THE MANSE

I took one last glance around me as the party began to move into the darkness. Lord Tower was near the front of the crowd. He’d mentioned Mayan was going to stay at the Pac Bell and run our security detail for the night. It was Mayan’s gift to me—he’d be looking after my friends and family while I was locked in the Manse.

Past that, there was a small handful of Lady Death’s people, along with Lady Priestess, who stood behind Bethan Saint Brigid’s wheelchair. Lady Priestess had asked to join us, and Bethan seemed delighted to be included as well.

My gaze wandered to Lady Death’s friends. Her seneschal, Fiore, had been introduced as nonbinary. They had a white braid that reached their waist, and wore a black jumpsuit with a transparent, gauzy skirt. They looked comfortable—all of Lady Death’s people did, eschewing scratchy formal wear for looser leggings and shirts. They didn’t have the polish of the average scion, and weren’t draped in sigils or expensive jewelry. They reminded me of my own inner circle, actually.

“These are your peeps,” I whispered to her. “Aren’t they? These are the kids who you smoked cigarettes with behind the gym!”

She rolled her eyes at me but didn’t deny it.

The only person who stood out was the kind, elderly woman in green. She stood by herself and waited for her turn to move forward. It amused me to think that Quinn pegged her as a potential threat. I couldn’t think of anyone less threatening. Wasn’t she a member of Lady Death’s court?

The crowd hushed as the first line of people vanished inside. It was so quiet that I was able to hear the nearby ocean for the first time. Its susurrus accompanied my final steps inside the yawning blackness.

Then the doors closed behind us, and we were in complete, relentless darkness. I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face.

Lady Death spoke.

“Thank you for honoring our most ancient of traditions, and refraining from using any light source while you remain in the Manse. There are only a few illuminated spaces, including the baths and the chapel. Your overnight luggage has been deposited in your rooms. I’ll give you instructions to reach them next. Please feel free to do as you wish for now, and we’ll meet for a midnight feast at the bell. Fiore, dear, would you please accompany Lady Anuarite to her suite?”

“I am capable of finding my way, daughter. I built this manor.”

Lady Death audibly sighed. I heard a shuffle of movement and the receding clip of a cane on hard tile.

“Rune,” Lady Death said. “I have two suites set aside for you, Lord Addam, Lord Ciaran, and Lord Brandon. There are two bedrooms in each suite. I will ask each of you in turn to approach my voice, and I’ll show you how to navigate. Feel free to rest or make use of the baths. My seneschal, Fiore, will gather you when it’s time for dinner. Follow my voice, little brother.”

I made my way to Lady Death and felt the comforting bulk of Brand at my back. From the sound, Addam was just behind him, and then maybe Ciaran.

“I’m taking your hand now,” Lady Death said, and I felt cool fingers and slick nail polish against my hand. “There are a series of cords throughout the building. Follow the felt cord to reach your cul-de-sac of rooms. If you wish to use the baths, follow the metal link chain from those rooms. If at any point you feel a knot in the cord, be careful—there is likely a step up or step down ahead. You understand?”

“I do. Thank you, Lady Death.”

“It’s time you start calling me Zurah.”

“Zurah,” I repeated.

I felt her guide my hand to a nest of cords. She played my fingers along each one so that I could tell the difference between felt and the other tactile sensations—silk, velvety tassels, wool, samite, smooth beads.

“Please,” she said. “Rest. Enjoy the baths. Find sight in sightlessness. Go in peace, Rune.”

I took a quick breath, isolated the felt thread, and began walking forward.

“I thought Lady Death was supposed to be a master tactician,” Brand complained the second time I bumped into invisible furniture. “And yet, there you are, first in line.”

“I can’t see a fucking thing,” I announced.

“Are we ready to cheat yet?” Ciaran asked from the rear of the group. “I want to see if my cell phone works.”

“No cheating!” I called out. “We’re going to honor their traditions. It can’t be that difficult.” I was running my hand along the wall for extra support and felt the bump of a mirror or painting. I managed my way around it without another bang.

“I have a flashlight,” I heard Brand mumble to Ciaran.

“No flashlight,” I said. “And if you need something to distract you, start thinking about the fact that you’re going to be sharing a suite with Ciaran.”

“He snores,” Brand said in outrage.

“What did you say?” Ciaran asked in surprise.

“You. Snore.”

“You cannot possibly know that,” he said.

“Can’t I? How about one of the dozen times you’ve swanned off into dreamwalking and left us holding your snoring body?”

“Well then, I suppose you’re lucky there are two bedrooms in our suite,” he said airily.

“Negative,” Brand said. “We’re going to share one suite. It’s a bodyguard thing. And since you’re one of the people I protect, don’t bother complaining about it.”

“Aren’t you off duty?” Ciaran asked, at the same time I raised my voice and said, “Knot! There’s a knot in the felt. Look out for a stairway or something . . .”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Brand said. He muscled around me and took the lead. A moment later: “It’s a step up. Two steps. Come on.”

We navigated our way down another hallway until Brand said, “The cord ends. It’s tied to a few other cords—I think I can feel the metal chain. We should go to the baths in an hour.” As he said this, he fumbled for my hand and tapped the back of it. We were on the same page: stay together, find a space where we could privately talk. A bath would have shower-heads, and running water was a handy noise buffer.

Brand continued to narrate his quick exploration of the dead end. He found two doors, picked one, and we entered the dark suite.

We bumped our way to the middle of the room. It appeared that all furniture was gathered around the edges, and Brand found the doors to the two bedrooms and a shared bathroom.

“Well, that’s the tour,” I said. “I’m taking a nap. Shotgun on Addam! He’s the pillow I brought with me.”

“I support this shotgun privilege,” Addam said from the darkness on the other side of the room.

“If anyone finds any earplugs, let me know,” Brand said.

“It’s as if you’re not worried I’ll walk into your dreams,” Ciaran told him.

Brand huffed and went into one of the bedrooms. Ciaran followed and shut the door behind them. I told Addam to wait, counted to twenty, and sure enough, the fuckers lit up their phones and flashlights. I could see the glow under the door.

“I’m following the rules,” I said.

“Most admirable,” Addam said. He took me by each hand and backed me into one of the rooms. It turned out to be the bathroom and not our bedroom, which we figured out just before he tossed me across the bathtub and not a bed. We retraced our steps and found the second bedroom.

Inside, he nudged me onto a soft, massive mattress. Clothing rustled. Addam sighed theatrically and said, “These pants were so tight that the rivets left marks on my legs. Feel.” He took my hand, brought it to his thigh, and let me trace the indentations along the outside of his leg.

We lost a few minutes as I found each and every one of them. I thought it would be romantic if I kissed them, but that was just too forward and suave, even in my imagination. I settled on pulling him onto the mattress next to me and reaching for his face. I found a cheek, let my fingers trail down to trace his smile.

“Why,” Addam whispered, kissing the side of my hand, “have you been so nervous around me?”

My brain filled with static for a second. Did he? He did. I opened my mouth to protest his timing, and realized we’d both been treating the subject like sniper fire. I was on shaky moral ground.

“Rune,” Addam said patiently. “We are not so delicate that we will fall apart if you are angry with me.”

“I’m not angry with you,” I said, and then the dam broke, because him thinking I was mad was the last thing I wanted. “Addam, no, that’s not it. It’s just . . . it felt . . . I worry that, in your mind, you’re . . . settling. That you think you have to settle. That I’ve already given you everything I have to give. Because I haven’t. I’ve just started. I want to give you the world. I want to share the world with you. Brand and I . . . it’s different. It’s different. What I have with you is love, and it is unique, and I don’t share anything like it with anyone else.”

