There was no one on the quadrangle. I could sense an aura, but it was too far away to be a threat. I jumped out of the fountain and ran toward the bell tower. I spotted the narrow archway at once. This must lead to the bell. I shot up the steps, praying that no Rephs would appear—the passageway was so narrow, I’d have no chance. When I got to the top, I gazed up at the sight.

It was a treasure trove. Glass jars sparkled from hundreds of shelves, dappled in sunlight. I was reminded of hard-boiled sweets: bright, glassy colors, glistening like stars. There were iridescent liquids, brilliantly colored powders, exotic plants wrapped in liquid—all beautiful and alien. The room was full of smells: some sharp, some bad, some sweet and fragrant. I scoured the shelves for medical supplies. Most bottles were labeled with the Scion symbol, written in English, but some bore strange glyphs. There were numa, too, probably confiscated. I caught sight of a show stone, various sortes—and a single pack of cards. Those were for Liss. I flipped through them quickly, assessing the illustrations. It was a Thoth deck—a different design to the one Liss had before—but it could still be used for cartomancy.

I stuffed the deck into my bag. I took Silvadene and paraffin and antiseptic. There was another door, probably leading to the bell, but I didn’t go through it. This would be my last contraband: the bag was almost too heavy to lift. I hauled the straps over my shoulders and turned toward the steps—only to lock gazes with a Reph.

All my life functions seemed to stop. Two yellow eyes smoked at me from underneath a hood.

“Well, well,” he said. “A traitor in the tower.”

He made toward me. I dropped the bag and climbed the nearest shelves in a heartbeat.

“You must be the dreamwalker. I am Kraz Sargas, blood-heir of the Rephaim.” He gave me a mock bow. I could see Nashira in his features; in his thick, brassy hair and hooded eyelids. “Did Arcturus send you?”

I didn’t say a word.

“So he lets his tribute to the blood-sovereign go wandering off by itself. She will not be pleased.” He held out a gloved hand. “Come down, dreamwalker. I will escort you back to Magdalen.”

“And we’ll just pretend this never happened?” I stayed where I was. “You’ll take me to Nashira.”

His patience vanished. “Don’t make me crush you, yellow-jacket.”

“Nashira doesn’t want me dead.”

“I am not Nashira.”

Now I was in for it. If he didn’t kill me, he’d drag me straight to the Residence of the Suzerain. My gaze settled on a jar of white aster. I could wipe his memory.