THIRTEEN

STEEL SNAKES AROUND MY WRISTS AND PINS me to the table. I struggle to see in the blinding light, and the smells of whiskey and renewal patches cause me to thrash against the cold metal. His Stream voice—the one that’s both patronizing and charming—melts in my ear. It oozes into my consciousness as his form comes into view.

“Darling, why struggle? You can’t stop this.”

I slam my chest against his, but it doesn’t help, and his breath stays hot on my ear. I feel Cormac’s lips press down against my skin and my body bursts into flames, my bones cracking and shattering, my blood rushing into my hands and feet. I’ve lost the ability to fight him, and all I can do is scream.

I wake with a start. I can’t escape Cormac any more than I can escape my dreams.

Cormac, who can’t die, who never ages, who uses Arras-knows-what technology to maintain his youth eternally. With each minute that passes here, many more pass in Arras, giving Cormac time to build a plan of attack. He won’t ever let me go because he has an endless amount of time to devote to finding me and destroying me.

In the Coventry, when I warped moments of privacy for Jost and me, I imagined lingering there, living an entire life safely away from my responsibility to the Guild. I never knew the Guild had done the same, creating a timeline that allowed them to move forward with unspeakable plots against those who rose up against them on Earth and in Arras. They’d corrupted the very strands of the universe.

Jost, Erik, and I breakfast in the sitting room of my suite the next morning. Through one door is my bedroom, and on the other side is the room they’ve given Jost. I thought the accommodations of the Coventry were luxurious, but these rooms border on lavish: heavy blue curtains line the walls and the intricately carved hearth looks to be hundreds of years old. I’m not sure I could even use it if I wanted to. Overhead, winged angels watch us from the painted ceiling. A valet brings coffee and pastries on a silver cart, but my choice of topic causes us to leave the food untouched. I’ve kept this from Jost and Erik for far too long, waiting until I could grasp it myself, but they need to know what we’re up against.

“So you’re saying Cormac is over two hundred years old?” Erik says. “I thought he looked good for his age.”

“Yeah, it seems like renewal patches are even better than we thought,” I say.

“But how?” Jost asks. “How would no one notice that?”

“I think that’s a question for Kincaid,” I say. “He must know about this if he was a Guild official once. He was probably here at the beginning.” The fact that Kincaid could also be two hundred years old sends bile rising in my throat.

“Are there more Tailors like Dante here?”

“I don’t know, but there are Tailors in Arras. Dante claims the Guild retrieves them like they do Spinsters, but that all traces of the boys and their families disappear,” I say.

“Makes sense,” Erik says.

“How does that make sense?” Jost asks incredulously.

“Well, if I was trying to hide the fact that I was two hundred years old from everyone, I’d cover up how I did it, too. If they use the Tailors to cover up their conspiracy, they have to ensure no one knows the Tailors exist,” Erik says, “and the Tailors have nowhere to go. They’re dependent on the Guild, even more so than Spinsters.”

“Unless they run,” I say quietly.

“And then they’re stuck here,” Erik adds.

Earth isn’t exactly a paradise, and the Guild has made sure it’s even less possible every year to inhabit it, by stealing more and more of the planet’s resources. What the Tailors do is monstrous, but deep down I feel sorry for them. I know what it’s like to be caged, to feel like you have no options. The Guild systematically destroyed every option the Tailors had. How could they fight that?

“Dante said Tailors are everywhere in Arras. Medics. Guards. Doctors,” I tell them. “Did either of you know about this?”

“I would have mentioned it,” Jost says, and Erik gives an awkward laugh. At least they’re trying with each other.

“But why would they cooperate?” I wonder.

“Why do Spinsters?” Erik asks. “Given the right incentive, anyone can be bought.”

“Not anyone,” Jost says.

There goes the friendliness.

“I haven’t told you the weirdest part yet,” I interrupt. Taking a deep breath, I reveal my true relationship to Dante.

Erik blinks and Jost frowns. They either didn’t hear me or they’re in shock.

“So your dad is nineteen?” Erik says.

I nod.

“And you never knew he was your real father?”

“Oh, do you mean I never knew my real father was my father’s brother, who left my mother pregnant and escaped to an alternate reality before I was born?” I ask in a scathing tone, hoping the cracks in my voice aren’t too noticeable.

“So you didn’t know,” Erik says.

“I went from being an orphan to having two living parents—”

“Sort of,” Erik interjects.

“Not helping, Erik.”

“He’s your father,” Jost says. The frown has slipped from his face, and he’s far away again.

“Yes,” I confirm.

“He missed everything,” Jost says in a voice so low I barely hear him.

“Sorry?”

“He’s been away your whole life,” Jost says.