The Mime Order (49 page)

I couldn’t so much as turn my head. Eliza was closest to me. Her eyes were glassy with shock, her lips almost as dark as mine.

For a while, I lay on the ground, my body racked with twitches. My pulse was feeble, my hearing muffled. There was a long period of darkness and silence before footsteps came through the leaves. A silhouette stood over us, just beyond the circle. The next thing I made out was a low female voice: “Dreamwalker. Hearken to me.”

Then a word I didn’t understand, a Gloss word. Something else was calling me back. The golden cord wrenched—the strongest pull I’d ever felt from it—and my eyes opened.

“Are you injured?” The voice belonged to Pleione Sualocin. “Speak to me, or I can offer no cure.”

“
Aura,” I said, but my voice sounded faint even to my own ears. Still, Pleione heard me. She took a vial of amaranth, and with a gloved finger, placed a single drop below my nose. As I breathed the ambrosial smell deep into my lungs, my aura began to regenerate. I rolled over and retched. Pain collided with the front of my skull and pulsed outward in ripples.

Pleione got back to her feet. She was dressed as a denizen again, with her long black curls swept to one side of her neck. “The Emite is gone, but it will return in time. Nashira has placed a high price on your life, dreamwalker.”

I couldn’t stop shaking. “Is she ever going to show her face?”

“She will not dirty her hands.” She wiped her blade with a cloth, staining it with what looked like oil. “Get up.”

The edges of my vision were blurred, but I forced myself back to my feet. I hated how weak these sarx-creatures made me, how useless my years on the street seemed when I faced them. It made me realize that I’d only ever been a scrapper, not a true fighter. On the edge of the clearing, Eliza was curled against a tree trunk, her hands over her ears. I made toward her.

“Paige!”

The panic in Nick’s voice set my heart thumping. I ran to where he was crouched at the base of another tree. Zeke was lying in his lap, unconscious.

“What happened?” I knelt beside him, jolting another bolt of pain into my eye.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Nick’s hands, usually so steady, were shaking. “What do we do? Paige, please—you must know how to help him . . .”

“Shh. Don’t worry. There were plenty of voyants in the colony who’d been bitten or scratched,” I said, but he didn’t stop trembling. “We’ll get help from the Rephaim. You don’t know how to—”

“We have to do
something
, Paige, now!”

His
voice cracked. I squeezed his shoulder. “Pleione,” I shouted across the clearing. “Errai!”

Errai ignored me, but Pleione came back for us. Kneeling, she held one gloved hand to Zeke’s forehead, the other to his cheek. “Quickly, dreamwalker,” she said. “You must bear him to a safer place than this.”

Nick’s face crumpled. He framed Zeke’s face between his palms, murmuring to him.

Eliza had been close to unconsciousness, but when she looked up and saw Pleione crouched nearby, she screamed as though she’d seen her own death. I ran to her and clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Still think it’s a flux flash?”

She shook her head.

When I sensed Warden again, I stood, pulling Eliza up with me. He pushed through the foliage, his eyes scorching like torches. He took it all in: the salt circle, the wounded human.

“There are no others.” He walked through the clearing. “What are you doing here, Paige?”

Eliza swallowed. “We were talking,” I said. How sad that something so normal could sound so stupid, so thoughtless.

“I see.” He walked past us. “There is a decapitated corpse beside the cold spot.”

“It was a rhabdomancer.” A sharp pain in my side made it diffi- cult to talk. Or breathe, for that matter. “He must have followed us from the market.”

“A thrall of the Sargas,” Pleione said to Warden. “Paid to ensure that she failed to attend the scrimmage, perhaps.”

“I think not. It is unlikely that they know a great deal about the syndicate’s workings. In any case, they seem to want Paige alive.” He paused. “The cold spot must be sealed, or more of them will come through. Where is the nearest safe house, Paige?”

I glanced at Eliza. “Any ideas?”

“
One.” She wiped her upper lip with a shaking hand. “Someone needs to get the car.”

“You go, medium.” Pleione nodded toward the trees. “Make haste.”

The color left Eliza’s cheeks. “What if there are more of those things?”

“Then run, very fast, and try not to succumb to death too swiftly.”

The remaining color seeped from her face. I pressed my revolver into her hand, along with what was left of the salt. She groaned, took a deep breath, and took off into the trees.

