6

Community

I was back at the residence by dawn. The red-clad day porter gave me a spare key to the Warden’s chamber. “Leave it on his desk,” he said. “Don’t even think about keeping it.”

I didn’t reply. I went up the dark staircase, avoiding the two guards. It chilled me how their eyes shone in the passages, natural searchlights in the dark. This was supposed to be a safe residence. I couldn’t imagine what the others must be like.

The bells chimed from the tower, calling the humans back to their prisons. Once I was in the chamber, I locked the door and left the key on the desk. No sign of the Warden. I found a box of matches in a drawer and used them to light a few candles. There were three identical pairs of black leather gloves in the same drawer, and a broad silver ring, set with a real jewel.

A curio cabinet stood against the wall, made of dark rosewood. When I opened the glass-fronted doors, my sixth sense twinged. A collection of instruments sat inside. Some I recognized from the black market. Some were numa. Most were just bric-a-brac: a planchette, some chalk, a spirit slate—useless bits of séance equipment, the sort of thing amaurotics hysterically associated with clairvoyance. Others, like the crystal ball, could be used by seers to scry. I wasn’t a soothsayer; none of the objects were useful to me. Like Graffias, I didn’t need objects to touch the æther.

What I needed was life support. Until I could find some oxygen apparatus, I’d have to be careful how often I detached my spirit. That was how I widened my perception of the æther: I could push my spirit from its natural place, to the farthest edges of my dreamscape. Problem was that if I did it for too long, my breathing reflex stopped dead.

Something caught my eye. A small case, rectangular, with a stylized heartwood flower engraved in the lid. Eight petals. I flipped the clasp and opened it. Inside were four crimp vials, each containing a viscous liquid, such a dark red it was almost black. I closed it. I didn’t want to know.

A dull pain stabbed at my eye. I couldn’t see any nightclothes. Why I’d expected them, I had no idea. He didn’t care what I wore or how well I slept. His only concern was that I drew breath.

I kicked off my boots and lay on the daybed. The room was cold as stone without a fire, but I didn’t dare touch the sheets on his bed. I set my cheek against the velvet bolster.

The flux attack had left me weak and tired. As I drifted on the verge of sleep, my spirit wandered in and out of the æther. I brushed past dreamscapes, catching waves of memory. Blood and pain were common denominators. There were other Rephs in this residence, but their minds were as impenetrable as ever. The humans were more open, their defenses thinned by fear. Their dreamscapes gave off a harsh, tainted light—signal of distress. Eventually I slept.