“This,” he said after a pause, “is about what I said at the Enclave. Isn’t it?”

I didn’t say anything.

“This is about when I told you that I knew I was not the love of your life,” he added. Now his fingers were on my face, feeling my muscles in the darkness, trying to find the shape of my mood. “May I admit something, Rune?”

“Will it make me feel bad?”

“No. I wish to tell you that in the months between that moment—the moment in the Enclave, and this, much has happened. We were separated by a pandemic. We came together at Sun Estate. We have made a home at Sun Estate—we have made a family. A real court family, filled with many mothers and fathers and siblings and children. I would have never expected you to adapt so well. Nor Brand. You were very committed to your Half House. So it is simply not possible for me to know how much you have to give. You keep surprising me.”

“But it’s not a competition, right?” I said, still anxious.

“It is not. And I did not mean to imply that I was settling. The word makes no sense to me, not in this context. Does one settle for a happy life? Because I have a happy life.”

“Good,” I breathed. There were other things to say—discussions to have, about Addam’s place in my court. But not now. Not just yet. Quinn’s vague warning still lingered. “Um. Do you want to talk about this some more? Or can I go back to counting rivet marks?”

He laughed.

I woke from a nap and gave a huge, spine-cracking, indolent stretch. I was barely halfway through it before Addam sighed and ran his hands over my belly.

“How long were we asleep?” I asked.

“Three Brand knocks,” he said.

“We should go to the baths. It would be nice for all of us to relax and—” I reached out to squeeze his hand hard, “talk in the baths.”

Addam remained absolutely silent for a moment. Then he squeezed my hand back. He understood.

“I like you, Saint Nicholas,” I murmured, and tried to kiss his neck. I got the shoulder instead.

I swung out of bed, felt around for my overnight bag, and got undressed. There had been a guest bathrobe folded on top of the luggage, along with a soft towel. I took advantage of both.

In the main room, Brand and Ciaran were arguing over how Ciaran had got a deviated septum. Brand appeared to be willing to bet money on the 1980s. We lined up and went outside to find the metal chain.

Brand took the lead without challenge. Which meant, of course, that he took pleasure in calling out every possible obstacle before one of us could trip over them, as opposed to my own warnings, which had amounted to a swear as I collided with something.

The baths weren’t far. By the time we’d made our way down a single corridor, I could already smell the bleach. The air was warm and damp, too.

“The baths,” a voice announced ahead of us. “Please lower your eyes.”

I did, and the attendant opened the door to the chamber. The coal glow from within burned like sunlight. I blinked watery eyes against the reddish light and made my way into the room.

Braziers filled with hot embers gave the baths a medieval glow. The red light felt hot and heavy, spreading like melting wax on our skin. The space was as large as the Sun Estate solarium, and featured hot and cold pools, showers, steam rooms, and saunas. We were the only guests to be taking advantage of them.

Brand and I chose the baths because it seemed like the best place for unexpected privacy. But it hadn’t occurred to me I’d need to get naked in front of everyone. Maybe Ciaran would feel weird about it too? I looked over and watched him shuck his robe. Underneath, he had on a one-piece bathing suit from the 1920s. It went down to his calves.

“What?” he said, seeing my stare. “I have an extra if you’d like. Are you wearing Spider-Man underwear?”

“Let’s clean off first in the showers,” I said stiffly, tightening my bathrobe’s sash.

“That’s rather forward,” Ciaran said. “Will there be suds? I vote for suds. Why are you wearing your bathrobe into the shower?”

Brand barked him forward into the separate room. Inside a sandstonecolored shower room, Brand went faucet by faucet to turn them on. He wore only a towel around his waist, though I saw a sliver of a knife hilt poking from the small of his scarred back.

He put himself in a dry corner when he was done, so that he had a good view of the archway. I wordlessly gestured to everyone to join. By that point, it was clear something was up, and even Ciaran mutely complied.

“Quickly,” I whispered under the sound of pressurized water. “Quinn thinks that . . . Well, he didn’t exactly say shit might hit the fan, but it seemed implied. We need to stay alert.”

“Is this related to the attacks on courts?” Ciaran asked. “The matter at the rejuvenation center?”

“I think so. I don’t know. He seemed focused on one of Lady Death’s guests, but he’s off base there.”

“Which guest bothered Quinn?” Addam asked.

“The woman in green. I danced with her?”

“Why did that bother him?” Brand asked in confusion, to which I shrugged.

“What about Corinne and Aunt Diana?” Addam asked. “Has Quinn warned them?”

“I’ve been texting Max and Mayan to keep them extra alert,” Brand said.

“It’s strange you only texted when you needed to move around the bedroom and keep from smacking your elbow on things,” Ciaran murmured into a hot jet of water.

“I trust Mayan to stay on top of home security,” Brand said, ignoring him.

“What do you suggest we do?” Addam asked. He removed his bathrobe and started to take a comfortably naked shower. “Sigils are useless. Will your sabre work in a null zone?”

“No. At least it never has before.”

“It’s actually not a bad set up,” Brand said. “Every spell-caster will be at a disadvantage, but Rune and I have our training. We’d be safer if Rune wasn’t so distracted by a penis, though.”

I snapped my gaze upwards.

“Not just any penis,” Addam murmured.

“Listen,” I said. “I’m going to find a way to the Tower, because we need him on alert too.”

“What about Lady Death?” Ciaran asked.

“I’ll talk with her,” I said after a moment’s reflection. “I’ll talk with her and . . . I don’t know, follow my gut. I think she’s a safe ally.”

“I concur,” Ciaran agreed. “But stay out of earshot of her mother. That one has house fires in her eyes.”

In the room outside, I heard the door squeal open. The attendant announced, “Lady Death.”

I glanced at our small group, tightened my bathrobe’s sash, and went back through the archway. Lady Death stood by the brazier with a cup of water, which she poured over the coals to release a roar of steam. She wore a simple white shift and red crocs.

“They told me you were up and about,” she said. “What do you think so far?”

“I like the idea that I can go to a dinner party and not comb my hair,” I said.

That provoked a smile. “You appear to have remained somewhat dry. Were you planning on bathing, or could I tempt you for a private cocktail?”

It would give us a chance to talk, which I needed. So I went back into the showers—and now Brand was naked too, godsdamnit. I told them I was going to spend some time with Lady Death and I’d find my way back to our rooms afterward.

“I’ll be fine,” I told Brand’s mulish expression. “It’s a chance to explore the Manse layout.”

“Half an hour, then I come looking for you,” he said.

“Half an hour, plus an extra fifteen minutes when you remember I can’t see the time anywhere,” I agreed.

Back in the hallway’s darkness, ember spots danced in my vision, but Lady Death took my hand and led me. She didn’t bother with the cords at all. Her suite was on the second floor, and the stairway we climbed had wide and long steps, easily traversed.

“Have you felt a heightening in your other senses?” she asked as we made our way down the hallway above the baths.

“Yes,” I said. “I feel each and every bruise.”

Her throaty laugh filled the hallway. “In my mother’s era, we spent several nights a week inside the Manse. I’ve relaxed that obligation to only special occasions. I enjoy reading before bed too much. Here we are.”

I heard a door open, and we entered her suite. The darkness was just as pitiless as the hallway, but the vibration of our voices changed. Maybe my senses were getting better. I could tell, without feeling, that we were in a much smaller space.

“Is this the antechamber?” I asked.

“No. It’s the smallest bedroom in the building. I chose it instead of the master suite—it messes with people’s expectations. If you move directly away from the sound of my voice, you’ll find a small table and sitting area. Please, relax. I’ll pour us a gin and tonic if you’re amenable.”

