Page 89 of The Song Rising

“So they can keep saying ‘no safer place’ to amaurotics,” I said, “while leaving no safe place for us.”

“Yes.”

Nick closed his eyes. “Do I want to know how you got this, Paige?”

I told them about our search for Senshield in Manchester: my attempt to negotiate with Roberta; my visit to Ancoats; the uneasy agreement with Catrin and Major Arcana; the break-in, and the murder of Emlyn Price. By the time I was finished, my throat hurt from talking.

“I keep thinking you can’t do anything more dangerous.” Nick pinched the bridge of his nose. “How you got out of that factory alive . . .”

“Vance will turn her attention to Manchester now,” Warden said.

“No. She’ll punish Manchester, but she’ll come here in person,” I said. “She’ll know by now where we’ve gone.” I held my hands close to the fire. “Here’s what I suggest. We seek out the local voyant community, if it still exists, and ask them if they know the location of the depot where these rifles are activated. Even if they don’t, I think it’s a good idea for us to connect with them, so we have people to call on if we need help. Hopefully the séance reached them.” Nick nodded. “Once we’ve found—”

“Nick.”

Maria was in the doorway. There was none of the usual good humor in her expression.

“A word,” she said.

With a slight frown, he followed her. When I heard their footsteps upstairs, I faced the two Rephaim.

“Be honest,” I said. “Do you think Adhara is likely to join us?”

“If she sees a reason to,” Warden said.

His tone implied that she didn’t see one yet. That she wasn’t willing to throw her lot in with mine. I couldn’t really blame her; apart from leading the revolt in the colony, all I had done so far was take control of the syndicate and start its transformation into an army of disgruntled criminals. I could claim no significant victories against Scion. My shoulders dropping, I turned and went to find a room.

Upstairs, I deposited the scanner-guns on a bed. Their weight sent up a cloud of dust. Two burner phones and a charger waited on the windowsill, presumably donated by whoever owned the safe house.

“Paige.”

Nick stepped into the doorway, wiping his hands on a cloth. As soon as I saw his face, I knew something was very wrong.

“Tom,” I said.

“He’s dying, sweetheart.”

The cloth was bloody.

“He can’t be,” I murmured. “How?”

“You couldn’t have known. Tom made sure of it,” he said. “He took a bullet when you left the loading bay. He’s been bleeding internally for hours . . . I’m amazed he’s lasted this long.”

“He was holding the door open for us. That must be when—” I released an unsteady breath. “Can I see him?”

“He asked for you.”

He led me across the landing to another door. The æther was gaping open beyond.

Inside the little room, Maria was hunched in a chair, her head cradled in her hands. Tom lay in a bed that was far too small for him, his hat on the nightstand, his shirt peeled open. He already had a corpse’s pallor. His broad chest was stained by plum-colored bruising, the blood bundled beneath his left pectoral. His eyelids cracked open.

“Underqueen.”

“Tom.” I sat on the edge of the bed. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because he’s a stubborn old fool,” Maria said thickly.

“Aye, and proud.” His words tripped into a wheezing breath. Maria almost bowled over the jug as she rushed to pour him water. “I didna want to slow you down, Paige . . . and I wanted to see Scotland again, one last time.”

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