The gold coin Arlen had given him was a hard presence under Jordan's pillow, cold against his fingers. His other hand was buried in Ren's fur. The shadowrunner hadn't left his side since he'd returned from the dead quarter three nights ago.
Jordan also hadn't left his bed.
He stared at the wall and time passed by him, sometimes quickly and sometimes so agonisingly slow that Jordan considered getting up and facing his shitty life again. It was a strange numbness that afflicted him, too deep to make him care about what happened around him, but too shallow to keep the nightmares away. In the nightmares, Yddris hadn't intervened. In the dream-hell his brain took him to, he watched the demons devour both him and Darin, or saw the fire clear only to find a human corpse at his feet. Arlen and Usk always watched from the shadows. Sometimes they laughed at him.
He flinched as someone knocked on his bedroom door. Pretending to be asleep didn't work on Unspoken, so he resorted to unresponsiveness.
"Jordan?" It was Nika, thankfully alone. Jordan hadn't seen Yddris since they got back, and he was more comfortable that way. The Unspoken paused in the doorway, stared at the untouched food tray next to the bed, and then sighed. "This can't go on."
Jordan raised his gaze, not far enough to meet Nika's by accident. "What?"
"Yddris is being just as dark-damned vague," the man said, an edge to his voice. "He's outright lying to me and you won't say anything at all. If I'm not going to be allowed to help, I'm not going to put up with you both just moping. Get up and come eat something. Now."
"I'm not hungry." Nausea had been Jordan's constant companion. He'd tried eating the night before, but ended up puking out the window.
"I don't care. I want to see you eat."
Ren chirruped as Jordan grunted and flipped back the blanket. Nika watched him get out of bed, quietly fuming. Jordan could tell how angry he was without asking, and decided it was wiser to play along.
The air outside his bedcovers was like a cold slap, and he shuddered surreptitiously as he reached for the tunic hanging on his desk chair. He vaguely registered that there were fresh marks on his shoulders, but didn't linger on the revelation. He ran a hand through his hair and then down his face. He needed a wash – badly.
"Can I have a bath first?"
"No."
Jordan scowled. He was so tired; despite being in bed for three days, he felt like he hadn't slept in months. A wash might have chased the fog from his brain. "Dick."
He had overstepped; Nika's tight, controlled anger spiralled into outright fury. Jordan winced as the air filled with angry crackling. "You are out of line, Jordan."
"Woah, woah. Let's calm it down a little." Koen entered the room with arms spread. Jordan had never been so glad to see anyone in his life.
Nika tangibly brought himself under control; the crackling lowered to a buzz. Jordan thought he heard the man's jaw snap shut. They all looked round as Hap arrived on the scene, walking stick tapping louder than usual.
"Don't take it out on the boy, Nika," the old man said, and he sounded exhausted. "It's between you and Yddris."
"I know!" Nika snapped, and then quieter, "I know. Night take me, I know. I'm sorry, Jordan."
Jordan knew he had missed something, and as he nodded he still half-expected the Unspoken to fire up again.
"I am," Nika insisted, and rubbed his face with both hands. His voice came out muffled. "You just reminded me so much of him just then."
"I'm not sure I appreciate that," Jordan replied. He had attempted to be lighthearted, but managed to sound like he meant it. He winced – was that what his voice really sounded like?
"Not that you don't have any part in it," Hap said. Jordan flinched. "I don't know what you and your tutor got yourselves into that night. I would like to think that you would confide in the appropriate people if the matter was serious. But I'm afraid, boy, that it doesn't exempt you from continuing your duties, and it certainly doesn't give you a pass to disrespect your superiors."
Jordan flooded with shame. The numbness fled him right when he needed it.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. And then it was out...he didn't even realise it was coming until it was too late: "I nearly killed someone."
Nika raised his head from his hands. "What?"
He couldn't have made things any worse, so he didn't even try to stop himself crying. "I could've held back and I didn't. If Yddris hadn't... if he hadn't..."
"He only mentioned that you dealt with Wights," Nika said, and the edge was back in his tone. Jordan could tell it wasn't directed at him this time. "He said you were with him."
"I was. He arrived just in time to stop me killing someone I was trying to protect." Jordan angrily wiped his eyes. "It's my fault. I left the temple. I shouldn't have left."
"But why did you leave?"
"I...I can't tell you."
Nika went slack. It was eerie; the air went oddly flat and it almost looked as if the cloak had no one inside and just hung there, motionless. A split-second passed, and then the Unspoken turned on his heel and left. The front door slammed.
