work out where all the noise was coming from. I curled against the wall. Blood pumped from the little wound. I clamped my trembling hands over it. My lips strained against their binding.

I wouldn’t get to Dials. Even if I got on a train, I’d be arrested on the other side. They wouldn’t miss the blood on my hands.

At least I hadn’t died in Sheol I. That would have been more than I could bear. Here, at least, Nashira couldn’t reach me.

Then there was someone at my side, grabbing my arm. I smelled him first. Camphor.

Nick.

He didn’t recognize me. He couldn’t. He shoved my chin back, exposing my throat to his penknife. “You damn traitor.”

Nick.
The wound burned. My sleeve was soaked with blood.

“Let’s see your face,” Nick said. He was quieter now, regretful. “Whatever you are, you’re a voyant. A jumper. Maybe you’ll remember that, when you see the last light.”

He peeled the mask from my face. When he saw me, something broke inside him. “Paige,” he choked out. “Paige, oh no—
förlåt mig
—” His hands pressed over my ribcage, trying to stop the blood. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I thought—Jaxon asked—” Of course. Jaxon had wanted the dreamwalker. Nick had shot me, not Scion. “What have they done to you?” His voice shook. It broke my heart to see him so devastated. “You’ll be fine, I promise. Paige, look at me. Look at me!”

I was finding it difficult to look at anything. My eyelids were so heavy. I raised my fingers to his shirt. He cupped my head against his chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Where did they take you?”

I shook my head. Nick stroked my sweaty hair. It was soothing. I wanted to stay. I didn’t want them to take me back to that place.

“Paige, don’t you dare close your eyes. Tell me where those bastards took you.”

I shook my head again. There was no way I could tell him, not without my voice.

“Come on,
sötnos
. You have to tell me where it is. So I can find you again, like I did before. Remember?”

I had to tell him. He had to know. I couldn’t die without telling him where it was. I had to save the others, the other voyants in the lost city. But now I could see a silhouette, an outline of a man. Not a man.

Rephaite.

My fingers were covered in blood. I reached for the wall and traced the first three letters. Nick looked at it.

“Oxford,” he said. “They took you to
Oxfor
d
?”

I let my hand fall. The faceless man was moving through the darkness. Nick looked up.

“No.” His muscles tightened. “I’m taking you home,” he said, starting to lift me. “I won’t let them take you there again.”

He pulled a pistol from his jacket. I wrapped my arm around his neck. I wanted him to try and run, to save me from another poppy field—but he’d die if I let him. We would both die. The shadow would dog our footsteps to the Dials. I tugged at his shirt, shaking my head, but he didn’t understand. The shadow fell across our path. Nick gripped the gun tighter, his knuckles white, and he pulled the trigger. Once, twice. I screamed behind sealed lips.
Nick, run!
He couldn’t hear, he couldn’t know. The gun fell from his hand, and all the blood was drawn from his face. A giant, gloved hand gripped his throat. With the last of my strength, I tried to force it away.

“She comes with me.” It was Warden, and he looked demonic. “Run, oracle.”

My grip on life was slipping. I heard Nick’s heart against my ear, felt his fingers lock across my back. The light ebbed. Death had come.

22

The Triple Fool

Time became a series of moments, interspersed with blank spots. Sometimes there were lights. Sometimes there were voices. I had the sense that I was in a car for a while, a kind of swaying motion.

I became aware of someone cutting my shirt. I tried to push away the intrusive hands, but my body mutinied. I recognized the thick mist of drugs. Next thing I knew, I was tucked up in Warden’s bed, tilted on my left side. My hair was wet. Every single part of my body felt broken.

“Paige?”

The voice came as if from underwater. I made a weak sound: half-sob, half-rattle. My chest was on fire. So was my arm.
Nick.
I reached out blindly.

“Michael, quickly.” A hand grasped mine. “Hold on, Paige.”