“So amenable,” I said. “And what’s the secret?”

“What secret?”

“About this room?”

That disembodied, throaty laugh again. She did not reply. I followed the sound of her progress: glasses sliding across a surface; the click of ice cubes; the lazy gurgle of liquid being poured, and the snake-hiss of carbonation. The scent of limes flowered.

“Why do you say that?” she finally asked.

“Because I live with Quinn. I’m used to evasive statements that hide what he’s really saying. You didn’t choose this room because of what people thought.”

“Come here,” she finally said, while depositing my drink at the table. “Over here.” She took my hand and led me to a corner of the room.

“This is the northwestern edge of the Manse,” she said. “And it sits, as it is, a handful of feet over the null zone.”

She whispered a few words, and a ball of frost-blue light appeared above us. I squinted my eyes against the flare, and the room hung in my brain like a snapshot: Lady Death in her white shift, a space barely larger than my own bedroom at Half House, and a collection of mismatched furniture. Everything had been picked for comfort and tactility, not décor.

“You’re so damn clever,” I said. “How did you ever figure it out?”

“Throwing a tantrum and hiding from my mother when I was six. The stone is still pitted from the Frost spell I cast.”

I was able to blink my vision back and saw the divots in the stone she’d mentioned. With a twist of her wrist, she dissolved the light cantrip, sending us back into darkness.

“Smart,” I said. “And reassuring. Null zones freak me out.”

“Because of Rurik,” she said.

A messy, full-throated roar of memories rose and were quickly pushed aside. “Someday I’ll have to find out what you all knew of me before I got a seat at the table,” I said. “But yes. Sort of. Rurik could manipulate—and move—null threads. He literally could make them scissor back and forth across sigils and destroy them. Scariest trick in the world.”

“I can imagine. Would you like to sit?”

And so we sat at the table and toasted the evening.

“Did you throw a lot of tantrums when you were young?” I asked.

“You met my mother, didn’t you? Such a friendly sort. Rainbows practically fly from her arsehole.”

That startled a laugh out of me. She laughed along with me. “But, yes, there were a lot of tantrums. Anuarite is very much a traditional Atlantean—home-country Atlantean, not New Atlantis Atlantean. So stiff and inflexible that she’s easily broken. When she was hurt in the War, I had to step up and take the throne.”

“You took the throne because you were the most powerful spell-caster of your generation,” I said. “Not because she was breakable.”

I heard a sound of demur. She changed the subject by asking about my own mother.

“I don’t remember her at all,” I said. “Brand doesn’t either. She died when I was an infant, and my father rarely spoke of her. All I know is that it was a political arrangement. My mother came from Lord Star’s court, which at the time was part of an alliance with the Sun Throne.”

“The Celestials,” Lady Death said. “I remember. It’s hard to think Lord Star was once an ally of anyone.”

“Do you know he gave me a bone toothpick for a gift?”

“How did he even know it was your coronation?” she wondered.

“That’s a problem for another day.” The spots of glacier-light, afterimages of her cantrip, finally faded from my eyes. It drew my attention back to the wall. “Does the . . . does our power work inside the null zone?”

“No. And this room is soundproofed—you may speak freely. I’ve meant to ask if you’ve received any training yet on the Majeure.”

“Just the dangers of it. Lord Tower told me. I know enough to understand you gave up some of your life to help me save Anna, Corinne, and Corbie. When you summoned the ghost steeds.”

“It was important to you.”

“How much time did you lose? Are you able to even quantify it?”

“Ach, we each have our way, or so we believe. Perhaps six months and a new gray hair? It’s not usually such an extravagant cost, using the Majeure—but my ghost steeds are a powerful, powerful magic.”

“Thank you. For being honest. Lord Tower would have never confessed anything like that to me. It’s so important for him to be perfect. It’s why I have a tough time admitting insecurity around him—because I assume he doesn’t want to see that in me, either.”

“Then perhaps we should agree with each other, here and now, to be candid with each other. I like having you in my life.”

“I like having you in my life too.”

It wasn’t exactly a vow—and I felt no magic—but the words nevertheless seemed to cement something between us.

I heard a rustle as she relaxed in her chair, then the scrape of her glass. “You talk about insecurities. No one can give you rules for being an Arcana, Rune. If anyone tries, it’s an illusion. It’s too intensely personal an experience to accurately share. Nothing in your life prepares you—not experience, not history books, not observation. How can anyone understand what it’s like to command power like this until one has worn the weight of it? Our lives are outside all semblance of precedent. We are as unique as our Aspects. But for all that . . . For all that, there are some common mistakes. If I can help you step over the occasional land mine, I will. If you’re open to feedback.”

“Wide freaking open.” Then I hesitated. I stalled by taking a sip of my drink. The sour citrus made gooseflesh rise on my arms. “In fact, I need your help now.”

“What’s wrong, Rune?”

“Quinn was very nervous today. He was nervous leaving me, Addam, and Brand. It’s making me cautious.”

“I see,” she said carefully. “His abilities?”

“Yes.”

“And his concern. Now? Here?”

“Possibly,” I said.

She got up, went to the wall, and cast another light cantrip. She stayed there to keep the spell alive. “I need to see your face,” she said. “Tell me what has happened.”

“Nothing yet. But I’m feeling . . . alert. He mentioned one of your guests.”

“One of my guests?”

“The woman in jade. With the pale green lipstick?”

Lady Death’s face drew into a frown. “I . . . think I know who you mean. She’s with your party, though, isn’t she?”

“No.”

“Ah, well, I don’t sense any harm from her. Do you?”

I started to reply and realized I didn’t know what to say. It was that really irritating not-knowing-what-to-say sensation, like when you had the answer waiting on the tip of your tongue a half second before the question was ever asked—but the mere fact of being asked made the answer skitter away.

“No, of course not,” I said, and the feeling subsided. “I can’t even remember the details of what Quinn said. The thing is that occasionally what he Sees is . . . maybe not wrong, but not-what-happened-in-this-timeline.”

“There is no harm in paying attention to his warning. We will keep our wits about us.”

She took a healthy sip of gin and tonic as she said this, which was just the sort of way I liked keeping my wits about me, too.

“On the plus side,” she added, “if anything happens, perhaps you’ll do me the favor of breaking things. Anything. Feel free to literally tear a wall off this place.”

“Easiest promise I’ve ever made,” I said.

I told Lady Death—Zurah, I reminded myself—I could find my way back. She reminded me the metal chain would lead to the baths, and the felt cord to my block of bedrooms. She warned me not to confuse the felt with samite—which I remembered as a scratchy silk. Apparently, the friction of decades had given it a misleadingly smooth appearance.

Naturally I grabbed the samite cord by accident once I reached the baths. Since I knew my rooms were close, one would think I wouldn’t get too lost, but a minute later I was in a stone corridor far colder than any corridor I’d walked through. It smelled of must and wet rock.

I felt around for any hints of my location, discovering in the process that even the paintings of the Manse were tactile. The raised surface of the image was almost a type of Braille. I felt a tree, and maybe a cloud or whale? But no doors to knock on.

Unease prickled the back of my neck.

Was I being watched?

Usually my gut instincts were tied to a visible cause. This was a wholly new experience, and I didn’t like it. I truly felt like I was blind, and I couldn’t understand why. I was missing something large. Something significant. Like I was meant to jump into a fight, but there was no actual threat in front of me.

Footsteps sounded. A voice sighed, “It’s me.”

“Brand,” I said. “Do you feel on edge?”

“Yes, because you went and got lost.”

“How did you find me?”

“Our Companion bond still works. I followed the vague feeling of helplessness. Come on. Grab my belt loop.”

