The Bone Season

  That was when the stage exploded.

  29

  His Parting from Her

  The gust of heat blew me back across the room, deafening me. I landed hard on my right side, cracking my hip. I felt Nick grabbing my wrist, hauling me to my feet, pulling me out of the way, into the foyer. We barely reached the door before the flames caught up. I threw myself at the ground, covered my head with my arms. Fire burst from the Guildhall, shattering the windows. I kept low, moving as fast as I could. The flare gun was still in my hand.

  None of the harlies had the kind of ordnance to cause such an explosion. Julian must not have told me something. Where had he found a mine, or the time to plant it? Had he taken it from No Man’s Land? And what kind of mine sent roaring fire straight through a building?

  In the thick of the smoke, Nick took my elbow and hauled me to my feet. Glass fell from my hair. I coughed from my chest, my eyes burning.

  “Wait.” I strained away from Nick’s hand. “Warden—”

  He couldn’t be dead. Nick was shouting something, but he sounded distant. I tried to use the golden cord. To see, to feel, to hear. Nothing.

  Outside, the sirens were howling and a rampant fire smoked in the next street. The Room belched flame and black cloud. One—no, two of the residences were ablaze. One of them was Balliol, the only building with electricity. The emissaries would have trouble getting word out to the citadel now. Thank you, Julian, I thought. Wherever you are, thank you.

  Nick lifted me into his arms. “We’ve got to move,” he said, his voice ragged. He looked at the unfamiliar city, his face drawn with stress. “Paige, I don’t know this place—how do we find the train?”

  “Just keep going north.” I tried to get down, but he gripped me too tightly. “I can run, damn it!”

  “You just survived an explosion and a poltergeist,” Nick shouted at me. His face was red with anger. “I didn’t come all the way here for you to go and get yourself killed, Paige. For once in your life, just let someone carry you.”

  Sheol I was in a state of warfare. Now the Guildhall was broken, the rebels had spread out across the streets, where they were fighting with all they had against the Rephaim. Scion emissaries were fleeing in every direction, trailing their bodyguards, who had opened fire on the voyants. Julian’s unit, the ones in charge of arson, had risen to their challenge with murderous enthusiasm—they’d already set fire to most of the Rookery. I wanted to stay, to fight, but I had to set off the flare. I’d save more lives that way.

  Nick took the safest route, away from the fighting, through a narrow street. I caught sight of another skirmish. Harlies fighting alongside amaurotics and jackets, teaming up to take out individual Rephs—even Cyril had joined the struggle.

  A piercing scream reached my ears. I looked over Nick’s shoulder. Nell. Her hands were restrained by two Rephs. “You’re not going anywhere, 9. We need to feed.” One of them pulled her head against him, holding her by the hair.

  “No! You get your hands off me! You’re not ever feeding on me again, you parasite!”

  Her screams were cut short when her keeper clapped a hand over her mouth. “Nick,” I shouted.

  He heard the frantic edge to my voice. His arms loosened. I hit the ground running, straight toward Nell. I had no weapons—but I did have my gift. No longer my curse. Tonight it would save a life, not take one.

  I threw my spirit at the bigger Reph. I pushed against his dreamscape, forcing my way into his hadal zone, and sprang straight back to my body. I was there in time to throw my hands out, stopping my chin from smacking into the ground. With no idea what had happened, Nell pulled her hands free of the Rephs and knifed the one on her right, stabbing deep into his side. At the same time, she pulled a spirit from nowhere and hurled it into his face. He let out an awful snarl. His companion was still reeling from my attack. Nell grabbed her fallen supplies and sprinted for her life.

  The two Rephs were injured, but they were still threats. The one I’d attacked looked up at me, and his eyes—orange—came into focus. He took a blade from a sheath on his arm. “Go back to the æther, dreamwalker.”

  The blade flashed toward my face. I didn’t duck fast enough: it caught my arm. Nick let off a round. The bullet hit the Reph in the chest—to no avail. I sent my spirit at his dreamscape. The second attack weakened him. I picked up the blade he’d thrown and drove it into his throat.

