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Sonder did not gape at him or gasp as some of the others did. He’d seen all this coming. Had for weeks. “I’ll share our protocol, discoveries, and all our research if you will reinstate Ariatne Morrow at TCD.” More murmurs echoed through the council and the audience.

Lynch had his meaty hands in fists on the council table while Rochford’s steely grey eyes bore into him. “You have a deal. On one condition. Miss Morrow can come here and pledge her life to Agamemnon and share her research herself.”

Sonder’s stomach turned. Atta would never agree to that. Nor did he want her to, but she could return to her studies, to her beloved college. She shouldn’t have to sell her soul to do it. “You should be kissing the fucking ground Ariatne Morrow walks on,” he spat through gritted teeth. “She shouldn’t have to dance to your tune to be granted entry back into Trinity, not when she’s single-handedly responsible for saving this goddamn city.”

Nial Rochford’s even demeanour cracked. “Ariatne Morrow is responsible for the deaths of multiple people and a multitude of crimes.”

That was when Sonder began to shout, to bellow horrible things at them, cursing them to high heaven until someone dragged him out—Walsh and Mariana, he realised when they made it outside.

Sitting on the cathedral steps, Mariana O’Sullivan laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry I got you into this mess,” she said gently.

Sonder looked up at her, arms slung on his bent knees. “I’m not.”

“She’ll need to make the decision herself, pet.”

Mariana was right. “See if you can get her here.”

Atta

Imogen wouldn’t get out of the car.

“What am I supposed to do?” Gibbs shouted.

Emmy had her arms crossed over her chest, and she bent to look into the window, her face twisted. “Did you abduct her or something?”

“I didn’tabducther,” Gibbs groused.

Marguerite rapped on the window with her knuckles. “Dear, it’s quite brisk out here. You can’t stay in there all day.”

Imogen flipped her off.

Marguerite frowned and delicately crossed the broken cobbles in her designer heels. “Isn’t she a delight?”

Imogen shouted something, but her voice was too muffled by the car. Atta approached with little patience. Despite the vision seared into her brain of Imogen succumbing to a Stage 4 Inhabitation, the girl before her was as infuriating as ever.

“What?” she questioned with as much congeniality as she could muster. “We can’t hear you.”

“This place is creepy!” Imogen pointed through the window at Murdoch Manor.

“This is Professor Murdoch’s place,” Atta raised her voice so Imogen could hear.

As expected, Imogen wound down the window a crack, unable to resist that juicy detail. “Why are you all at the spooky, sexy professor’s house?”

“It’s a lot to explain. Would you come inside and we’ll do our best?”

Reluctantly, and with quite a lot more coaxing, Imogen made it inside.

Explaining she was a target for the Plague, however, did not go well. Atta could only imagine how it would go to explain it wasn’t even a sickness but a faerie that wanted to possess her.

Gibbs was sweeping up three broken glasses Imogen had smashed against the wall before she tuckered herself out with her fit when the phone rang.

Resigned, Atta went to answer it.

“Atta?” A familiar voice came over the line, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Who is this?”

“Mariana O’Sullivan, dear.”