Bone Season 01: The Bone Season: A Novel (37 page)

“I’ll convince them to stay,” he’d said, pointing his cane at me. “Just you wait, my mollisher.”

“They have lives in their country, Jax. Families.” I wasn’t convinced. “Don’t you think they’ll need time to consider it?”

“No time for that, my dear. Once they leave, I’ll never get them back again. They
must
stay.”

“In your dreams.”

“I don’t dream. But shall we have a wager?” He extended a hand. “If you lose, you do two assignments with no pay. And polish my antique mirror.”

“And if I win?”

“I’ll pay you double for the same assignments. And you won’t have to polish my antique mirror.”

I shook his hand.

Jaxon had the gift of the gab. I knew exactly what my father would have said about him: “Now there’s a man who’s kissed the Blarney Stone.” There was something about Jaxon that made you want to please him, to see that wild gleam leap to his eye. He knew he’d get the pair to stay. Having located their hotel and paid a busker to get their names, he sent them an invitation to a “special event” at a fashionable coffeehouse in Covent Garden. I delivered it to the concierge myself, in an envelope addressed to Miss Nadine L. Arnett and Mr. Ezekiel Sáenz.

They sent their details back to us. Half-siblings. Both residents of Boston, the gleaming capital of Massachusetts. On the day of the interview, Jaxon kept us updated by e-mail.

Fabulous. Oh, this is fabulous.

She is most definitely a hisser. Very eloquent. Fantastically rude, too.

The brother intrigues me. Can’t put a finger on his aura. Annoying.

Nick, Eliza, and I waited for another hour before the golden words came in.

They’re staying. Paige, the mirror requires elbow grease.

That was the last time I bet against Jaxon Hall.

Two days passed. While Eliza made room in the den for the newcomers, I walked with Nick to Gower Street to collect them. The idea was that they would just disappear off the radar, as if they’d been abducted and killed. We would leave clues: some bloodied clothes, a hair or two. Scion would love it. They could use it to advertise more unnatural crimes—but most important, they wouldn’t come after the missing siblings.

“You really think Jax convinced them to stay?” I said as we walked.

“You know what he’s like. Jax could convince you to jump off a cliff if you listened to him long enough.”

“But they must have families. And Nadine is a student.”

“They might not have done well over there,
sötnos
. At least voyants can learn what they are in Scion. Over there, they must just think they’re crazy.” He put on his sunglasses. “In that way, Scion is a blessing.”

He was right, in a sense. There was no official policy on clairvoyants outside Scion; they had no legal recognition, no minority status—they only appeared in fiction. Still, that had to be better than being systematically hunted and killed, like we were. I couldn’t work out why they’d stay.

They were waiting outside the University. Nick raised a hand to the nearest of the two.

“Hi. Zeke?” The stranger nodded. “I’m Nick.”

“Paige,” I said.

Zeke’s eyes were like black tea, set in a thin, restive face. He must have been in his twenties, slim for his height, with brittle wrists and skin used to the sun.

“You’re with Jaxon Hall, right?” His voice carried an unfamiliar accent. He used his free hand to wipe the sweat from his brow, giving me a glimpse of a vertical scar.

“Yes, but don’t say his name again. The SVD could be anywhere.” Nick smiled. “And you must be Nadine.”

He was looking at the whisperer. She had her brother’s eyes and restless features, but that was where the similarities ended. Her hair was dyed red, cut as if with a ruler. Scion citadels tended to use the fashion and slang of the decade they were established; everyone in SciLo wore neutral threads, Victorian style—but Nadine’s yellow shirt, jeans, and stilettos screamed “tourist” and “different.” “Last I checked,” she said.

Nick narrowed his eyes a little at Zeke. I was struggling to classify his aura, too. Seeing it, Nadine moved closer to her brother.

“What?”

“Nothing. Sorry,” Nick said. He glanced over their heads, watching the University, before he looked at each of them in turn. “We have to be quick. I take it you’ve both thought about this, because once you walk away from this building, there’s no going back.”

Zeke looked at his sister. She looked at her shoes, arms crossed. “We’re sure,” he said. “We’ve made our choice.”

“Then let’s go.”

At the end of the street, the four of us piled into a buck cab. Nadine dug around in her bag and took out a pair of headphones. Without another word, she snapped them on and closed her eyes. Her lips seemed to be trembling.

“Monmouth Street, please,” Nick said to the driver.

The cab trundled off. Fortunately for us, buck cabs were unlicensed. They made plenty of push off the backs of their clairvoyant clientele.

The place on Monmouth Street was where Jax lived: a three-story maisonette above a small boutique. I often stayed overnight, telling my father I was staying with friends. It wasn’t exactly a lie. For months I’d learned the ropes of clairvoyant society: the structure of the gangs, the names of their leaders, the etiquette and enmity between the sections. Now Jaxon was testing my gift. Teaching me how to be one of them.

A few weeks after starting my new job, I’d been able to consciously crack my spirit out of place. I’d immediately stopped breathing. That was when Jax and Eliza had panicked, thinking they’d killed me. Nick, always the medic, had revived me with a syringe of adrenaline to the heart, and even though my chest had hurt for a week, I was proud as anything. The four of us had gone to Chateline’s to celebrate, and Jax had ordered life support for next time.

I fit in with these people. They understood the strangeness of my world, a world I was only just beginning to discover. We’d created a little world in Seven Dials, a world of crime and color. Now there was a stranger in our midst. Possibly two, if Nadine ended up being interesting.

I felt for their dreamscapes. Nadine’s was nothing unusual, but Zeke’s—well, his
was
interesting. A dark, heavy presence in the æther.

“So, Zeke,” Nick said, “where are you from?”

Zeke looked up.

