He walked away. I stood there for a moment, stiff and cold, before I leaned against the wall. I shouldn’t have gone to that place with him. I knew better than to walk with strangers on dark streets. Where were my instincts?

I’d learned too much in one night. Liss had never mentioned that Rephs—Rephs—had been partially responsible for the uprising of Bone Season XVIII. Perhaps she didn’t know.

The scarred ones. I should look for them, for the ones that had helped us. Or perhaps I should keep my head down and get on with my new life. That was safe. That was easy.

I wanted Nick. I wanted Jax. I wanted my old life back. Yes, I’d been a criminal, but I had also been among friends. I’d chosen to be with them. My position as a mollisher had protected me from people like David. Nobody had dared touch me in my own territory.

But this wasn’t my territory. Here I had no power. For the first time I wanted the protection that lay inside the stone walls of Magdalen. I wanted the protection Warden’s presence guaranteed, even if I hated it. I pocketed the paper and headed for the door.

When I got back to the Founder’s Tower, I expected to find an empty room. What I found was blood.

Reph blood.

12 A Fever

12

A Fever

The room was in disarray. Glass shattered, instruments broken, a curtain half-torn from its rail, and spots of glowing chartreuse on the flagstones, soaked into the fibers of the rug. I stepped over the glass. The candle on the desk had been snuffed out; so had the paraffin lamps. It was deathly cold. I could feel the æther everywhere. I kept my guard up, ready to sling my spirit at a potential attacker.

The drapes were drawn around the bed. Another dreamscape was behind it. Reph, I thought.

I stepped toward the bed. Once I was within reach of the drapes, I tried to think rationally about what I was about to do. I knew Warden was behind them, but I had no idea of what sort of state he would be in. He might be injured, sleeping, dead. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know which one it was.

I steeled my nerves. My fingers flexed before they grasped the heavy fabric. I pulled the drape aside.

He was slumped on the bed, still as a corpse. I climbed onto the covers and shook him. “Warden?”

Nothing.

I sat back on the bed. He’d told me explicitly that I wasn’t allowed to touch him, that I wasn’t supposed to help him if this happened, but this time the damage looked much, much worse. His shirt was drenched. I tried to turn him over, but he was a dead weight. I was checking his breathing when his hand snatched out and caught my wrist.