He got me back to my room, where I was told we had an hour to kill before Brand and I were expected in the Chapel for gift-giving. It was to be a private affair, which piqued my interest.

Addam, feeling challenged, also made it a point to pique my interest, which meant I spent a nice hour with him behind closed doors.

At the appointed time, Brand and I followed the instructions given by a staff member. We took the metal chain to the baths, and corded copper wire to the chapel. I remembered Zurah telling us that the chapel was one of the two places with lights—but not until it was too late to go back and comb my hair.

The first thing Brand said when we stood within the soft and unsteady torchlight of the chapel was, “Jesus Christ, you were only with Addam an hour. You look like the after picture of a prom date. Tuck in your goddamn shirt at least.”

I tucked in my shirt, which was hard because I’d picked comfy pants without a belt, but my buttons were off, so I untucked and fixed them. Halfway through the process I realized I was showing the Dowager Lady Death my pale gut.

She sat in a pew near the front, her dark eyes narrowed in dislike.

“My lady,” I said, and quickly finished buttoning. “Apologies. I didn’t realize you were here.”

“My daughter delights in loopholes. This is not how the chapel is meant to be used. Its light is a gift, meant to be part of an act of devotion.”

I looked around me. The chapel was small, stuffy with smoke, and fitted only with those hard pews. A spider web floated down and momentarily caught fire on a torch.

“My lady, would you mind if I asked you a question?” I said.

She folded her young, smooth hands along the head of her cane.

“Have you seen the video from the rejuvenation center?” I asked.

The woman stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“I heard roundaboutly that Lady Death was going to show it to you. The woman in the video speaks with an old Atlantean accent. I don’t know enough about the accent myself, but wondered if it betrays any sort of regional influence.”

“I watched that video. I know nothing. I am unclear why I must discuss it again. How exactly am I to be involved?”

“Ah,” I said, unsurely. “You don’t need to be, of course.”

“And here, of all places? Profane,” the woman hissed.

“Mother,” Lady Death admonished from the doorway.

“This topic is unseemly. I will leave you to your…gifts,” she said, and tapped her way out of the room. She did stop at the door, though, and turned her body to face me. “You best hope this woman is not as old as her accent suggests. Blood ran thicker back then. We bowed to actual power, not simply the inheritance of such.”

When she was gone, Lady Death rubbed a pulse on her forehead. “Letting it go,” she whispered. “Anyway. Lord Tower will be along in a moment. His gifts to you are private, but do know that one of them is in part from me, and you earned it. I’ll send one of the staff to bring you to dinner in an hour. There is a charcuterie board by the altar—please help yourself. And if you see a long skinny rat, don’t panic. He’s a ferret and his name is Remus. He hunts down rodents in this part of the Manse. He’s quite well-behaved unless he likes you.”

She patted the frame of the door in goodbye. Lord Tower must have been waiting in the hallway to politely pass. I heard them murmuring greetings.

I went over to the food, because it was food. There were several different types of crackers, meats, cheeses, and fruit. I saved all of the fruit for Brand, and loaded a cracker with salami and cheese. It was probably a good thing I’d been warned about Remus, because he apparently liked food too, and was sitting on his hind legs by the tray.

“Very nice manners,” I said. “I can’t even tell if you’ve stolen anything yet.”

Remus stared at the cheese on my cracker. He looked at me, at the cheese, at me, at the cheese, at me, at the cheese—and then paused to see if I was smart enough to pick up on his hint. When I didn’t move, he looked at me, at the cheese, at me, at the cheese—

I gave him a cube, and laid some meat in front of him.

Brand came over and grabbed a grape, which he was in the process of chewing when the Tower entered. Lord Tower had changed into one of his silk pajamas and was barefoot. That half-chewed grape saved us all a one-liner, I’m sure of it.

“Gifts between close allies,” Lord Tower said, “has always been a private affair. When done right, they are assets to be concealed—aces up your sleeve.”

“If this ends with a pony I will be all sorts of happy,” I told him.

“You could buy a thousand acres filled with horses, with these gifts,” he said. He went to the altar, reached behind the podium, then came to us with three boxes. All of them were bright silver and tied with black ribbon. One was flat and square; another was the size of a large pen; and a third was a jewelry box.

Brand got the last two, and I got the first. I might have expected some snark, but Brand just looked puzzled that he’d got a gift at all, let alone two.

“Please,” Lord Tower said. “I wish we had more time to enjoy the process, but we’ll need to move to the dining room on the hour.”

“Who should go first?” I asked Brand while ripping the silver wrapping paper from my gift, which got me the sour look I was fishing for.

“That is a gift from Lady Death and myself,” Lord Tower told me. “We each donated a portion of our claim on Lord Hanged Man’s estate in order to secure that. We’ll discuss it in a moment.”

Under the paper was a beautiful box inlaid with coral and volcanic glass. I opened the lid. Inside, laying on white silk, sat the Hanged Man’s noose.

The box hit the table. I got up and went to the other side of the room. Remus chittered and jumped off the table, scurrying after me. I may have put a cracker and extra slice of prosciutto in my pocket earlier.

Brand gave Lord Tower a plaintive look.

“Hear me out. You have a choice,” Lord Tower said to me. “No sigil is greater than another. No mass sigil is greater than another. Yet the base functionality of the object the sigil is shaped into, along with its history or notoriety, does have a considerable impact. That is the noose of the Gallows. It is timeless. If you were to sell that gift, it would quintuple the investment. And since you can easily claim this mass sigil through conquest, it is entirely your decision to make.”

Sigil-making was a lost art and our supplies were finite. Sigils remained relatively plentiful, if anything with a six-digit price tag could be called plentiful; but mass sigils were items of singular rarity. You’d need to add another digit to the price tag to get close to its worth.

Inside that silver box was more money than I’d made from my share of the raid. It was a staggering gift. And . . .

“Oh,” I said. “I could exchange it for more mass sigils. Or a combination of mass sigils and sigils. Jesus wept, Lord Tower—I could double my personal arsenal.”

“As you say,” he agreed.

I wanted nothing to do with that noose. It wasn’t even a decision. The idea that I’d use it to protect people I love was anathema. Toxic.

“I could set up a private showing of sigils and mass sigils with the Arcanum’s preferred vendor,” Lord Tower suggested.

“Please. Yes.” I gave him a wary look. “Just out of curiosity, would you have decided to sell it?”

Lord Tower crossed the room to stand in front of me. He made sure our eyes met before he said, “You can stop asking me that question, Rune. Trust your own decisions as I do.”

“This is . . .” I swallowed and looked back at the silver box. “This is significant. This is far, far more than a new court should expect for a gift. I can barely wrap my brain around what this will mean. Anton, thank you.”

Brand made a sound. I glanced at him. He had a look on his face as if to say, When did this Anton business start? I shrugged to say, It’s a thing now.

So he gave me an exasperated expression because I’d always told him I’d drop the Tower’s name the first time I needed a really big favor.

“I sort of played that card,” I sighed.

“On what?” he whispered.

“He . . . allowed Julia to remain . . . employed. After hearing that video that alluded to the Majeure.”

Brand’s eyes widened. He really, really wanted to talk about my choice of favors, but decided it wouldn’t be a good look on him. He settled for a single, fixed eye roll at the ceiling.

“Few things amuse me more than attempting to understand your shorthand conversations,” Lord Tower said. “But for what it’s worth: Julia has been promoted to field lead for all of Germany. She sends her thanks to you.”

“She didn’t even mention my name, did she?” Brand asked.

Lord Tower smiled. “Now. Brandon. Your presents. The larger box is a gift from Mayan.”