Jordan stared at the empty spot where Nika had been standing, frozen. Did he know what was going on? Had Jordan said something that allowed him to guess? He ran over everything he'd said since Nika entered the room, but couldn't figure out how the man would ever work out the truth from the few scraps of information Jordan had given him. Fear seeped in at the edges of his mind. He didn't think he could carry the shame of anybody else finding out.
"I'll go after him," Hap said. While calm, he seemed as perplexed by Nika's sudden exit as Jordan. "Koen, maybe you could take Jordan to...?"
"Course, yeah," Koen said, "Go on, you'll lose him if you hang about."
Hap left, hobbling as fast as his leg would let him, and the front door opened and closed again. Jordan swallowed.
"I feel like I just fucked up so badly and I don't know how," he mumbled.
"Frankly," Koen said, "I don't either. I'm sure we can figure it out later." He sounded much too cheerful given the circumstances. Jordan grunted. "Don't beat yourself up about it."
Jordan squinted, dubious. "Don't beat myself up about almost burning someone to death?"
"Well." Koen fidgeted. "That was pretty stupid. But you're an apprentice, you're not expected to know. Did I tell you I burned down my family's house?"
"Yeah."
"My family was inside. Could've ended very differently if Hap hadn't arrived when he did. You shouldn't have left the temple alone. I shouldn't have jumped on a demon. Same principle."
"You...jumped on it?"
"It was very big and stank like shit and hurt something fierce when it threw me off, but yes. I jumped on it. And then I burned the house down with my parents and two brothers still in it. When you beat that level of stupid, you can start feeling sorry for yourself." He brightened. "And while you're doing that, I have a treat for you."
Jordan was so far from in the mood for surprises he almost crawled back into his bed, but Koen's words had lifted some weight from his shoulders. Not all of it – after all, the other apprentice hadn't inextricably tangled himself up with a wanted assassin – but enough to keep him from collapsing again. Koen bounced on the balls of his feet and then gathered up Jordan's clothes for him. "Go wash."
Jordan was awake enough by now to be self-conscious. "Astra's not around, is she?"
"Pfft," Koen said, "No. Everybody's out on patrol. You could walk around naked and be no worse off. I'd rather you didn't, though." He shouted as he left the room: "Get a move on!"
"He's mad as a bicycle," Jordan muttered to Ren. He tucked his clothes into the crook of his arm and allowed the shadowrunner to climb onto his shoulders. She just chirruped. He couldn't tell if she agreed or not.
He shuddered as he stepped out into the courtyard behind Yddris's house, suppressing memories of a few nights before as they surged to the surface. Everything looked different under the glow of magic – Yddris's yard was rune-warded, while the one near Darin's house hadn't been – but it was close enough to make him uneasy. He looked up, savouring the night air against his face. There were no stars, only the burnt-umber glow of city fires, tinged green by rune warding. A dark arrow shot across the sky, a screech reverberating over the streets. Jordan watched until he couldn't see the Marrowhawk anymore. He stood in one tiny corner of a vast web of runes, and if he really focused he could feel it vibrate from demon attacks and Unspoken retaliation all across the city. It was such a huge network with so many threads that focusing on it for too long gave him vertigo.
He shook himself out and pumped a shallow basin of water from the barrel by the back door, and grimaced as chunks of ice plopped into the water.
He brought the basin inside. Koen sat by the fireplace, stirring the pot. Jordan's stomach growled. He waited for nausea to descend, but in the warmth of the front room, with the lingering magic traces that a dozen Unspoken had left there, the demon attack felt like it happened to someone else. Safe – or as safe as it could get anywhere.
"Can I heat this up?" he asked. In better lighting, it became apparent that his bathing water was more a slush than a bath.
"Course." Koen unhooked the pot. He gestured for the basin, and then hung it up by its handles from the hooked chains that trailed from the spit. "I'll mention that to Yddris, it'll be frozen solid by next week if we aren't careful. He might let me ward it." Excitement crept into his voice.
"I though runes were just for repelling demons."
"Nah. They can do all sorts. A lot of it's just pointless." Koen cocked his head, thinking. "But if I could just make the net sit at the right angle, and then..." he trailed off, then went to his pack in the corner of the room, dug out a leather-bound journal, and started scribbling in it. Jordan ambled to the fire to watch the progress of the melting ice, but couldn't help sneaking a few glances in Koen's direction. The man's concentration was absolute, and Jordan didn't want to disturb it, no matter how curious he was.
