Julian followed me outside. “Paige?” He caught my sleeve. “What did he say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“You look pale.”

“I’m fine.” It was only when I caught sight of the toke in his hand that I remembered Seb. “Are you going to eat that?”

“No. You want it?”

“Not for me. Seb.”

“Where did you find him?”

“Amaurotic House.”

“Right. So they lock up voyants in London and amaurotics here?”

“Maybe it makes sense to them.” I pocketed the toke. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Dusk?”

“Dusk.” He paused. “If I can get out.”

Amaurotic House was dark when I arrived. Even the lamps outside had been extinguished. I knew better than to try and talk my way past Graffias; instead I climbed straight up the drainpipe.

“Seb?”

There was no light in the room. I could smell the dank, cold air inside it. Seb didn’t reply.

I grasped the bars and crouched on the ledge. “Seb,” I hissed. “Are you in there?”

But he wasn’t. There were no dreamscapes in this room. Even amaurotics had dreamscapes, albeit colorless ones. No emotional nuances, no spiritual activity. Seb had vanished.

Maybe they’d taken him to a residence to work. Maybe he’d be back.

Or maybe this was a trap.

I pulled the toke from my sleeve, stuck it between the bars, and climbed down the drainpipe. Only once I was back on solid ground did I feel safe.

The feeling didn’t last. As I turned back toward the inner city, my arm was caught in what felt like a vice. Two scalding eyes, hot and hard, locked on mine.

7

The Bait

He was standing very still. He wore a black shirt with a high collar, edged with gold. Its sleeves concealed the arm I’d bandaged in the day.

He gazed down at me with no expression. I wet my lips, trying to think of an excuse.

“So,” he said, drawing me closer, “you bandage wounds and feed the amaurotic slaves. How quaint.”

Revulsion made me jerk my arm away. He let me do it. I could fight him if I wasn’t cornered—but then I saw the others. Four Rephs, two male and two female. All four had those ironclad dreamscapes. When I took up a defensive stance, they laughed at me.

“Don’t be a fool, 40.”

“All we want to do is speak to you.”

“Speak to me now,” I said.

My voice was nothing like my own.

Warden had never taken his eyes off my face. In the light of a nearby gas lamp, those eyes boiled with a new color. He hadn’t laughed along with the others.

I was a hunted animal, surrounded. Trying to get out of this situation wouldn’t just be stupid—it would be suicidal.

“I’ll go,” I said.

Warden nodded.

“Terebell,” he said, “go to the blood-sovereign. Tell her we have XX-59-40 in custody.”

In custody? I glanced at the female. This must be Tilda and Carl’s keeper, Terebell Sheratan. She looked back at me with steady yellow eyes. Her hair was dark and glossy; it curved around her face like a hood. “Yes, blood-consort,” she said.