The Bone Season

  Trafalgar Square was artificially lit, but it was dark enough for us to remain inconspicuous. Situla, Amelia, and David were approaching from the other side. The three of them disappeared behind one of the four bronze lion statues that guarded Nelson’s Column. Warden leaned down to my level.

  “Carter will arrive soon,” he said, keeping his voice low. “We must bide our time until she makes contact with the Seal. Do not allow yourselves to be captured under any circumstances.” Carl nodded. “Once the area is clear, the NVD will escort us back to the vehicle. You will cease and desist if the Seals leave the boundaries of I Cohort.”

  I was starting to sweat. Seven Dials was well within I Cohort. If the gang tried to make it back to base, they could find themselves being tailed there.

  Big Ben was two minutes from striking. Warden sent Carl to sit on the steps of the column—as a soothsayer, he was the least conspicuous. Once he was settled, Warden led me past the fountain to one of the statue plinths. There were seven of them, one for each of the people who had facilitated the establishment and continuation of Scion: Palmerston, Salisbury, Asquith, MacDonald, Zettler, Mayfield, Weaver. The seventh plinth always bore the likeness of the ruling Inquisitor, along with his or her motto.

  Warden stopped behind a statue. He studied my masked face. “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not know you would be silenced.”

  I gave no sign that I’d heard him. I had to concentrate on breathing through my nose.

  “Do not look yet. Carter is waiting at the base of the column, as planned.”

  I didn’t want to do this. I wanted Antoinette to get out of here. I wanted to burst into her dreamscape, to make her run away.

  And then I sensed them.

  It was them, no doubt about it. They were approaching from all different directions. Jax must have mobilized the entire gang, all six of the remaining Seals. Would he recognize my aura straightaway, or would he presume there was just another dreamwalker—a tiny chance—in the vicinity?

  “I sense a medium,” Warden said. “And a whisperer.”

  Eliza and Nadine. I looked out at the base of Nelson’s Column. And yes, there was Antoinette.

  She wore a frock coat and a wide-brimmed black hat. Strands of graying red hair fell past her ears. What little of her face I could see bore crevices that had been airbrushed out of the TV show. Between her fingers was a silver cigarette holder, fitted to a roll of what looked like purple aster. She had some gall. No one smoked ethereal drugs in public.

  The idea of doing battle with Toni Carter was enough to make me sick with nerves. On her show, she would often have a violent seizure prior to making a prediction, a perk that had blown the ratings through the roof. I could only imagine how she might fight. Nick denounced the idea that she was an oracle; oracles never lost control like that.

  Nadine came first. She wore a pinstriped blazer, loosely buttoned. No doubt it hid a set of irons. The others all appeared, one by one, though, they gave no hint that they knew one another. Only their auras linked them. When I caught sight of Nick, I thought I would burst: into tears, into laughter, into song. He was heavily disguised. Had to be, given his glittering Scion career. His hair was covered by a dark wig and a hat, and he wore tinted glasses. A few feet away, Jax was tapping his cane. At my side, Warden remained silent. His eyes darkened when one of his targets edged closer to Antoinette. Eliza had been chosen to go forward. Close behind her was Dani, her mouth was set in a grim line. She was disguised, too.

  Had it been me, I would have made initial contact with Antoinette with one of my “nudges’’ to check the coast was clear, but Eliza had no such power. The æther screwed with her, not the other way around. She lifted four fingers of her right hand, three of her left, and ran them through her hair, as if she was checking for knots. Antoinette understood. She stepped toward Eliza and extended a hand. Eliza took it.

  Situla struck first. Faster than I could register, she was on top of Antoinette, strangling her. Warden made toward Zeke, just as Carl sent a nearby spirit hurtling toward Eliza. It must have been Nelson, the most powerful spirit in the square: Eliza crumpled against one of the lions, clutching her chest, and cried out in a strangled voice: “I cannot command winds and weather, nor can I command myself in death!” Amelia flew out next, only to be tackled by an enraged Nick, who had seen Eliza’s pain before anything else. David took Jax; or tried to take Jax—Dani swung her fist at him, knocking a spurt of blood from his mouth. In less than ten seconds, I was the only one who had not yet come out to fight.