“Mayan bought me a gift?” Brand said.

“He did. It’s an invention of his own design. He has one himself.”

“Oh, weapon,” Brand breathed. He shredded the ribbon and wrapping paper to get to it. Inside the box was a metal tube that resembled a police baton.

“There’s a—” Lord Tower started to explain when Brand found the button that made metal wings pop out. The Tower smiled. “Mayan calls it a dart-bow, a dart gun-crossbow derivative. It contains hollow needles that pierce and dissolve under the skin. There’s a clockwork device on the tube that rotates cartridges of various toxins with different levels of lethality. It’s exempt from the city’s firearm ban, too. Mayan has put instructions in the box.”

“It’s amazing,” Brand whispered, running a calloused fingertip along the slick metal surface.

“The smaller box is from me,” Lord Tower said.

Brand put the dart-bow down reluctantly and opened the jewelry-sized box. Inside, nestled on a bed of white silk, was a belt buckle.

“Volcanic glass,” Brand murmured. He hid his confusion as well as I did though. There was nothing particularly intricate about the design.

“If you snap the buckle,” Lord Tower explained, “you’ll find a sigil shaped as a white-gold coin inside. I’ve stored Fire within it. You can’t use sigils, of course. And if you want, you can break the buckle now and give it to Rune, but the idea is—”

“The volcanic glass masks the sigil’s signature,” Brand said, his voice rising. “If we’re captured—if our weapons and sigils are taken away from us—they might leave this behind. This could save him. This could save Rune, if I can get it to him.”

“Indeed. Though I prefer to think that it would save the both of you.”

Brand gave the buckle a stunned look. “You bought me a sigil.”

“Just because humans can’t use sigil magic doesn’t mean they can’t own one.” Lord Tower walked over to Brand, picked up the buckle, and laid it in Brand’s hand. He covered it with his own fingers. “Brandon Saint John, I give you this sigil. Its will is now your will.”

Brand gasped and nearly dropped the sigil. With his free hand, he touched the raised hairs and skin along his arm. “I felt that,” he whispered. He laughed. “You bought me a sigil?”

“I did. Once the glass breaks, you’ll need me to replace it, or another practitioner of gemstone art.”

“Meaning you,” I said, since the ability to melt and paint with gemstones was a very rare skill.

“At some point, Brand, Rune can tell you the words to share the sigil with him, so he can use it if you find yourself in need. But . . . Well. That is the gift.”

Brand put the buckle down gently on the silk, covered the box, and hugged Lord Tower.

The statement repeated in my brain three times with a different emphasis each time—on the he, hugged, and Lord Tower. A million jokes, and all I could do was watch my vision skid left and right as tears filled my eyes.

“This will help me save him someday,” Brand whispered. His arms were tight around the Tower, and the Tower returned the embrace. They stood like that for a few seconds until Brand sniffed and pulled back. He said, “Fucking hell, I can’t believe your pajamas let me do that. They’ve got to have six different ways of setting me on fire for breathing in your direction.”

“Not untrue,” Lord Tower agreed. “Although we are in a null zone.”

Brand’s face exploded into insight. He snapped his fingers and said, “His hairclip. Mayan always wears that obsidian hairclip. I’ve wondered why for years. He’s not that sentimental. Shit, I was betting it had a lock-pick inside it.”

Lord Tower laughed, which was almost as rare as Brand laughing. And then Brand started laughing.

Since it was a moment for the ages and meant to be shared, I made a salami and cheese cracker for Remus.

Dinner was an experience.

None of the foods were hot—including the tea and coffee. Everything was tepid to avoid the burns that accompanied easy spills in the darkness. And the foods were a surprising blend of spices, sours, and sweets—each bite hit my palate like a SWAT team.

“Try the mushrooms at nine o’clock,” Lady Death murmured to me. She was at my right hand, and Brand was on my left. “You may recognize the source.”

“If these are those mushrooms that grow out the heads of worms, I am done,” Brand announced.

“Insolence,” someone hissed, to which Lady Death sighed, “Mother.”

“Did you really take over the Hanged Man’s mushroom farm?” Lady Priestess asked with genuine interest. “That’s so . . . practical of you.”

“I did,” Zurah confessed.

“But she evicted the elderly dinosaur first,” I said.

“You’re welcome to return it.”

I banged the end of my knife on the table. “Zurah Saint Joseph, you visited Sun Estate and convinced Corbie to name it. He calls it Flynn.”

Her throaty laugh filled the room.

“This one was probably a battlefield general in her last life,” one of her friends giggled. “You don’t even realize she’s outsmarted you until your nose is squashed against a corner.”

“Shush now,” Lady Death murmured. “I look out for my friends.”

Her friends all agreed, made a lot of noise, and hoisted glasses for a toast.

“Mushrooms,” a voice to my far right said. “The city slides into obsolescence, and you show pride in farming. Your efforts do not match your bloodline. You are the Bone Hollows. Your kind once created sigils. Sigils. And mass sigils! One of your ancestors even wielded a planetary sigil, once upon a time. And now . . . mushrooms.”

No one responded.

My skin crawled even as my brain accepted this as a normal turn of conversation. I felt, a little, like I was going insane, only I didn’t know why.

“You,” the older woman’s voice snapped. “Dagger Throne. You lead this city.”

“The city leads itself, as it always has,” Lord Tower said in a friendly voice. “I simply help it . . . paint between the lines.”

“You speak like a politician, not an Arcana. Very well then, Councilor Tower. Address the assembly. Tell us where the paint is in danger of spilling outside the lines. Have you deduced yet who killed all those poor people at the rejuvenation center?”

“Not as such,” Lord Tower said. “We are exploring several lines of inquiry.”

The woman didn’t speak for a long moment. Then, in a much colder voice, she said, “You evade me. Let’s try that again, shall we? Whom do you suspect?”

Lord Tower cleared his throat, an uncomfortable, drawn-out sound. “We are not sure. We suspect Lady Jade—”

“Lady Jade now, is it?” she laughed.

“Subject Jade. Lady Jade. Temporary monikers.”

I listened to Lord Tower share privileged information in a casual setting, and it was wrong, but I didn’t exist. I had no better way to describe the way I suddenly felt. I did not exist. I was a stage prop until it was my turn to utter a line of dialogue. This was not my story; none of this spun around me. It was as if I did not even exist.

“We suspect Lady Jade is very, very old,” Lord Tower said in a voice showing signs of stress. “Centuries. She possesses abilities that are . . . uncommon, in modern society.”

“Does she,” the woman murmured. “But you must admit, even if only to yourself, that there’s another explanation. You’re smart enough to have figured that out.” Her fork clicked against her plate, and I heard the scrape of a wineglass. “Lady Jade,” she repeated. “I should have picked the Cerulean suite. I’d look much better mocking you in blue.”

“You,” Lord Tower whispered, and his voice strained. “You have played your game too far.”

“What?” Lady Priestess cried, her voice stuttering. “My head is pounding . . . what is this? What is happening?”

“Very well. See your world through clear eyes,” the woman said. She whispered a few words, and light cantrips sprang from her hand and circled the table. Five, six—seven of them. Seven light cantrips, juggled simultaneously, in a null zone.

Then she snapped her fingers and broke apart the spell keeping us all in thrall.

Rationality returned as the mind-fogging spell broke apart. I suddenly knew who she was. I understood every bloody word Quinn had told me. But I could not move. My muscles refused to obey. It didn’t feel like paralysis—it felt like my arms and legs were simply ignoring the neurons firing at them.

I panned my eyes left and right. The lights now showed a rather average dining room, devoid of the types of furniture that might be inconvenient in the dark. The white walls were splattered with blood.

