Page 24 of The Bone Season

‘It was an order,’ he said. ‘Not a request.’

‘I’ve met people like you before. The sort of people who like to throw their weight around,’ I said softly. ‘You don’t scare me.’

‘Then you are a fool.’

My jaw clenched.

If I meant to survive this place, I would have to pick my battles. I washed the pill down. Arcturus took the glass from my hand.

‘One more thing,’ he said. A tremor shot down my spine. ‘You will address me by my ceremonial title – Warden. Is that understood?’

‘Yes.’

I forced myself to say it.

‘We will begin your training upon my return.’ He made for the door. ‘Sleep well.’

‘I don’t know what you are,’ I said, ‘but know this.’ I met his eyes once more. ‘You brought the wrong voyant in here.’

Arcturus regarded me for a moment. Without another word, he closed the heavy door behind him, leaving me alone in the shadows.

The key turned in the lock.

THE ROOKERY

13 March 2059

A bell roused me from a deep sleep that evening. For a drowsy moment, I thought I was in my old room in Islington, a long weekend of nothing ahead of me – away from work, away from Jaxon.

Then I saw the ceiling. I sat up, heart pounding, hair wild around my face. I was still in the opulent parlour, on the daybed.

The Rephaim, the halls and the dancing; the origins of Scion.

Somehow, all of it was real.

I hadn’t meant to doze off, but the flux had left me weak and tired. The small of my back ached. Rubbing my stiff neck, I drank in my surroundings. Arcturus – Warden – was nowhere to be seen.

His gramophone was sorrowing away. I recognised ‘Danse Macabre’ immediately, my pulse quickening – Jaxon listened to it when he was in a sour mood, usually over a glass of vintage wine. I switched it off and pushed the drapes from the nearest window.

The last blue light was leaving the sky. Across the parlour, a writing desk stood by a leadlight. A note had been left on it, penned in black ink.

Wait for the bell.

The bell must lift the curfew. Beside the message, I found a floor plan of Magdalen. I noted the names of the buildings, the rooms.

Next, I had a look around. A chess table stood in the alcove formed by a window, ready for a new game. Apart from the main door, there were two others, both locked. One was most likely for a bedchamber; the other led on to the roof of the cloister. The former had a few wooden stairs leading up to it.

The main door was newly unlocked. Once I had picked up a candle, I exited the parlour and crossed the landing, taking the steps to a bathroom with plastered stone walls. The bath itself was enormous, made for someone of great height. A mirror shone above the sink, polished to perfection. There was a concerning lack of toilet.

I set the candle down in its holder and turned one of the brass taps on the sink. Hot water rushed out. With a sigh of relief, I washed my face and neck, leaving the pristine towels where they were.

I held my own gaze in the mirror, thinking.

The Rephaim had struck their deal in 1859. That was long before the fall of the monarchy in 1901. Queen Victoria had been allowed to reign until her death. Had she known she would be the last monarch?

Lord Palmerston had been the Prime Minister. He must have paved the way to Scion out of fear, trying to save the world. What I still didn’t understand was why the system targeted voyants. The Rephaim blamed all humans for the loss of their home. Why were we paying the price?

Even stranger, the Rephaimwerevoyant. So far, they all had auras. I couldn’t wrap my head around this arrangement.

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