  My mistake was forgetting about his companion. All the breath was knocked from my lungs as the second Reph crashed into me, pinning me to the ground. His giant fist smashed down, half an inch from my head.

  Nick tossed his gun away. As the Reph raised a fist for a second try, Nick snatched three nearby spirits and hurled them in quick succession. I sensed the surge in the æther as he sent a vivid snapshot into the Reph’s dreamscape, blinding him. In the second the Reph rolled off me, fighting the spirits and the vision, I was on my feet and running back to Nick.

  We hadn’t gone far before my my sixth sense stung. My head jerked around to face the threat.

  “Nick!”

  He knew. In one seamless movement, he threw down his backpack and reached for another spool. The target was familiar: Aludra Chertan.

  “Dreamer.” She didn’t even glance at Nick. “I believe I still owe you for your little display in the chapel.”

  “Stay back,” Nick warned.

  “But you look so refreshing.”

  Her eyes changed color.

  Nick’s face contorted. Blood swelled in his tear ducts, and the veins in his neck strained out. “Almost as refreshing as the walker,” Aludra continued, moving toward us. “I might just keep you, oracle.”

  Nick grasped his knees, trying to hold himself upright. I killed your heir apparent,” I said. “Don’t think I won’t do the same to you. Just crawl back to the rotten hell you came from.”

  “Kraz was an arrogant creature. I am not. I know which of my enemies are worth my precious minutes.”

  “And I’m one of them.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  I grew still. There was something behind her: a shadow. A massive, cumbersome shadow. She was too greedy to see it. The rotten giant. I recognized that blot in the æther. “How many minutes?”

  “Only one.” She raised her hand. “But a minute is more than enough time to die in.”

  Then her expression changed. Shock. She’d felt it, but she didn’t turn fast enough. The thing had her in its grip before she could move. White eyes. Dead eyes. I could only see bits of it—the gas lamps had gone out when it appeared—but it was more than enough to scar itself onto my memory, deep into the tissue, grating the delicate fabric of my dreamscape. Aludra stood no chance. Her scream was cut off before it started.

  “Yes,” I said. “More than enough.”

  Nick was frozen stiff. His eyes were wide, his mouth clenched. I grabbed his arm and ran.

  We sprinted for our lives. The Emim were in the city. Just like Bone Season XVIII. “How long?” I called to Nick.

  “Not long.” He grabbed my hand, pulling me faster. “What was that things? What’s Scion done to this place?”

  “A lot.”

  We took a side street, one of several that led into the ghost town. A figure came racing down from the opposite side, panting. Nick and I both reacted at the same time: Nick tripped the boy, sending him flying into the pavement, and pressed my hand against his Adam’s apple.

  “Going somewhere, Carl?”

  “Get off me!” Carl was drenched in sweat. “They’re coming. They’ve let them into the city.”

  “Who?”

  “The Buzzers. The Buzzers!” He shoved at my chest, almost in tears. “You had to ruin it, didn’t you? You had to try and change everything! This place is all I’ve got—you are not taking it—”

  “You have a whole world. Don’t you remember it?”

  “A whole world? I’m a freak! We’re all freaks, 40! Freaks that talk to dead people. That’s why we need them,” he said, stabbing
a finger in the direction of the city center. “Don’t you see? This is the only place that’s safe for us. They’ll start killing us soon—jumping us—”

  “Who?”

  “The amaurotics. When they realize. When they realize what the Rephaim want. I’m never going out there again. You can keep your precious world. You’re welcome to it!”

  I released his throat. He scrambled to his feet and bolted. Nick watched him go.

  “You’ve got a long story to tell when we get home.”

  I watched Carl disappear around the corner.

  It was less than a mile to the meadow, but I wasn’t counting on getting there without a fight. Nashira was out there somewhere, and it was possible that not all of the bone-grubbers had taken Duckett’s concoction. We kept to the edge of the street, working our way through the ghost town.