Lady Jade looked at the bloodstains and shrugged a single shoulder. “I’m afraid I had to discipline some of the servants earlier. Don’t worry, I put what’s left in the freezer.”

Lady Death made a sound, her face drawn into a pained rictus.

“You’re got some life in you, haven’t you?” Lady Jade laughed. She folded her age-spotted hands atop each other and leaned back in the chair.

Her attention turned back to the Tower.

“By all means,” Lady Jade said. “Run off and gather with the other pawns. Discuss matters. Perhaps you’ll even be smart enough to spin events into your favor—by seeking mine, eventually, of course. But for now, above all else, leave me alone. Are we understood? Come at me at your own peril.” She tapped a finger in my direction. “That includes you. For the life of me I still don’t know why you’re such a threat. But you are. I’m not without my own access to the Sight.” She tutted. “Don’t let your importance in events go to your head, though. I haven’t decided what you are yet: cog or catalyst. But if you fuck with me, I will fashion a hell from your nightmares and lock you in it. It will be violation unending. Heed me.”

“Cantrips,” Lord Tower gasped, pulling the attention back to himself. “Null zone.”

“Don’t flaunt your ignorance,” Lady Jade said. “It’s unseemly. You don’t even understand what these are. Null zones? They are anything but. What you call the absence of magic is actually the saturation of it. Your failure to draw on it as a resource is an allergy. It shows how much ability our people have lost. The raw force of these zones constipates you.”

Lord Tower stopped struggling. He stared at her levelly.

Whatever calculations occurred in that moment were quickly decided.

And the Tower stood. It was not graceful. It happened in jerks and starts. But he began to stand.

Lady Jade slammed her hands on the table, overturning a glass of red wine. Power spiraled out of her—I’ve never felt anything like it. It was like an Aspect rising, or the Arcana Majeure. And yet, for all that, she wasn’t using the Majeure, and it was not an Aspect. This was her baseline.

I was scared shitless.

Lord Tower struggled against her magic as she pushed back. The air between them distorted and wavered—heat off an engine block, the view through old, warped glass. Sweat beaded on the Tower’s forehead. In the rotating light of the cantrips, his face did not look real or substantial; it was an absentminded pen sketch, more scratch marks than true lines.

Lady Jade let out a frustrated sound and strained harder—

And then there was a single, fleshy bone snap. She screamed and put a hand to her collarbone.

“This frail body,” she hissed. “Godscock! Don’t expect that to work a second time.”

Lord Tower still couldn’t move his arms or use his magic. He didn’t need to. He just wanted to bait her rage and shatter her concentration, because it took concentration to sustain magic.

On my left side, Brand took advantage of the break in Lady Jade’s willpower to pull out his new dart-bow. He snapped the wings of the device open and fired a dart into the V of pale flesh above her cleavage.

Whatever poison was in the dart was fast acting. Lady Jade yelled in pain, swept out her arm, and I went flying backwards into the wall. Everyone did—pinned by momentum for a single heartbeat before sliding to the ground.

“I don’t yet know your value to my court, which is the only reason you’ll survive this moment,” she said, panting in pain. “But by all means, let’s test your resourcefulness. If you’re among the best the city has to offer, you’ll see sunrise.”

She touched a diamond bracelet on her wrist. A funnel of swirling air appeared above her. She gestured, and the point of the funnel cloud anchored to the wall and turned into a portal. She walked through it, the portal closed, and we could all move freely again.

The cantrips died. I heard someone spring to their feet.

“Oh, sweet River,” Lady Death gasped. “Fiore, check the kitchen, find any injured! We—”

Below us, the floor moved—the massive roar of an explosion followed by its earthquake sonics.

“The vault,” Lady Death said.

“She’s after your sigils,” I stammered.

“It’s not that type of vault,” Lady Death said. “Dagger Throne, Sun Throne, with me. Ciaran, too, if you please. The rest of you find any wounded and gather in the baths. Do you understand?”

“Why would we—” the Dowager Lady Death began to say.

“Because I said so,” Lady Death snapped. “We need light. I can’t make my cantrips work—I don’t understand how she did.”

“Lights!” the Dowager Lady Death cried. “I will be forsaken! I swore I would never betray our rituals when I built the Manse.”

“You are not forsaken, mama, because the decisions of the court are no longer yours. Brandon—light!”

I felt a quick flash of pride that she knew my Companion that well, and then Brand had his small, powerful LED light in his hand. All of the other cheaters followed suit: cell phones, keychain lights, a Zippo. Lady Priestess actually pulled a huge, metal, 1970s-era flashlight from an over-sized purse and bounced the beam around until it settled on her daughter. Bethan had fallen from her powered chair when Lady Jade slammed us into the wall, and was muscling her way back into it. Addam quickly stepped over to help her. He looked as shaken as I felt.

Fiore came back into the room with two members of the kitchen staff. Their aprons were stained with blood, and they had the wide eyes of shock victims.

Lady Death took in the small number and whispered, “The others?”

Fiore shook their head, jarring loose a tear.

“Right,” Lady Death said, and swept her grief aside. If she was like me, it would be sitting in a mental box labeled To Haunt You at the Worst Moment Possible. “Right. As I said—all of you move as a single group to the baths. Nataki, would you and Bethan lead the group?”

“They are under my protection,” Lady Priestess said.

“Have them contact my guards. Have the guards assemble outside and wait for my signal.”

“Trust the details to me,” Lady Priestess said. “Go—find what happened below us. The bitch has laid a trap. Find what it is before its jaws close.”

“With me,” Lady Death announced, and swept from the room. Lord Tower was at her side; Addam and I were a step behind. Ciaran and Brand followed, but I noticed that Bethan Saint Brigid grabbed Brand by the elbow first to whisper something urgent to him.

We strode down hallways now laid bare by the disorienting beams of light. The system of fabric cords prominently adorned the walls, and the décor had blindness in mind. No painting frames had sharp edges; vases were cleverly attached to the surfaces of tables; and the flowers were chosen for their scent, not beauty.

“Can your guards breach the Manse?” Brand asked from the rear. “Shouldn’t we gather at the front doors?”

“The building may look ancient, but the doors and walls have metal cores. Make no mistake, this is a bunker,” she replied. “We’ll have to tackle our present circumstances one fuck-up at a time.”

“Who is she?” Addam said. His voice sounded hoarse and dry.

“A very good question,” Lady Death said. She looked at Lord Tower. “That level of psionics and compulsion? Time magic was at play. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” he said, almost too soft to hear.

“You know what this means. If there was one fugitive, why not two?”

I had no idea what she was referring to. I had even less context for the Tower’s reply. He said, “Powerful enough to survive the stream? To emerge from it?”

“Down there,” Lady Death said, pointing to the stairwell ahead. She spared the Tower a troubled expression at what he’d just said, but refrained from replying.

Emerging from a stream? Fugitives? I’d been upset weeks ago that I hadn’t had a seat at the table, but I’d never suspected I was sitting in another room entirely. That paradigm would change, and soon.

The staircase scissored back on itself three times, taking us far lower than a single floor. At the bottom was a metal and wood door with a modern keypad next to it. Lady Death hit six numbers, and the door slid into a wall recess. Brand gave me a glance at this, which I didn’t even slightly understand, meaning he was already three conclusions ahead of me. What had Bethan told him? I knew that look on his face—he’d got the scent of something.

The room on the other side was thoroughly of this century: thick metal walls and white linoleum under fluorescent lights.

On a wall to our right was an open vault door ringed in twisted metal. A woman stood in front of it. She was making soft, pitiful noises as her body spasmed. I heard the snap of bones, saw the bulging of joints where no joints should be. Her face was pale; a long scrape down one cheek showed bloodless, raw flesh.

