Sweat began to bead across my forehead. I stepped off the ice. I was starting to sense spirits everywhere.

“Night is the time of spirits.” Warden looked up at the moon. “The veils are at their thinnest now. Think of cold spots as rips in the fabric.”

I watched the cold spot. Something about it rattled my spirit.

“Paige, you will have two tasks tonight,” he said, turning to face me. “Both will test the limits of your sanity. Will you believe me if I tell you they will help you?”

“Not likely,” I said, “but let’s get on with it.”

16 The Undertaking

16

The Undertaking

Warden didn’t tell me where we were going. He led me down another footpath, into the open grounds of Magdalen. I could feel spirits everywhere: in the air, in the water—spirits of the dead that had once walked here. I couldn’t hear them, but with a cold spot open within a mile radius, I could feel them as strongly as if they were living presences.

I kept close to Warden in spite of myself. If any of these spirits were malevolent, I sensed he’d be able to repel them more efficiently than I could.

The darkness grew deeper as we made our way through the grounds, away from the lanterns of Magdalen. Warden remained silent as we crossed a wet meadow where the lawns had been replaced by knee-deep weeds and grass. “Where are we going?” I asked. My boots and socks were already sodden.

Warden didn’t reply.

“You said I was your student, not your slave,” I said. “I want to know where we’re going.”

“Into the grounds.”

“Why?”

No reply again.

The night was getting colder, unnaturally cold. After what seemed like hours, Warden stopped and pointed.

“There.”

At first I didn’t see it. When my eyes adjusted, the outline of the animal appeared in the dim moonlight. The creature was four-legged, with a silken coat. Its throat was snow-white and its long face, narrow, with dark eyes and a small black nose. I wondered which of us looked more astonished.

A deer. I hadn’t seen one since I’d lived in Ireland, when my grandparents had taken me to the Galtees. A wave of childish excitement swept over me.

“She’s beautiful,” I said.

Warden stepped toward the deer. She was tethered to a post. “Her name is Nuala.”

“That’s an Irish name.”

“Yes, short for Fionnuala. It means white shoulders, or fair shoulders.”

I looked again. There were two large white spots on either side of her neck. “Who named her?” In Scion it was risky to give Irish names to pets or children. You might be suspected of sympathizing with the Molly rioters.

“I did.”