I must have passed out again. When I woke up, I felt as heavy, woolly, and shapeless as a duvet. Most of my right arm was numb. It hurt to breathe, but I could open my mouth. My chest heaved.

I supported myself on my elbow, pulling my body to the left, and ran my tongue over my teeth. All present and correct.

Warden was in his armchair, looking at the gramophone. I wanted to smash the thing. Those voices had no right to be so high-spirited. When Warden saw me move, he stood.

“Paige.”

The sight of him set off a heavy pounding in my chest. I pushed myself against the headboard, remembering his terrible eyes in the dark. “Did you kill him?” I wiped the sweat from my upper lip. “Did you—did you kill the oracle?”

“No. He is still alive.”

Slowly, watching my face, he eased me into a sitting position. The movement pulled at an IV in my hand. “I can’t see properly.” My voice was hoarse, but at least I could speak.

“You have a periorbital hematoma.”

“What?”

“Black eye.”

I traced the soft skin at the top of my cheek. Jax really had done me down. The whole right side of my face was swollen.

“So,” I said, “we’re back.”

“You tried to escape.”

“Of course I tried to escape.” I couldn’t keep the bitterness from my voice. “You think I
want
to die here and haunt Nashira for the rest of eternity?” Warden just looked at me. A lump rose in my throat. “Why didn’t you let me go home?”

A faint green stain was fading from his eyes. He must have fed on Eliza. “There are reasons,” he said.

“Excuses.”

For a long time, he didn’t speak. When he did, it wasn’t to tell me why he’d dragged me back to this cesspit of a city. “You have an impressive collection of injuries.” He propped me up with pillows. “Jaxon Hall is far more ruthless than we had anticipated.”

“Give me the list.”

“Black eye, two cracked ribs, split lip, torn ear, bruising, laceration on the right arm, bullet wound to the torso. I find it incredible that you were able to run to the bridge after the first round of injuries.”

“Adrenaline.” I focused on his face. “Did you get hit?”

“A graze.”

“Just me that got used as a punchbag, then.”

“You encountered a group of extremely powerful clairvoyants and survived, Paige. There is no shame in being strong.”

But there was shame. I’d been overpowered by Eliza, shot by Nick, and beaten to a pulp by Jax. That wasn’t strong. Warden brought a glass of water to my lips. Reluctantly, I sipped. “Does Nashira know I tried to escape?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What will she do to me?”

“Your red tunic has been rescinded.” He placed the glass on the nightstand. “You are a yellow-jacket now.”

The coward’s color. I managed an acrid laugh, but it hurt my ribs. “I couldn’t care less what tunic she puts me in. She still wants to kill me, red-jacket or not.” My shoulders shook. “Just take me to her. Get it over with.”

“You are tired and wounded, Paige. Things may not look so bleak when you are well.”

“When will that be?”

“You will be able to get out of bed by tomorrow, if you wish.”

I frowned, but stopped when every muscle in my face protested. “Tomorrow?”

“I asked the driver to collect scimorphine and anti-inflammatory drugs from the SciSORS facility before we left London. You will be fully recovered within two days.”

Scimorphine. The stuff was exorbitant. “Did you see my father at SciSORS?”

“I did not enter the facility myself. Only a handful of Archon politicians know of our existence.”

He turned his attention to the IV in my hand. His fingers, always sheathed in leather, made sure the tape was still fastened.

“Why do you wear those gloves?” A spark of anger burned inside me. “Are humans too filthy to touch?”

“It is her ruling.”

My cheeks grew warm under the bruises. However much I disliked him, he must have spent hours patching me up. “What happened to the others?” I said.

“1 and 12 were unharmed. Situla was made latent, but she has recovered.” He paused. “30 is dead.”

“Dead? How?”

“Drowned. We found her in the fountain.”

The news sank in, chilling me. I hadn’t particularly liked Amelia, but she hadn’t deserved to die. I wondered which of the gang had done it. “What about Carter?”