He had washed and dressed by the time Koen resurfaced from his work. Someone had cleaned his cloak for him while he'd been in bed; it smelled faintly of herbs and was no longer spattered with mud around the hem. It was warm and dry. Jordan hadn't realised how stale he felt in that bed until he was no longer in it.
"What is that?" he asked, as Koen tucked the notebook back into his bag. "Like a workbook?"
"Sort of. More a journal." Koen shouldered the pack and headed for the front door. Jordan looked at the abandoned pot of food – he was quite hungry, now he thought about it – and then dragged himself along behind. A sharp wind whisked his breath from him as he stepped outside, setting his teeth on edge. Every time he left the house the air was several degrees more bitter.
"Night take me, that nips," Koen said. He paused with the door half-closed. "Wait there a minute."
He darted back inside, and returned a few moments later with two waterskins. He closed the door, handed one of the skins to Jordan, and said, "Careful, it's hot."
Jordan sniffed at the top of the container, and his stomach growled at the smell of soup.
"Genius," he muttered, clutching it close. Welcome heat seeped through his gloves.
"Just Koen is fine," Koen said, a grin in his voice. "Come on."
Koen led him down the hill into the city. Jordan was content to listen as Koen talked at him, eating as they walked. They were the only ones out, but he didn't mind; people dodging him in the street would probably have brought it all down on him again. He caught himself wishing that things had always been this simple – as simple as anything could get with the Gift, at least – and that he and Koen were just friends and that was all there was to it. But it wasn't; the Devils loomed like phantoms on the fringe of every thought, the part of his life no one could ever know about.
"Where exactly are we going?" he asked. They had reached the marketplace. Frost glistened on the cobbles, a stretch of slippery no-man's-land that Koen looked to have every intention of crossing. Jordan's calf muscles bunched in anticipation.
"This way." To Jordan's relief, Koen turned away from the icy crossing and took one of the branching streets instead. For a while it ran parallel to the Threadneedle, but turned sharply right halfway up. Whereas the Threadneedle was a broad avenue of open-fronted shops, this street was dominated by private practices sporting brass plaques engraved with names. The similarity to streets Jordan had seen back home threw him. Though the writing was foreign, it was a road Jordan could have walked down on earth, a row of tall buildings with heavy knockers and steep front steps. But there were no advertisements in the windows, only creaking wooden signs painted with murals of the services offered – teeth, herbs, hair – and the thick smell of tar from somewhere nearby.
The towering buildings broke rank further on, making room for a church-like building that presided over the only open space in the street. It was a low-slung, one-storey building surrounded by benches and shrubs, and the heavy doors were propped open. An eye peered out from a huge engraving above the entrance, a stone teardrop resting on the pinnacle of the archway.
"An old Medica," Koen said, "It was abandoned a few years ago when a bigger one was built on the other side of the market square, but the Lady Kerrin bought it to use as a triage centre for the dark season."
"Oh, right," Jordan said. He didn't see why they were here, or what was supposed to cheer him up. Further up the road, a pub sign swung gently in the breeze. That establishment had a much better chance of raising his spirits.
"There aren't as many Sisters as they need to staff it properly, so Kerrin hired people from all over the city to help," Koen continued, opening the gate and leading him into the courtyard, "including a few from Harkenn's staff."
"Oh." Jordan stepped up to the door. He paused. "Oh."
"I think Yddris might have put a word in," Koen said. He shuffled past and opened the door, revealing a large hall dotted with occupied beds, huddles of refugees and beggars. There was no escape now; they'd been spotted. One of the women from the Medica, face half-hidden as always, reached them before Jordan had decided whether or not to turn and run.
It wasn't that he didn't want to see Grace, but she had been so distant before. What would she do if she knew he almost killed someone just a few nights before? That he had fetched money for an assassin of all people? He felt dirty, like his guilt was written on him somewhere for her to read. But they were inside by then, and suddenly Grace was in front of him.
She didn't see him at first. She was handing out soup from a huge tureen to a shambling line of the injured and the homeless. While Jordan looked like Nictaven had carved more out of him every time he looked in the mirror, Grace was robust and pink-cheeked. She looked tired, but was no longer so grey and thin. A flame of resentment sparked that he scrambled to extinguish, but it only smouldered. She didn't have the Gift, didn't need to fight demons. She wasn't pestered by an assassin who had no business roaming free. That was all him; all of it had fallen to him, and the island had been her idea in the first place!
