We went to a greasy spoon on Silk Street and sipped coffee. It was the first time I’d ever tried it, and I secretly thought it tasted like mud. We talked for a while about my life. I told him about school, about my father’s job, but that wasn’t why we were there, and we both knew it.

“Paige,” he said, “you’ve heard about unnaturalness. I don’t want to frighten you, but you’re showing signs of it.”

My throat closed. He did work for Scion.

“Don’t worry.” He placed his hand over mine. My pulse warmed. “I’m not going to turn you in. I’m going to help you.”

“How?”

“I’d like you to come and talk to a friend of mine.”

“Who is it?”

“Someone I trust. Someone who’s very interested in you.”

“Is he—?”

“Yes. So am I.” He squeezed my hand. “You had a daydream earlier. You saw my car.” I stared at him, perplexed. “That’s my gift, Paige. I can send pictures. I can make people see things.”

“I—” My mouth was dry. “I’ll see him.”

I left a message with my father’s secretary, telling him I would be home late. Nick drove me to a small French restaurant in Vauxhall. Waiting for us was a tall, fine-boned man, probably in his late thirties. His eyes were alive with a sort of agitated intelligence. He had candle-white skin and a head of rich, dark hair, and his lips were pale and petulant. You could have sharpened pencils on his cheekbones. He wore a gold cravat and a black embroidered waistcoat with a pocket watch.

“You must be Paige,” he said, in a deep, slightly amused voice. “Jaxon Hall.”

He offered a bony hand. I took it.

“Hello,” I said.

His grip was cold and firm. I sat down. Nick sat beside me.

When the waitron came, Jaxon Hall ordered no food; just a glass of mecks, or nonalcoholic wine. Expensive stuff. He had fine tastes.

“I have a proposition for you, Miss Mahoney.” Jaxon Hall swilled his mecks. “Dr. Nygård came to speak to me yesterday. He informed me that you can inflict certain . . . medical abnormalities on other people. Is that correct?”

I glanced at Nick.

“Go on.” He gave me a smile. “He’s not from Scion.”

“Don’t insult me.” Jaxon took a sip of mecks. “Further from the Archon than the cradle from the grave. Not that those two states are all that far apart, but you understand my meaning.”

I wasn’t sure I did. He certainly didn’t act like a Scion official.

“You mean the nosebleeds,” I said.

“Yes, the nosebleeds. Fascinating.” His hands were clasped on the table. “Anything else?”

“Headaches. Sometimes migraines.”

“And how do you feel when it happens?”

“Tired. Sick.”