“I was born in Mexico,” he said, “but I live with Nadine now.”

He gave no further explanation. I glanced over my shoulder. “Have you been to a Scion citadel before?”

“No. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea.”

“But you came.”

“We just wanted to get away for a while. Nadine’s college was offering places on the conference. I was curious about Scion.” He looked down at his hands. “I’m glad we decided to come. We’ve felt different for years, but—well, Mr. Hall told us why.”

Nick looked intrigued. “What’s the official stance on clairvoyance in the States?”

“They’re calling it ESP—extrasensory perception. All they say is that it’s a recognized illness under Scion law, and that the CDC is investigating it. They don’t want to commit to any stance on it. I don’t think they ever will.”

I wanted to ask about their families, but something told me to save it for later. “Jaxon’s so pleased you’re joining us.” Nick offered a smile. “I hope you’ll like it here.”

“You’ll get used to it,” I said. “I hated it when I arrived. It got better when Jaxon hired me. The syndicate will take care of you.”

Zeke looked up. “You’re not English?”

“Irish.”

“I didn’t think many Irish people escaped the Molly Riots.”

“I managed.”

“It was such a tragedy. Irish music is beautiful,” he added. “Do you know the rioters’ song?”

“The one about Molly?”

“No, the other one. The one they sang at the end of the riots, when they mourned the dead.”

“You mean ‘An Ember Morning.’ ”

“Yes, that’s it.” He paused, then said: “Would you sing some of it?”

Nick and I laughed at the same time. Zeke went red to the tips of his ears. “Sorry—that was weird,” he said. “I’d just love to hear it sung properly. If it doesn’t bother you too much. I used to like listening to Nadine, but—well, she doesn’t play anymore.”

Nick caught my eye. A whisperer that didn’t play music. Jaxon would not be happy he said gently. I realized Zeke was still looking at me, waiting for an answer.

I didn’t know if I could sing the song. Irish music was forbidden in Scion, especially Irish rebel music. I’d had a strong Irish lilt as a child, but out of fear of the spreading hibernophobia in Scion, I’d dropped it when we moved away. Even at eight years old, I could sense the strange looks people gave me when I pronounced something too oddly for their liking. I used to stand in front of the mirror for hours, copying newsreaders, until I’d cultivated a crisp English public school accent. I was still fairly unpopular—I was called “Molly Mahoney” for years—but eventually a small group of girls took me in, probably because my father sponsored the school dance.

Perhaps I owed it to my cousin to remember. I looked out of the window and heard myself recite the song.

My love, it was an ember morning

When October was a-dawning.

Fire cried on the honey meadow.

Come, ghost of the vale,

I am standing in the ashes, where you roam.

Erin waits to bring you home.

My heart, I saw a flame upon the sky

When October’s bitter morn was nigh.

Smoke choked the honey meadow.

Hark, spirit of the south,

I am waiting near the cloven tree,

Now Ireland’s heart is broken by the sea.

There were more verses, but I stopped abruptly. I remembered my grandmother singing it for Finn during the memorial service, the one we’d held in secret in the Vale. Just six of us. No body to bury. That was when my father announced his conscription, leaving my grandparents to face Scion’s military occupation of the south. Zeke looked grave.

By the time we reached Monmouth Street the cab was too hot to bear. I pressed some notes into the driver’s hand. He handed one back to me. After a moment, Nick squeezed my hand.

“For the pretty song,” he said. “Bless you, love.”

“Thanks.”

But I left it on the seat. I wouldn’t accept money for a memory.

I helped Nick unload the suitcases. Nadine stepped out of the cab and pulled off her headphones. She gave the building a withering look. Her bag caught my eye, from a New York designer. That would have to go. American items sold like hotcakes in the Garden. I’d expected her to have an instrument case, but there was nothing. Maybe she wasn’t a whisperer. There were at least three other strains of sensor she could be.

I used my keys to open the red door, which bore a gold plaque reading
THE LENORMAND AGENCY
. To the outside world, we were a respectable arts agency. Inside, we were not so honest.

At the top of the stairs was Jax, dressed to impress: silk waistcoat, stiff white collar, shiny pocket watch, and glowing cigar. He had a small glass cup of coffee in his hand. I tried and failed to work out how cigar and coffee could make a compatible pair.

“Zeke, Nadine. Good to see you again.”

Zeke shook his hand. “And you, Mr. Hall.”

“Welcome to Seven Dials. I am, as you know, mime-lord of this territory. And you are now members of my elite coterie.” Jax was looking at Zeke’s face, but I knew his focus was on reading his aura. “I presume you left Gower Street in a surreptitious fashion.”

“No one saw us.” Zeke tensed. “Is that a—spirit, over there?”

Jax glanced behind him. “Yes, that’s Pieter Claesz, Dutch vanitas painter. One of our more prolific muses. Died in 1660. Pieter, come and meet our new friends.”

“Zeke can do the honors. I’m tired.” Nadine wasn’t looking at Pieter, who’d ignored the order. She wasn’t sighted. “I want my own room. I don’t share my space,” she said, looking hard at Jax. “Just so that’s settled.”

I waited to see how Jax would react. He didn’t have the most expressive face, but his nostrils flared. Not a good sign.

“You will have what you are given,” he said.

Nadine bristled. Sensing a confrontation, Nick put an arm around her shoulders. “Of course you’ll have your own room,” he said, giving me a weary look over her head. We’d have to put Zeke on a couch. “Eliza’s just sorting it. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yes, you can.” She raised her eyebrows at Jax. “I see
some
Europeans know how to treat a lady.”

Jaxon looked as if she’d slapped him. Nick led her off to the kitchenette.

“I am not,” he said, with gritted teeth, “
European
.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll make sure nobody disturbs you.”