She saw Lady Death and mouthed a word. Lady Death started to her, saying the name Jabuela, but Brand grabbed Zurah’s sleeve and yanked her behind him.

He shouted, “Back back back back!” I turned and shoved at people, getting them on the other side of the door we’d just come through.

The woman Jabuela screamed, a sound that started as an ice pick–piercing shriek and kept climbing higher. A shockwave of magic rammed into our crowd. The worst headache of my life split my vision in half. I went down at the same time as Addam, who grabbed me against him and took the brunt of the landing.

“What,” I whispered, disoriented.

Memories forced their way into my head. There was no context, no precedent, to explain what it felt like. One second, there was me. And the next, shards of someone else’s soul became my fact. I was a heavy smoker, only I wasn’t. I liked Bloody Marys and sunrises. My childhood dog was named Asher. I died while remembering the feel of his fur under my hands as the healer put Asher to sleep; I died while remembering Asher as a puppy jumping in my lap and licking my face; I died while falling asleep in a bed with blue sheets and a brown afghan, the whinnying breath of my sleeping dog beside me.

“Did we have a dog?” I asked Brand. I was crying. I tasted the tears on my lips. “When did Asher die?”

“I had an affair with my sister’s boyfriend,” Brand said. “How could I forget that? I still see her screaming at me, she’s so mad, she’s so fucking mad.”

“Kakodaimōn,” Lady Death grunted, rubbing her knuckles along her forehead, face a mask of pain. “Oh gods, Jabuela released a kakodaimōn.”

“She’s gone, she’s run!” Addam shouted, lifting me to my feet.

There was an open door on the other side of the room and no sight of Jabuela.

“What was that?” Brand said.

“Kakodaimōn,” Lord Tower said. His cheeks were the color of chalk, which right then and there became the scariest part of the moment. I’d never seen him so unsettled. “Ancient Grecian spirit. The headache will fade, but—” He didn’t finish the sentence.

I didn’t need him to. If a kakodaimōn had infested Jabuela, it had shattered her mind and sent a lifetime of memories flying out like shrapnel. We all caught a piece of them. They were our memories now. They were us now, though the intensity, thank gods, would wear off.

Brand staggered over to the vault. He scrubbed a fingernail along the bent metal, looking at the marks of the explosion. Lady Death went to the mouth of the vault, reaching out to squeeze Brand’s shoulder as she did. Past her, I saw a small space filled with shelving units. There was a modest collection of bottles, casks, locked boxes. On the ground was broken blue glass and a clump of umber-colored wax, now cracked down the middle.

“What is all this?” I asked quietly, going to her side.

“Containment,” she said. “You’ll have your own vault in time, of things you’ve defeated that cannot be killed, or allowed to walk free.”

“What will this . . . this cacko-demon do?” Brand asked.

“It possesses animal intelligence,” Ciaran said. He ran a shaking hand along his mouth. “And I appear to have a very strong diet soda habit now.” He bit his lip and shook off the thoughts. “Animal intelligence. Its entire purpose is to infect, consume, and move to the next meal. It’ll leap body to body.”

“What happened to her?” Brand asked. “The bone cracking?”

“The kakodaimōn transforms the host,” Lady Death said. “Stronger, quicker. Able to scale walls and crawl along the ceiling. It doesn’t feel pain, once the host’s memories are dispersed. Jabuela is . . . she’s gone. She’s just gone. What’s left is cowardly—it will retreat against overwhelming force. Its primary directive is to extend its existence through transference.”

“Good,” Brand said. “We need a plan, and we need it now.”

Zurah went over to a panel by the vault door. It was scorched, but functioning. The blackened bits smeared her hand as she punched a button.

Overhead, from speakers built into a ceiling panel, I heard an electric crinkling.

“This is Zurah,” she said, her voice an echo delayed by a half second. “A contagion is loose in the building. Lock yourself in a room and barricade the door until you hear my all clear. Fiore, contact the guards and warn them they must not breach the building under any circumstances.”

Brand hissed the word vents to me. Lady Death heard that and shouted, “And vents! Block all vents. The contagion is a parasite that requires living hosts—block any exit a person can enter through. Secure yourselves, and wait for help.”

She let go of the button, wiping her fingers on her pants. She gave Brand a grateful look. “Never whisper good advice to me again, little brother. I would have never forgiven myself if I had missed that.”

“The plan,” Lord Tower prompted. “Do we head to the front door or the baths?”

“The baths,” Lady Death said without hesitation. “I have an idea. We need to move quickly. Follow me.”

As we rushed toward the baths, Brand barked orders to make sure everyone had a direction to watch. I snagged Lord Tower’s arm and pulled him to the rear of the crowd.

“There’s no one else I can ask this,” I whispered urgently. “Please. Please, Lord Tower, if I get infected, before my memories are shared—”

“Only if you kill me too, if I get infected,” he said grimly.

We stared at each other, and we’d never been more on the same page.

“Agreed,” I said.

Somewhere ahead of us, the kakodaimōn shrieked. I pushed through the crowd, taking the lead with Brand. Lady Death was about to complain, but demurred; she knew Brand and I were trained for field action.

“We need to pare down the group,” Brand whispered to me. “Lock civilians in a room, keep everyone we trust together.”

“Okay,” I said, and I really wanted to know what Bethan Saint Brigid had told him, and who Brand no longer trusted.

“Everyone watch your direction,” he called out. “Shout if you see anything. Give Rune and I a ten-foot lead.”

We shifted into action mode. Brand gave me one of his knives since he had his new dart-bow. Then we rushed down corridors, following Zurah’s backseat driving.

It didn’t take long until we spilled into the damp, red heat of the baths. The larger group from dinner was already there, and none of them had seen the kakodaimōn. Brand infiltrated the crowd and started asking quiet questions—he seemed very intent on talking with Zurah’s seneschal, Fiore, in particular. I also noticed Bethan watched his progress with worried eyes.

“Daughter,” the Dowager Lady Death hissed. “What happened to my Qing vases?”

“I swapped them out for resin reproductions that won’t turn into expensive shards,” Lady Death said distractedly.

“The state of our Manse is—”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” I said, and stepped between them. Rude but effective. “Zurah, we need to talk. Can we secure the bystanders?”

“Fiore.” Lady Death raised her voice. “Take all the members of my court and secure them in a nearby room. Check the vents. Shelter in place until I come for you. Our guests from the other courts remain with me.”

“As will I,” the Dowager said firmly.

“Make it so,” Lady Death told Fiore, and trusted them to carry out the orders. Her attention narrowed on me. “What do you know?”

“Brand’s investigating already.”

So we waited impatiently while Fiore escorted people to nearby rooms and saw them lock themselves in. Addam and Brand helped, watching the hallways for signs of ambush.

As soon as we were down to Arcana and their inner circle, Brand closed the door, stationed people at the three vents he’d already located, and pulled Zurah aside. I was sick of being clueless, and forced myself into the discussion.

“You’ve been betrayed,” Brand whispered. “Are you sure you want all these people here when we discuss it?”

“By without or within?” she asked. “The betrayal?”

“Within.”

“I am responsible for the actions of my court,” she said. “If I have wronged guests, I will be transparent about it.”

Brand gave her a single nod, backed up, and addressed the room. “We need to secure the person who set the kakodaimōn free, and then we need to connect with the guards outside. None of you can help in a null zone—you need trained troops with weapons.”

“Secure the person?” the Dowager Lady Death said. “The woman, Lady Jade—she already fled!”