Behind me, Warden kept watch. In the circle, Nick eased Zeke’s head into his lap and stroked his hair, talking to him in Swedish. Pleione and Errai stood guard on either side of the clearing.

We waited.

****

Nick’s nerves were frayed by the time Eliza returned. We drove back to I-4, leaving the Rephaim to stand guard around the cold spot, and got out of the car. As we ran down a cobblestoned alley, dimly lit by gas lamps and flanked on both sides by shops with bay windows, I glanced at Eliza. She was riffling through her pockets, breathing hard.

“Goodwin’s Court?”

“We’re going to Leon’s,” she bit out.

“Who?”

“Leon Wax. The screever. You know him.”

Vaguely, in the way most people in the syndicate knew
of
each other. Leon Wax was a good friend of Jaxon’s, a specialist in producing fake paperwork for voyants: travel papers, birth certificates, proof of Scion background, anything that made it easier to put blind spots in our government’s eyes. He was the one who had forged documents for Zeke and Nadine, stating that they were legal
settlers
in case they should ever be stopped on the street. Like many amaurotic traders with syndicate links, he lived in a tumbledown dwelling in this tiny lane.

The front of the little shop was painted black, with a variety of dusty objects cluttering the shelves beyond the window. Snuffers, trick candles, matchboxes, candlesticks made of silver and brass, even an old metal candle clock. Silver letters spelled out WAX AND CANDLE, the legal face of Leon’s trade. The bay window looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in weeks.

Eliza pulled a key from her pocket and opened the door. Why she had a key for Leon Wax’s chandlery, I had no idea. Nick carried Zeke down the steps and into the tiny living room, where we laid him on the couch and lowered his head on to a cushion. I pushed at a light switch, to no avail.

“Eliza?”

“Leon doesn’t believe in electric lighting.” Eliza snatched a box of matches from an alcove. “Put some coal in the grate.”

For Nick’s sake, I didn’t argue. I shucked Wynn’s heavy coat and threw it over the banister, revealing the dried blood and filth on my clothes. Eliza stared.

“Paige—”

“It’s not mine.” I took the matches. “Cutmouth.”

The wait for help was agonizing. Nick refused to leave Zeke’s side, and every few minutes he tried to coax water past his lips. I ran up to the bedrooms to get blankets while Eliza lit every candle in the house.

Warden came through the door just as I got back downstairs, my arms full of crocheted blankets. Without a word, I led him into the living room. A coal fire glowed in the hearth, giving Zeke’s skin a misleading warmth. Nick held his wrist in one hand, measuring his pulse.

In the corner, Eliza recoiled from the towering, lamp-eyed stranger. Warden paid her no attention.

“
Where is the bite?”

“Left side,” I said.

Zeke’s shirt was slick with dark blood. With tight lips, Nick peeled it away from the wound, which Warden examined for some time. My stomach was strong, but the spread of the marks—from Zeke’s upper chest to the lower half of his waist—was more than enough to turn it. The punctures looked deep, and the skin surrounding it was a milky gray, but the blood had already clotted.

“He will be all right,” he concluded. “There is no need for treatment.”

“What?” Nick sounded strangled. “Look at him!”

“Unless his bloodstream has been altered, he will recover. Does he drink alcohol or use recreational drugs?”

“No.”

“Then he is immune.” Warden fixed a hard gaze on Nick. “His condition may appear grave, Dr. Nygård, but his body and dream-scape will fight the pollution. Bathe the wounds in saline and sew them. Let him sleep. Those are the only remedies he needs.”

With a weak groan, Nick sank into an armchair with his face in his hands. All of us looked at Zeke. His breathing was shallow, his cheeks were tinged with grey, and his fingertips looked as if he’d dipped them in soot, but he didn’t look as if he was getting any worse.

“It isn’t fair.” Nick sounded exhausted. “He needs a proper hospital.”

“Yes, and we all know what the prognosis would be then,” I said. “Nitrogen asphyxiation.”

“Paige!” Eliza scolded.

“He does not need a hospital,” Warden said. “He will recover of his own accord—and in any case, no Scion hospital would understand his symptoms. Keep him warm and hydrated.”

There was silence for a long time, scattered with the crackle in the hearth. “Should we tell Nadine?” I said to the others.

