I thought of Gabriel again, of the future that now seemed precarious, of the child he couldn’t guarantee, and I lifted my gaze to Seth. “I’ll try anyway. I’ll keep trying, because that’s what I have to do.”
The same smile again, edged with sadness. “Go find your magic maker, Merit. And be careful out there.”
“I will. Good luck, Seth.”
I hoped there was enough to go around.
• • •
My grandfather was waiting in his car when we came back, engine running and heater blasting against the cold.
“Report?” he asked, rolling the window down with its old-fashioned hand crank.
“Winston seems quite normal,” Ethan said. “Whatever delusions he was experiencing, he doesn’t hear them now.”
“The doctors suspect the sedation may have ‘reset’ his brain,” my grandfather said. “And besides that, the building is sealed from magic, thanks to the Order. So the magic won’t affect him while he’s here.”
; Seth moved a step closer. “What kind of something?”
“You don’t feel anything?” Ethan asked.
“In here?” Seth crossed his arms, looked up at the ceiling of his box. “No. But then again, I spend every day in this very warded building. And there have been many of those days.” He looked down again. “I’ve been blocked from magic for many months. Long enough that my ability to sense it has faded, too.”
“The humans who attacked us last night are having delusions,” I said. “As was the vampire who attacked me two nights ago.”
“The Tribune suggested it was an illness.” Tate’s eyes widened. “Are you sick?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “We don’t think it’s a sickness, or anything else contagious, or at least not in the traditional way. We think it’s caused by some kind of unfamiliar magic that carries a chemical smell. Does that mean anything to you?”
Seth lifted his brows. “Technically, everything in the world is a chemical.”
“Industrial, then,” Ethan said.
Seth frowned, linked his hands in front of him. “Not offhand. Each kind of magic, each methodology, has its own characteristics. An industrial smell,” he said, looking down again as he considered. “What else does it do?”
“The affected hear a voice screaming at them, over and over again,” I said.
“What does it scream?”
“Simple phrases,” I said. “‘Hello. Help. I’m here.’”
His brows lifted. “They’re hearing something, or someone, that needs help? Something that’s attempting to contact them?”
“Are those questions or theories?” Ethan asked.
“Yes,” Seth said. He turned, walked to one end of the cell, then turned back. “If you believed it was Sorcha, you wouldn’t be here, asking.”
“Correct,” Ethan said. “The city’s warded, and the wards weren’t breached until the snow.”
Seth nodded. “Do the affected have anything in common?”
“At least two of them, and possibly more than that, were near Towerline when Sorcha made her magic the first time. The delusions didn’t cause the wards to sound, although the snow did.”
“Some sort of latent effect?”
“That’s what we’re thinking,” I said. “What is this, Seth? Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps your first step should be to find out who, or what, needs the help they’re asking for.”