“Whoever Lady Jade is, she’s not omnipotent,” Brand said. “She just wants you to think that. The idea she could let the kakodaimōn free without help is just smoke and mirrors.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Addam asked, though not critically.

“Because that’s the way it happened,” he said.

“If this Lady Jade did have help, how could we possibly figure out who right now?” the Dowager said in exasperation. “Most of our staff is out there, not in here! You can’t already know—”

“It was you, you, or you,” Brand said immediately, and pointed to Zurah, Fiore, and the Dowager Lady Death herself. “You all have the code to the vault room.”

“So do a dozen others,” Zurah said in confusion. “So did Jabuela.”

“But Jabuela didn’t have the code to the vault itself, did she?”

Lady Death blinked, still confused. “The vault was blown open.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Brand said. “Did you see the explosion marks? There were at least two structural steel bolts that didn’t break. That door didn’t swing open on its own. Smoke and mirrors. I’ve been asking questions, and only you three have the vault code.”

“Brandon,” Lord Tower finally said. “You need more.”

Brand turned to face the Dowager. “That sigil,” he said, and pointed.

The Dowager Lady Death looked down and seemed to notice for the first time that a sapphire and porcelain pendant had been jarred from under her blouse. She grabbed it and put it beneath her collar.

Lady Death went over to her mother, ignored the woman’s attempt to swat away her hands, and pulled the pendant back into the torchlight. Since the Dowager wore more than one necklace, several ended up dangling there. “Mama?” she whispered. “Where did you get this?”

“From the armory. I found it in the back. It hasn’t been used in decades. Am I not allowed use of our armory?”

Lady Death ran a thumb across the sapphires. “I have no connection to this. It is not a family sigil.”

“Bethan?” Lady Priestess said sharply. Her attention was on her daughter, who was pale and wringing her hands. “Do you know something?”

“Yes, mother. That sigil . . . it bears a very strong resemblance to one from the audit.”

Lady Priestess wheeled on the Dowager, and her normally scattered expression reddened with rage.

“The audit of sigils taken from the rejuvenation center,” Bethan whispered to the rest of us.

Brand said, “And now that we know that, it’s a later problem. Getting to the guards outside is a now problem.”

“Barricade yourselves in this room,” Lady Death told us. “I need to reach my bedroom. I have an idea, but I need help. Lord Tower, can you seal the building if I create a temporary breach?”

“Once outside, I can,” Ciaran offered, touching his bone necklace.

“Good. Then I know a way out. We’ll reach our guards, organize, and return with fucking flamethrowers. Mother, you will stay by my side.”

“Daughter, you cannot believe—”

“ATTEND ME!” Zurah roared.

The Dowager dropped to one knee, awkward with a cane. She kept her head bowed and didn’t say anything, acknowledging the head of her court.

“I could stay behind and patrol the corridors,” I said, and then caught Brand’s narrowed eye. “You don’t mind, right?”

“How do you even fucking recognize me in the morning?” he said, just loud enough for me to hear.

“We can stay together?” I whispered back.

That was when a woman screamed—the stuttering, rising scale of shock and surprise.

“Lady Death, Ciaran, Rune, Tower, Addam, now,” Brand said. “The rest of you barricade the baths, wait for our return, let’s go!”

He and I rushed the hall. I noticed that Lady Priestess whispered a few worried words to Bethan, and followed us without invitation. She positioned herself directly behind the Dowager, who Zurah dragged by the wrist.

As soon as we were in the hall, I spotted the kakodaimōn. Jabuela was barely recognizable—her skin was alabaster, her arms and legs had extra joints, and nothing more intelligent than sibilant hisses came from her mouth.

“I’ll distract it,” I hissed before Brand could stop me. I sprinted at the kakodaimōn, holding my Companion’s knife in the type of grip he’d trained me to: all fingers wrapped around the handle in a fist. The creature stopped trying to break down the door and wheeled on me. Half a yard before I reached it, I slid into a home run position, using the knife and my raised arm to keep the creature from falling on me.

For a few seconds, I was everything it wanted. Its fingers and mouth dripped with a gelatinous fluid that would transfer its essence into me. It tried to grab my mouth in a two-handed grip to force its fingers past my teeth.

Using my distraction as cover, Brand vaulted over the kakodaimōn, kicking off a wall to power the jump. He landed, wheeled, put the creature’s throat in the crook of his arm. Before the demon was even aware of it, Brand had severed the jugular. There was no spray, just a thick plopping of congealed blood.

The creature shook loose with inhuman strength and fled.

“Upstairs,” Lady Death said. “Quickly!”

It took almost no time at all to run up the stairs and reach her corner room. Inside, she told Brand to shine his light on the corner.

“Do you need help?” the Tower asked.

“I only need everyone to stand back.”

“Daugh—”

Lady Death went over to her mother and shoved her into the wall. The woman’s short scream ended in a gasp as Lady Death’s forearm creased her windpipe. They exchanged a look for a few long seconds. When Lady Death released her, her mother stayed quiet.

Zurah Saint Joseph was more than just an Arcana and sigil user. She’d devoted her entire life to the discipline of Frost magic. Without sigils, she could still manifest magic. And when aided with sigils, her innate Frost abilities were a fearsome weapon.

She pressed her hands along the stretch of wall outside the building’s null zone. The ground began to rumble, softly—growing louder and louder until the rock began to groan to its breaking point. Ice began to scale the stone, cracking and showering the ground in flakes.

There was a thunderous noise—a deep, vibrating CRACK.

The wall blew outward. Starlight and cool air rushed in.

Outside, we immediately organized the guards who ran to the site of the explosion. They sent a unit to the armory for weapons, while Ciaran released a powerful Shield spell capable of sealing an entire building. How the fuck I ever doubted he was the Magician, I didn’t know. Even Lord Tower nodded in approval at the slick work.

“Levant,” Zurah said to a tall black man in royal blue and black, her house colors. “Take this woman to a cell.”

Levant didn’t understand what she meant, because Lady Death had put a hand in the small of her mother’s back and shoved her. “Take . . . the Dowager Lady Death?” he said.

“Strip her naked. Remove all sigils, all jewelry. Lock her in a cell, and guard her. Give her no food, no water, no comfort until I say otherwise.”

“Zurah,” the Dowager said in a soft, intent hiss. “We must talk. You are putting yourself on the wrong side of things.”

“I don’t think she is,” Lady Priestess said.

“Nataki,” the Dowager said desperately. “You know me. You know that I would never—”

“I know nothing about what you are or what you’ve become. Graverobber,” she spat. “Draped in the loot of corpses. Profiting from the death of people under my protection!”

Lady Dowager rose to her feet with the help of her cane, and dark crimson lines branched across her face. She spat the word, “Ignorance,” as her Aspect rose. The words were magic, whipping across Lady Priestess’s face like a cat-o’-nine-tails, raising scratches on her flesh.

Lady Priestess’s Aspect answered the challenge.

Her face began to glow with multicolored light, turning her into a living statue of stained glass which shone from behind with the force of afternoon sun. The stained-glass light fell across the Dowager Lady Death, who screamed and dropped to her knees. Lady Priestess’s Aspect was a thing of legend—a rare hereditary Aspect that they called the Glory. The light was not light, and it judged.

As the Dowager broke into tears, my phone began to buzz.

Addam jumped, as his own phone vibrated.

And Brand’s. And Ciaran’s. Finally Lord Tower’s phone went off as well.

Confusion reigned. Brand was talking with our house guards, I think; Addam with Corinne; Ciaran with Layne; the Tower with Mayan. I looked at my own phone and saw Diana’s name.

I didn’t even have time to say hello before she told me that Max and Quinn were missing.