“What did you see?”

For a minute I thought she hadn’t heard me. Then she crossed the shack and knelt beside a small wooden box. She took out a deck of tarot cards, tied with a red ribbon, and handed one to me. The Fool.

“I always knew I was destined to be at the bottom of the pile,” she said. “I was right.”

“Can you read mine?”

“Another time. You have to go.” Liss took a cake of rosin from the chest. “Come and see me again soon, sister. I can’t protect you, but I’ve been here a decade. I might be able to stop you getting yourself killed.” She gave me a tired smile. “Welcome to Sheol I.”

Liss gave me directions to Amaurotic House, where Seb had been taken by the Gray Keeper—the Reph that kept the small number of amaurotic workers in check. His name was Graffias Sheratan. She gave me some bread and meat to slip to Seb. “Don’t let Graffias see you,” she said.

I’d learned a lot in the space of forty minutes. The most troubling revelation was that I was on Nashira’s radar, and I wasn’t too keen on being her spirit slave for time everlasting. Not going straight to the heart of the æther, the place where all things die, was something I’d always feared. I hated the thought of being a restless spirit, a clip of spare ammo, for voyants to abuse and trade. Still, that had never stopped me summoning spools of spirits to protect myself, or bidding on Jax’s behalf for a very angry Anne Naylor, who’d been a young girl when she was murdered.

And Liss’s warning unnerved me. In the end you’ll just stop trying.

She was wrong.

Amaurotic House was outside the main network of residences. I had to go through several abandoned streets to reach it. I’d seen maps of the city in an old copy of the Roaring Boy—yet another bit of memorabilia Jax had swindled from Didion Waite—and I knew at least roughly where most of its landmarks were. I headed north up the main road. A few red-jackets were stationed outside buildings, but they only gave me passing glances. There must be some kind of barrier to stop us escaping, that and the mines in No Man’s Land. How many voyants had died trying to cross it?

I found the building within a few minutes. It was discreet and austere, with a small iron lunette over the gates. Whatever words had been there had been replaced with AMAUROTIC HOUSE. There was a phrase in Latin underneath: DOMUS STULTORUM. I didn’t want to know what that meant. I peered between the bars—and locked gazes with a Rephaite guard. He had dark, curling hair that spilled over his shoulders, and his lower lip was full and petulant. This must be Graffias.

“I hope you have good reason to be near Amaurotic House,” he said, his deep voice thick with scorn.

All reason faded from my mind. The proximity of this creature made me cold to the bone.