  That suited me. It did not suit Jaxon.

  He saw me at once, another masked enemy. He drew up a spool of six and hurled it in my direction. I had to move, and fast—the spirits of Trafalgar could pose a serious threat. I sent a flux dart at him, but aimed well above his head. Jax still ducked, sending the spool scattering all over the place. Give it up, I thought. Don’t make me attack you.

  But Jaxon never gave up. He was livid. We’d spoiled his plans. He lunged at me, wielding his cane. I tried to land a kick to his stomach, to push him back, but I didn’t do it hard enough. He grabbed my ankle, and with a flex of his arms, he flipped me over. Pain. Move, move.

  Not fast enough. Jax drove his steel-capped boot into my side, kicking me onto my back. His knee crashed down on my chest. His fist flew—a blur—then something solid struck the unprotected part of my face. Knuckleduster. And again, in the ribs. Something cracked, and it hurt. And again. I swung up my arm to block a fourth punch. His eyes were gleaming, hot with bloodlust. Jax was going to kill me.

  I had no choice. With my body pinned, I used my spirit.

  He wasn’t expecting that. He wasn’t concentrating on my aura. The thump against his dreamscape made him fall. His cane clattered to the ground. I clawed myself to my feet. My face was pounding, my ribs seared, and my right eye wasn’t working as it should be. I grasped my knees, dragging air through my nose. I’d never known Jax could be so brutal.

  A screech caught my attention. Near one of the fountains, Nadine had abandoned spirit combat and pinned Amelia to the ground. I pulled out the syringe in my jacket, opened it with bloody fingers, and I pushed the needle into my wrist. After a few seconds, the pain dulled to an ache. My vision wouldn’t settle, but it wasn’t incapacitating. I could still see well out of my left eye.

  The red sight of a gun hovered on my chest. They must have snipers in the buildings.

  There had to be some way out of this.

  With renewed strength, I ran toward the fountains, where Amelia was kicking helplessly. As much as I wanted Nadine to win, I couldn’t just watch another human die. I tackled her, taking her down by the waist, straight into the fountain. The water turned red as the security lights changed. Nadine surfaced a half-second after I did. Her teeth were gritted, and the muscles in her neck were straining. I backed away.

  “Take that mask off, bitch,” she shouted at me.

  I pointed my flux gun at her.

  Nadine began to circle me. She opened her coat and took out a knife. She’d always preferred steel to spirits.

  I felt my heartbeat everywhere, right down to my fingertips. Nadine rarely missed with a knife, and my body armor would only provide so much protection, if she hit me above the chest, I was dead. David chose that moment to appear. Just as Nadine was about to throw her blade, he hit her dead between the shoulders with a flux dart. Her eyes watered. She tottered, swayed, and folded over the edge of the fountain. David dragged her out of the water and took her head between his hands. We’d been told not to kill, but in the heat of the moment, he seemed to have forgotten. How important could a hisser be?

  I didn’t pause to think: I threw out my spirit. Zeke would never forgive me if I let his sister die. Time for a quick-fire jump.

  I went too far. For the second I was in David’s head, I pulled his hands away from Nadine. Another second and I was back in my body, running toward him. I threw my full weight against his side and we both smashed to the ground.


  My vision turned black. I’d just possessed David. Only for a heartbeat, but I’d moved his arm.

  I had finally possessed a human.

  David put his hands to his head. I hadn’t been gentle. I struggled to my feet, blinking away a flurry of white stars. Both Antoinette and Situla had vanished.

  Leaving Nadine next to David, I ran from the fountain, my clothes drenched. I climbed up onto a lion and surveyed the scene. Both groups had fanned out across the square. Zeke was no fighter, and he’d wisely abandoned ship—bloody sailor spirits—when he’d seen Warden coming at him. Having pulled on his balaclava, he was exchanging blows with Amelia. Elsewhere, Warden turned his attention to Nick, who had stunned Carl with a spool. I thought my heart would stop as I watched them. My keeper and my best friend. I dropped back to ground level, gripped by fear. I had to help Nick.Warden could kill him . . .