He crushed that ugly thought, revolted. He hadn't blamed Grace at the start and it wasn't fair to blame her for anything that happened since.
"Grace," he said, trying to inject some enthusiasm into his voice. His sister looked up, spotted him, and dropped the ladle with a splash. Another girl hurried up to take over as she darted from behind the table and skidded to a stop two feet away.
"Wait," she said. "Shit. Which one are you?"
Jordan frowned, and then realised Koen stood beside him.
"M'lady," Koen greeted, pretending to tip a hat.
"Berk," Jordan muttered, elbowing him out of the way. Koen playfully ribbed him back.
"You two have a nice chat," he said. "You can thank me later."
He wandered away to talk to some of the patients, and the room faded as Jordan stared into Grace's face. She looked so healthy. He felt like a ghost of himself in comparison.
"You look good," he said. He hoped he didn't sound as bitter as he felt.
"Thanks," Grace replied. "I don't know how you look."
She meant it as a joke, but it fell flat. He became abruptly conscious of eyes on them from around the room. "Is there anywhere a bit more private?"
"The office?"
She led him past the food station and into a small side chamber. It was furnished only with a heavy table, a few writing implements and some ledgers. There was no light source, so Grace left the door slightly ajar to allow a slice of light in with them. He could no longer make out her expression, but it was something of a relief.
"Are you alright?" Grace asked. She still hadn't touched him, and it was impossible not to read anything into it.
"Honestly? No. You?"
"It's getting better," she replied. "I started researching portals in the library. Nothing so far, though."
"Your ability to pick up languages never fails to amaze me."
"Oh," she scoffed, but he sensed her thawing out, "I can't read properly, you know, I'm just picking up key words. When I find something that looks promising I'll get someone else to read it to me."
"Nova, I'm guessing."
Grace stiffened. "I haven't seen her."
Jordan frowned. "By choice?"
"No. She's avoiding me." A thickness distorted his sister's words, and she cleared her throat. "I think someone told Harkenn about us."
"What? Who?"
"I don't know. But there's this pompous dick of an Angel camped out in the kitchen at the moment. Knew her from back along. He said Harkenn warned her off me, but couldn't tell me who gave it away. Or wouldn't. He's an arsehole, at any rate." Grace sniffed. "She's not been allowed into the kitchen for a while."
"Oh." Jordan rubbed the back of his neck. Ren chirruped and nipped at his fingers, and he stroked her head gently to try and think. He couldn't remember the last time it had been this awkward between him and his sister. "Sorry to hear that."
Grace laughed humourlessly. "I suppose you're thinking it's best, huh? Maybe you're right."
"No," he said, and even he recognised how unconvincing it was. "I worry about you. All the time. It was kind of a reassuring that she was looking out for you." He paused. "Even if I find her a bit scary."
Grace slapped his arm. "Don't be mean."
Her grin flashed in the light through the door, and the tension between them eased. It was an issue; he had been hoping Nova would identify Marick's men. Arlen seemed just as determined as ever; there was no evidence she was safe from them yet. On impulse, Jordan pulled his sister into a hug. She stiffened, and then slowly relaxed, looping her arms around his waist. He pretended he hadn't noticed her hesitate.
"Do you think they're still searching for us?" Grace asked, voice muffled by his shoulder. "Back home?"
"Yeah," Jordan whispered. His eyes were hot, throat tight all of a sudden.
"I miss mum and dad."
He squeezed tighter. "I know. I do too."
"I'm trying so hard not to think about it. And sometimes I almost think I can manage. But I can't. I want to go home, Joe."
He had nothing to say. He pressed his cheek against her hair, and realised he hadn't been this close with anyone since he'd last seen her. Human touch felt foreign and unexpected, and it stunned him into silence. Was this how Yddris felt – how long had it been since Yddris had embraced anyone? How long since Nika had?
"Christ, Grace," he said, trying to laugh. "I thought this would cheer us up."
"I know." She giggled, and they pulled apart, but she kept one hand on his arm. "Sorry. I guess it's getting to me today."
He kissed her forehead, which he hadn't done since they were kids. "We'll find a way home. Some day."
Whatever it takes, he thought bitterly.
Grace sighed and hugged him again. He sighed in relief. "Just don't change, Joe, will you? Don't ever change."
"I won't. Promise."
Then he wondered if he'd already broken it.