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6

March of a Marionette

I woke in a cocoon of covers. When I opened my eyes to the faint light of morning, it took me a moment to remember why the windows were in the wrong place.

The other side of the bed was cold. I started to sit up, then stopped. Under the languor and the general aches, I was distinctly tender. After almost a year of absence, my period was back.

A sigh escaped me. Now I understood the headache. Roused by the thought of coffee, I checked the sheets, rubbed my eyes, and edged off the bed. A glance at the mirror confirmed that my hair was in rag order—in fact, I looked and felt as if I had rolled backward down a hill.

Once I was done in the bathroom, I crossed the sun-drenched parlor to the kitchen, where Arcturus was steeping coffee. He had cracked open a window, letting in the sounds of rush hour.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Hi.” My voice came out hoarse. “I didn’t keep you up all night with my cough, did I?”

“I am not lightly woken.” Steam rose from the coffee press. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did. I hope you didn’t mind me sharing.”

“Not at all.”

A stillness followed. When I reached past him for the jar of painkillers, his aura raised gooseflesh.

“So,” I said, “still up for training?”

“If you feel strong enough.” He prepared the coffee as if he had all the time in the world. I supposed he did. “We will start gently, with dislocation.”

“Gently.” As I sat at the table, a cramp tightened my stomach. “That would be nice.”

“Are you unwell, Paige?”

“Fine. My uterus is just confirming that it will not be growing a baby this month. With good reason,” I said, “since a tiny, defenseless human is notreallywhat I need while I’m on the run from the agents of tyranny.”

“You are menstruating.”

“I am menstruating,” I confirmed gravely.

“I see.” His eyes darkened. “Is it very painful?”

I considered.

“I’ve never had to describe it before,” I said, musing. “I suppose it’s like having all my lower organs crammed right down to my pelvis, then soaked in boiling water, so they’re sore and swollen. It’s a heavy, aching . . . downward-ness. But then it also feels like I’ve been kicked in the back. And the stomach. And the legs. Oh, and I’ve got a splitting headache.”

Arcturus had stopped plunging the coffee.

“And you feel able to train,” he said, after a long pause. “While experiencing those sensations.”

I rubbed the corner of my eye. “I’m grand.”

He watched me for several moments, then returned to the coffee. I was sure he was being gentler with it.

“Once we have practiced dislocation for a day or two,” he said, while he poured, “you can attempt to possess me.”

A daunting prospect. I had walked in his dreamscape, but never controlled him. The one time I had possessed a Rephaite—Nashira—it had been for a matter of seconds, and it had ripped the stuffing out of me.

“Possessing Rephaim is difficult.” I kneaded the small of my back. “From what I remember.”

“That is why that skill will prove useful. If you master it, you should find possessing humans easy in comparison.”