“You do not have the spirit sight,” he observed. “That will be a disadvantage here. Unless you have some means of compensating, of course. Perhaps a stronger sixth sense.”

I didn’t answer. It had always been my dream to be at least half-sighted, but I remained spirit-blind. I couldn’t see the æther’s little lights; I could only ever sense them. Jaxon had never thought it a weakness.

“Do you have any questions?” His unpitying eyes searched every inch of my face.

“Where do I sleep?”

“I will have a room prepared for you. For now you will sleep here.” He indicated the daybed. “Anything else?”

“No.”

“I will be away tomorrow. You may acquaint yourself with the city in my absence. You will be back by dawn every day. You will return to this room at once if you hear the siren. If you steal or touch or otherwise meddle with anything, I will know.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sir just slipped out.

“Take this.” He held out a capsule. “Take a second tomorrow night, along with the others.”

I didn’t take it. Arcturus poured a glass of water from a decanter, not looking at me. He handed me the glass and the capsule. I wet my lips.

“What if I don’t take it?”

There was a long silence.

“It was an order,” he said. “Not a request.”

My heart palpitated. I rolled it between my fingers. It was olive in color, tinged with gray. I swallowed it. It tasted bitter.

He took the glass.

“One more thing.” Arcturus grasped the back of my head in his free hand, turning it to face him. A cold tremor rolled down my spine. “You will address me only by my ceremonial title: Warden. Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

I forced myself to say it. He looked right into my eyes, burning his message into my skull, before he loosened his hand. “We will begin your training upon my return.” He made for the door. “Sleep well.”

I couldn’t help it. I laughed a low, bitter laugh.

He half-turned his head. I watched his eyes empty. Without another word, he left. The key turned in the lock.

5

The Indifferent

A red sun glinted through the window. The light roused me from a deep sleep. There was a bad taste in my mouth. For a moment I thought I was back in my bedroom in I-5, away from Jax, away from work.

Then I remembered. Bone Seasons. Rephaim. A gunshot and a body.

I was definitely not in I-5.

The cushions lay on the floor, cast off in the night. I sat up to assess my surroundings, rubbing my stiff neck. The small of my back ached, and my head pounded. One of my “hangovers,’’ as Nick called them. Arcturus—Warden—was nowhere to be seen.

The gramophone was still sorrowing away. I recognized Saint-Saënss’s “Danse Macabre” immediately, and with alarm: Jax listened to it when he was particularly cantankerous, usually over a glass of vintage wine. It had always given me the creeps. I switched it off, pushed the drapes from the window, and looked down at the east-facing courtyard. There was a Rephaite guard positioned by a pair of giant oak doors.