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All this served as a reminder that Frère was the enemy, a disciple of the anchor who craved the extinction of clairvoyants. I would still treat her body with as much respect as I could afford it, and not abuse my power any more than necessary. She had her morals. I had mine.

There was one more thing to consider. To guard against my ability to infiltrate its buildings, Scion had taught some of its personnel to recognize the signs of possession. I had learned that the hard way in Manchester. There was no telling who in the Hôtel Garuche—if anyone—had been informed I was still alive. Who might be able to catch me out. This possession had to be flawless.

****

Early one morning, Arcturus found me chewing oatmeal in the kitchen, eyes puffy. My soul-destroying cough had kept me up all night again. It seemed as if it was getting worse, not better.

“Possess me,” he said, in French. It was all we spoke now.

I finished my mouthful of oatmeal. “It’s half past five.”

“We do not have long until February. You have regained your ability to dislocate your spirit. Now you need to dreamwalk.”

He had kept his promise to push me. I abandoned my half-eaten meal and followed him.

In the cellar, we faced one another on the flagstones.

“To kill with your spirit, you must be fast and firm, as you know,” Arcturus said. “For a silent possession, however, you should glide into the dreamscape. The gentler you are, the smaller the chance that your host will bleed.”

“It’s hard to breach the dreamscape without some force. If I’m too slow, Frère will notice the pressure.”

“Then be quick. Quick, but light-handed. In any case, Frère is amaurotic. She will have few defenses.”

His own defenses were lowering. “Maybe we can skip all this,” I said, thinking aloud. “You and I combined our gifts to steal a memory from Vance. Could we do that to Frère?”“Not without alerting her.”“She might not realize what was happening.”“And if she does?” he said, even-toned. “If Vance warned anyone of what we can do?”He had a point. In this case, possession might carry less risk. I weighed up whether to take it slow, or to be ruthless.

“Brace yourself,” I said.

I cast off all restraints and jumped.

It was agony. Red-hot agony. A moment later, I was too far away to feel it. I slipped into his dreamscape and walked past the red drapes that hung there, my fingers luminous against them. They lit an otherwise dark place. In his mind, I glowed like a candle.

Arcturus waited for me in the centre of his dreamscape. Seeing me approach, he stepped aside so I could take control. I was careful not to make contact with him as we switched places.

Possessing him was far harder than taking hold of a human. I fought to find purchase, to fill him—but little by little, my host accepted me, and the training room shivered into relief.

Arcturus was sighted. Three ghosts appeared as glowing threads in front of him. I had a moment to marvel before my senses were blown open, and I almost crashed to my knees. His knees.

I had never experienced the æther like this. Not only could I see its inhabitants, but I could feel it in a way I had never imagined was possible. He carried it within him, in his very blood. In my own dreamscape, I was a bubble in black water—aware of the æther, in touch with it, yet shielded from it, too. Though I was voyant, I was human, and flesh muffled the æther. Sarx conducted it.

The initial shock began to fade. When I willed his fingers to move, they rewarded me by flinching.

Very good.

“Wait, how are you talk—?” I started when his voice rolled out. “Oh, wow. I forgot I was going to sound like you.”

I am sorry if my voice disappoints you.

“It’s a beautiful voice. I’m just feeling the pressure to use fancy vocabulary,” I said. “At least you sound less of a Sasanach now.” My accent lilted up his words. “Seriously, though, you should be out of action. Why can I hear you?”

Another side effect of the golden cord, no doubt.

“Great. A body with a back seat driver.”

If you would prefer silence . . .

“No, no. It’s your body. Bloody hell, your voice is deep,” I ground out. “It’s almosttiringto have a voice this deep.” I squared his shoulders. “I thought I was sensitive to the æther, but this is something else. It’s as if you exist on both planes.”

Not restfully. To be a creature of the in-between is to not belong on either side.