  There was an explosion in the distance. Nick didn’t stop. The windows of the buildings rattled. I couldn’t think straight. Were people trying to flee across the minefield? They must be panicking, wondering where the flare was, running through the trees to get away. I had to call them to safety. We ran all the way down the blasted street, then veered off on the path toward Port Meadow. I could see the fences, and the sign. A few voyants and amaurotics had gathered outside. They must have thought they could leave the city this way.

  And Warden. He was there. He was filthy, covered in cinders, but alive. He caught me in his arms. “Where the hell did you go?” The words heaved out of me.

  “Forgive me. I was sidetracked.” His gaze shifted toward the city. “You did not plant that incendiary device under the stage.”

  “No.” I grasped my knees, trying to catch my breath. “Unless—”

  “Unless?”

  “12. The oracle, the red-jacket. He said something about an alternative plan.”

  “Let’s just focus on getting out of here.” Nick glanced at Warden, then looked back at me. “Where’s the entrance to the tunnel? It was light when we arrived.” The meadow was pitch-black now, too dark to navigate.

  “Not far,” Warden said.

  “Right.” Nick looked at his old Nixie watch. He wiped his upper lip with a shaking hand. “Did Binder make it?”

  “You can use his real name, Nick.” I could feel sweat running down my neck. “He knows.”

  “Mr. Hall and three of your companions are in the meadow, waiting for you,” Warden said. His eyes stayed on the city. “Paige, I recommend you use one of those flares. You still have time.”

  Nick went to the sally port, where Jaxon seemed to be studying the ethereal fence. I went to stand beside Warden.

  “I am sorry about Liss,” he said.

  “So am I.”

  “I will see to it that Gomeisa does not forget her death.”

  “You didn’t kill him?”

  “We were interrupted by the explosion. Gomeisa was much stronger than us, having fed, but we did weaken him. The fire in the Guildhall may have done the rest.”

  He was still wearing gloves, even now. Something twinged inside me: hurt, perhaps. Had I thought he would change so easily?

  Warden didn’t take his eyes off mine. The golden cord shivered, just a little. I didn’t know what he was trying to transmit, but I was suddenly more focused, more resolute. I grasped the handle of the flare gun. Warden took a step back. I found a point above the meadow, cocked the hammer, and turned my head away.

  The flare hung above the meadow, bursting out signal after signal. I watched it scorch and smoke as I stood beside Warden. Red light flickered in his eyes, and at our feet.

  I looked past the flare, to the stars. This might be the last time I ever saw the stars like this, in a city without light, without smog. Or perhaps one day the whole world would look like this. The world under Nashira’s hand. One great dark prison city.

  Warden placed a hand on my back. “We must go.”

  I walked with him to the sally port. When he opened the gate, the voyants and amaurotics—eight of them—moved through into the meadow. When we were on the other side, he pulled the gate wide open and took out another vial. He had more vials than a gallipot.

  The contents were pale and crystalline. Salt. He poured a thin line of it across the port. I was about to ask about the Emim when Jax grabbed me by the arms and slammed me against a post. I could feel the power of the fence, so close my hair crackled.

  “Idiot.” Jax grabbed the front of my dress. “You’ve just shown them exactly where we are, you wretched child.”

  “I’m showing everyone where we are. I’m not leaving all these people here to die, Jaxon,” I said. “They’re voyants.”

  The muscles in his face twitched. His face was contorted with rage. This was the Jaxon I feared—the man that owned my life.

  “I agreed to come here to salvage my dreamwalker,” he breathed. “Not to save a rabble of soothsayers and augurs.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “It is very much your problem. If you do anything more to compromise this endeavor—the endeavor to rescue you, I might add, ungrateful little urchin—I will make sure you work the shallow for the rest of your days. I shall send you to Jacob’s Island, and you can busk with the extispicists and the splanchomancers and all the other sacks of scum that wash up on the edge of the world. See what they do to you.” His cold hand rested on my throat. “These people are expendable. We are not. You may have claimed a little independence, O my lovely, but you will do as you are told. And we will go back to how things were before.”

