It was dim beyond the curtain, but a paraffin stove kept the shadows at bay. I sat down. A pile of stained sheets and a cushion made a rudimentary bed. “Do you always take in strays?”

“Sometimes. I know how it is when you arrive.” The girl sat down by the stove. “Welcome to the Family.”

“I’m part of a family?”

“You are now, sister. And it’s not the cult kind of family, if that’s what you’re thinking. Just a family formed for protection.” Her fingers worked at the stove. “I’m guessing you came from the syndicate.”

“Maybe.”

“I didn’t. The centrals didn’t need my sort.” A faint smile touched her lips. “I came here during the last Bone Season.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Ten years. I was thirteen.” She extended a callused hand. After a moment, I shook it. “Liss Rymore.”

“Paige.”

“XX-59-40?”

“Yes.”

Liss caught my expression. “Sorry,” she said. “Force of habit. Or maybe I’m brainwashed.”

I shrugged. “What number are you?”

“XIX-49-1.”

“How do you know mine?”

She poured a little methylated spirit into the stove. “News travels fast in a city this small. We can’t get any word from outside. They don’t like us to know what’s going on out there in the free world. If you call Scion ‘free.’” A blue flame leapt up. “Your number is on everyone’s lips.”

“Why?”

“Didn’t you hear? Arcturus Mesarthim has never taken a human to his residence. He’s never shown interest in humans at all, in fact. It’s big news here, sad to say. Happens when you can’t get the penny papers.”

“Do you know why he chose me?”

“My best guess is that Nashira has got her lamps on you. He’s the blood-consort—her fiancé. We stay out of his way. Not that he ever leaves that tower.” She attached a billycan onto the stove. “Let me get you something to eat before we talk. Sorry. It’s been years since we’ve eaten at tables, us harlies.”

“Harlies?”

“It’s what jackets call the performers. They don’t like us much.”

She heated up some broth and poured it into a bowl. I offered her a few rings, but she shook her head. “On the house.”

I took a sip of the broth. It was odorless and translucent, and it tasted vile, but it was warm. Liss watched as I scraped the bowl clean.

“Here.” She passed me a hunk of stale bread. “Skilly and toke. You’ll get used to it. Most of the keepers conveniently forget that we need to eat on a regular basis.”

“There’s meat in there.” I gestured to the central room.

“That’s just to celebrate Bone Season XX. I made this skilly from the juices earlier.” She poured herself a bowl. “We rely on the rotties to keep us from starving. This junk is all from the kitchens,” she said, nodding to the stove and billycan. “They’re only meant to cook for red-jackets, but they sneak us food when they can. Having said that, they’ve been less willing to help us since one of the girls was caught.”