“
No. She’d lose her mind over this.” Eliza finally got up from the chair. “I’ll get you all some fresh clothes. You can sleep here tonight. Leon’s away until tomorrow.” She cleared her throat, looked a long way up at Warden. “Do you . . . want to stay, too?”

“I will not stay long,” Warden said.

“The attic’s free, if you want it.”

“Thank you. I will consider it.”

When she was gone, the space felt even smaller. With a glance at Warden, I sidled into the hallway.

In the utility room, I turned on the boiler, dug an empty jam jar from the back of a dusty cupboard, and filled it with water and salt. My knees were close to giving way. Had it really been this morning that I’d found Chat reading
The Rephaite Revelation
? It seemed like weeks ago.

As I stirred the solution, I tried to get a handle on my breathing. Zeke was fine this time, but without the penal colony, more Emim would appear in the citadel before long.

I shoved the thought aside. Nick needed me now. I took a few rolls of gauze and a suture kit from the cupboard and went straight back to the living room, where he’d moved to a footstool beside the low fire. Zeke’s hand was wrapped in his. I sat down on the floor beside him and curled an arm around my knees. The heat of the fire didn’t reach my core, but it was enough to warm my fingers.

“Did I ever tell you about my sister?” he said hoarsely.

“You’ve mentioned her.”

Only once. Karolina Nygård, a voyant whose gift had never had a chance to surface.

“I keep remembering how she looked.” His voice was dull. “When I found them in the forest.”

“Don’t.” I turned his cheek, so he had to look at me. “Zeke isn’t going to die. I promise. Warden knows what he’s talking about.”

I
shouldn’t make these promises. After all, I hadn’t saved Seb or Liss from their fates.

“Scion can’t take anyone else from me. This is their fault,” he murmured. “They were spineless. They gave in when they could have fought the Rephaim with everything they had. Maybe they were afraid at the beginning. Now they’re thriving off the system they’ve created. If you become Underqueen,” he said, “I’m leaving Scion. I’ll take everything I can and destroy them with it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll do it anyway. Jaxon doesn’t need my blood money to waste on his cigars.” It was rare to see Nick’s face so cold. “I joined them because I wanted to learn everything I could about the enemy. I’ve learned enough, Paige. I’ve seen enough. All I want to do now is bring them down.”

“We’re on the same page, then.” The fire crackled. “Jax will be wondering where we are.”

“Eliza’s gone back to the den. She’s saying we’ve stayed out late training in I-6.” He took the jar from my hand with a thin smile, but his face was wan. “You get some sleep,
sötnos
. You’ve seen enough today.”

He unpacked the suture kit with steady fingers. I left, pulling the door to, but something made me stop. Zeke’s eyes flickered open, and seeing Nick, he smiled and murmured “hey.” Nick leaned down and kissed him, first on the forehead, then on the lips. I smiled. And there it was: a final, clean snip inside me, as if a thread had been cut.

Then it was gone. Quietly, I closed the door.

The chandlery had three floors, including the attic. It was a narrow building, packed with tiny rooms. The bathroom was about as wide as I was tall, tiled with cracked ceramic. I lit the stub of candle on the sink. The mirror confirmed that I wouldn’t look out of place among mudlarks. Dark blood plastered my clothes to my body and the skin around my lips was smudged with grey.

A
deep chill held fast to my bones. I would have done anything for a hot bath at that moment. I peeled off the clothes and bundled them into the corner. Water rattled through the pipes when I turned the aging shower’s dial, bursting out in a lukewarm sputter. Once I’d stood under the drizzle for a few minutes and scrubbed away the smell of salted Emite, I leaned close to the mirror to peel off my contacts. One of my pupils was dilated, taking up most of my iris. I blinked and looked at the candle, but my left pupil refused to react.

There was a spare room on this floor, where Eliza had left a clean nightshirt on one of two identical beds. I buttoned the shirt and breathed in its delicate, floral smell. It was all I could do not to collapse, but I wouldn’t sleep for long in this room. A bed-warmer might shake the chill.

I brushed out my wet hair and walked back to the landing, trying to ignore the dull ache in my side. As I headed for the stairs, Warden came up them. He stopped when he saw me.

“Paige.”

My arms were still covered in gooseflesh. Part of me wanted to go to him, but something warned me away.

“Warden,” I said, too softly to be heard from downstairs.