“When you say ‘so-called’ angels,” I said, forcing myself to be calm, “what exactly do you mean?”

Warden paused.

“Eat,” he said. “Please.”

I plucked a chestnut from the plate, still hot from the oven. It tasted like warmth and winter.

“I am sure you know what an angel is: a soul that returns to this plane to protect the person they died to save,” he said. “We know of angels and archangels, and I assume the voyants of the street do, too.” I nodded. “Nashira can command a third level of angel.”

“Oh?”

“She can trap certain kinds of spirits.”

“So she’s a binder.”

“More than merely a binder, Paige. If she chooses to kill a clairvoyant, she can not only trap its spirit, but use it. So long as that spirit is bound to her, its presence affects her aura. It is that corruption that allows her to have several gifts at once.”

My coffee slopped into my lap. “She has to kill them herself?”

“Yes. We call them ‘fallen angels.’” He watched me. “And they are bound to stay forever with their murderer.”

I stood.

“You’re evil.” The cup smashed at my feet. “How do you ever expect me to talk to you, to treat you like you’re human, when your fiancée can do something like that? When you can look her in the face?”

“Did I say I had ever summoned a fallen angel myself?”

“But you’ve killed people.”

“So have you.”

“That’s not the point.”

Warden’s expression had changed. Now there was no trace of mockery.

“I do not know what I can do for this world,” he said, “but I will not let any harm come to you.”

“I don’t need you to protect me. Just get rid of me. Palm me off on someone else. I don’t want to be your student anymore. I want to switch keepers. I want to be with Thuban. Send me to Thuban.”

“You do not want a Sargas keeper, Paige.”

“Don’t tell me what I want. I want—”

“You want to feel safe again.” He stood, keeping the coffee table between us. “You want me to treat you as Thuban and the others treat their humans, because then you would feel that you had every right to hate the Rephaim. But because I do not harm you, and because I try to understand you, you run away. I know why, of course. You do not understand my motives. You ask yourself time and time again why I want to help you, and you come to no conclusions. But that does not mean there is no conclusion, Paige. It means you have yet to discover it.”

I sank back into the armchair. The scalding coffee had soaked straight through my trousers. Seeing it, he said, “I will find you something else.”