Page 32 of The Bone Season

This was whyvoyants, most of all, were paying for human error.

‘Someone has to stop this,’ I said.

‘They’ve been here for two hundred years,’ Liss said. ‘If it were possible, don’t you think someone would have done it by now?’

She had a point.

‘I’ve been here for a decade,’ Liss said. ‘I’ve seen people fight, people who couldn’t let go of their old lives. They’re all dead. In the end you’ll stop trying.’

I studied her. ‘Are you a seer?’

She wasn’t, but I wondered if she would lie.

‘I’m a broadsider,’ Liss said. (An old word for a cartomancer, street slang of a decade past.) ‘The first time I touched a deck of cards, I knew.’

‘What did they show you?’

Liss knelt beside a wooden box and took out a tarot deck, tied with purple ribbon. This had to be her favoured numen. She picked out a card and showed it to me.

The Fool.

‘The first card in the tarot,’ she said, ‘and somehow I still wound up at the bottom of the pile.’ She traced its edge. ‘Paige, I wish I could give you some hope, but it’s been too long. I’ve accepted my lot.’

‘I’ve never had my cards read.’

‘Perhaps we can change that.’ Liss tucked the deck away with care. ‘Come and see me again soon, sister. I can’t protect you, but I might be able to stop you getting yourself killed.’ She gave me a tired smile. ‘Welcome to Sheol I.’

Liss gave me directions to Amaurotic House, where Seb had been placed under the questionable care of Graffias Sheratan, the Grey Keeper. She also gave me a bread roll, wrapped in paper.

I had learned a great deal from her. The most troubling revelation was that Nashira could be on to me. If she was a binder, like Jaxon, she might want to turn me into her boundling – a spirit forced to stay and serve.

Not getting to the last light – the end of the æther – was something I had always feared. I hated the thought of being a restless spirit, a clip of spare ammo, for voyants to abuse and trade. Still, that had never stopped me making spools to protect myself, or helping Jaxon bind Anne Naylor, the Ghost of Farringdon, who had been a young girl when she was murdered.

In the end you’ll stop trying.

Liss was wrong.

I would prove it to her.

Amaurotic House lay on Fayre Street, outside the heart of the city. I soon understood what the night porter had meant about the boundary. Even a short way north of the Rookery, the streets were almost deserted, most of the gas lamps unlit. I breezed on with all the confidence I could muster, as if I were on my own turf in London.

A few plane trees lined the boulevard. The farther I walked, the darker and quieter it became. A few red-jackets were stationed in doorways, armed with lanterns and pistols. Before long, I heard the inevitable shout: ‘You there. What are you doing?’

I stopped.

‘My keeper told me to get my bearings,’ I called back. ‘Can I have a look around?’

‘If you insist. Just make sure you’re back for the day bell.’

‘Got it.’

I quickened my step before the red-jacket could change her mind.

Soon I had found the building I needed. A chained gate was set into its façade, with a lunette readingAMAUROTIC HOUSE. There was a phrase underneath, probably Latin:DOMUS STULTORUM.

Two flaming torches lit those words, contained in iron brackets on either side of the gate. I looked between the bars to see the telltale glint of yellow eyes.

‘I hope you have good reason to be near Amaurotic House.’

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