  Then Eliza was there, and she was incensed. Spirits flew at me from every direction. They always sided with mediums. Three French sailors burst into my dreamscape. I stumbled, blinded by their memories: the towering waves, the blast of muskets, fires raging on the deck of the Achille—screaming, chaos—then Eliza gave me a shove, and I fell. I thrust up all my mental defenses, trying to push out the invaders.

  For a moment I was incapacitated. Eliza tried to pin me with her knees. “Stay in there, guys!”

  My dreamscape was flooding. Cannonballs ripped through it. Burning wood fell past my eyes. Eliza’s hands came up to unmask me.

  No, no! She couldn’t see me. The NVD would shoot her. With a huge effort, I forced out the spirits and kicked her backward, catching her jaw with my boot. She let out a cry of pain. Guilt flinched in my stomach. I spun around just in time to meet Jax’s cane with my flux gun.

  “Well, well. A walker in uniform,” he said softly. “Where did they find you? Where were you hiding?” He leaned close to me, staring into the eyeholes of the mask. “You can’t possibly be my Paige.” The cane forced my arm back. My muscles strained. “So who are you?”

  Before I could do anything, Jax was thrown back by a massive spool, bigger than any a human could make. Warden. I got up, reaching for the gun, but Jax swung blindly with his cane. Instinct jerked my head to the left. Too slow. My ear scalded: a sharp, clean heat. Blade. I got a grip on the gun, but a second blow from Jax knocked it out of my hand. The cane blade flashed across my arm, cutting through my jacket and deep into the flesh. A muted scream ripped through my throat. Pain exploded down my arm.

  “Come, walker, use your spirit!” Jaxon pointed the blade at me, laughing. “Use the pain. Leave your wounds behind.”

  Amelia threw another spool at Jax. I’d saved her; now she was saving me. Nick returned fire, and Amelia crouched behind a lion. Zeke lay still on the ground. Don’t be dead, I thought. Don’t let them have got you.

  A flash of red hair. Antoinette was back. Her hat had flown off, and no wonder: she was in a kind of battle trance. Her eyes were wild, her nostrils flared wide, her spirit a raw blaze. It mocked the blue streetlights of the citadel, the ones designed to soothe the fevered mind. Fists, legs, and spirits flew in a volley at Situla, not letting her get a blade in edgeways. Situla hurled a ghost at her. Antoinette danced out of its reach.

  And then, with no warning, she took off. Warden spotted her as she parted the screaming people.

  “Stop her,” he shouted.

  At me. I sprinted after Antoinette. This was my chance to escape.

  A Vigile let me past when he saw my uniform, but tackled an amaurotic woman. A man grabbed my jacket—whisperer—but I was running too fast, and he let go. My mind was a streak of pure light. Antoinette was headed straight for the Westminster Archon. She was off the cot to head in that direction, but I didn’t care about her motives: she was giving me a priceless opportunity. There was a tube station opposite the Archon. It was always packed out with Underguards, but also with commuters. If I took off my mask and jacket, I could slip past the barriers and disappear into the crowd. The pillars outside would give me shelter from the NVD, and I’d only have to stay on a train for one stop to reach Green Park. I could get to Dials from there. If that didn’t work, I’d go for the Thames. I’d swim. I’d do whatever I had to do to escape.

  I could do it. I could do it.

  My legs pumped. The pain in my arm was ferocious, but I couldn’t stop. Antoinette’s trance seemed to have fueled her speed. No human being could run like that, not unless she was guided by spirits. I tried to keep their auras in range as I weaved my way through droves of people and cars.

  A taxi braked in front of Antoinette. She and Situla split around it, straight into a horde of pedestrians. I took the straightest course: kept running, right up the front of the car and onto the roof, and slid down the other side. Antoinette was through in a flash. Seconds behind her, Situla cut through the human obstacles. They screamed. One of them died. I couldn’t stop. If I let up for a moment, Antoinette and Situla would be out of range. Finally, when I thought my lungs would burst, we reached the end of Whitehall.

  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.”