  His words stripped layers from my dreamscape. I was back to my sixteen-year-old self, afraid of the world, afraid of everything inside me. Then armor built around me, and I was someone else.

  “No,” I said. “I quit.”

  His expression changed.

  “You do not quit the Seven Seals,” he said.

  “I just did.”

  “Your life is my property. We made a deal. You signed a contract.”

  “I don’t give a toss what the other mime-lords say. If I’m your property, Jaxon, then my employment is nothing more than slavery.” I forced him away from me. “I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

  The words came out, but they didn’t seem to come from my head. I was turning numb. “If I can’t have you, no one does.” His fingers tightened. “I will not surrender a dreamwalker.”

  He was serious. After what had happened at Trafalgar Square, I understood his bloodlust. His aura betrayed it. He would kill me if I left his service.

  Nick had spotted us. “Jaxon, what are you doing?”

  “I quit,” I said. And again: “I quit.” I had to hear myself say it. “When we get back to London, I won’t be going to I-4.”

  His eyes moved to Jaxon. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “There’s no time now. Fifteen minutes.”

  The reminder sent a cold dart through my gut. “We need to get everyone on the train. Now.”

  Nadine was back. “Where’s the entrance?” She was sweating. “We came up from a passage to this meadow. Where is it?”

  “We’ll find it.” I looked behind her. Only Zeke was there. “Where’s Dani?”

  “She’s not answering on the transceiver. She could be anywhere.”

  “She does work for Scion,” Nick said. “She might get away with saying she was an emissary. But it’s not ideal.”

  “Did Eliza come?”

  “No, we left her at Dials. We needed one Seal in the citadel.”

  Jaxon got to his feet and brushed himself down. “Let us all be friends for now. We can discuss our differences on our return.” He beckoned. “Diamond, Bell—cover us, if you please. We have a train to catch.”

  “What about Dani?” Zeke looked nervous.

  “She’ll make it, dear boy. That girl could make it through a minefield.”

  Jaxon brushed past me, lighting another cigar as he went. How could he smoke at a time like this? He was putting on a nonchalant act, I was sure. He didn’t want to lose me. I wasn’t s
ure I wanted to lose him, either. Why had I said all those things? Jaxon wasn’t an oracle or a soothsayer, but his words had sounded prophetic. I couldn’t end up busking—or worse, nightwalking—in a voyant slum like Jacob’s Island. There were far worse places to be than in Jaxon’s employ in the safe area of I-4.

  I wanted to apologize. I had to apologize. I was a mollisher; he was my mime-lord. But pride stopped me.

  I fired another flare. The last one. A last chance for the last survivors. Then I started to run, following Jaxon. Warden shadowed me.

  The flare lit our path. A few more humans made it to the sally port. They followed us into the meadow—some in pairs, others alone. Most were voyant. When Michael arrived, he caught my arm. He had a bad cut on his face, running from eyebrow to jaw, but he could walk. He hefted my backpack into my arms.

  “Thanks, Michael—you really didn’t have to—” He shook his head, his narrow chest heaving. I slung a strap over my shoulder. “Is anybody else coming?”

  He made three quick signs. “The emissaries,” Warden translated. “They are coming with their bodyguards. How long?” Michael held up two fingers. “Two minutes. We must be well ahead of them when they arrive.”

  This was a nightmare. I looked over my shoulder. “Can’t they just let us go?”

  “They will have been told to contain every last witness to this event. We may be heading for a fight.”

  “We’ll give them one.”

  A stitch pulled at my side. In our path, a wounded man was sprawled on the grass. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. I had half a minute to get this man on his feet or we’d have to leave him here. “Go ahead,” I said to Warden. “Let them know I’m coming. Can you open the tunnel?”

  “Not without you.” He looked down at the man. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. “Be quick, Paige.”

  He walked ahead with Michael. I knelt beside the man. He was lying on his back, his eyes closed, his hands folded on his chest. He would have looked like an effigy, if not for his Scion uniform—red tie, black suit, all soaked with blood. When I checked his pulse, he opened one eye. With sudden urgency, his ring-laden hand clasped mine.