The old ballroom of the mansion lit up with irritating electric light. On Earth, exiles fought the darkness any way they could manage. But charged wires in bulbs? These things chased the shadows to be sure. Even some makers used them on Hidria, but Saul always found them harsh in the old ballroom.

  The chandelier lights cast the shadows of Olivia, Irene, Cecilia, and Morrie along the clay-stained wooden floor, intermingled with the shapes of unfinished art-children on their stands. In the center of the room, the only one he still considered useful stood, all seven feet bathed in the glow from above.

  Nat flitted back and forth on the card table where Saul had been working that morning. Odot’s broken-off passage blade sat on the table nearby. Irene stopped by the entryway.

  She leaned against the wall and folded her arms. She had said little on their way back from campus, but it was clear from her posture and the few words she had spoken, she disliked that he had gone off on his own.

  Olivia had been more open.

  “He’s right. You bit off more than you could chew.”

  “I appreciate that opinion, especially because so many people seem to hold it.”

  She scowled at him. “It’s a bad habit, Saul. You were lucky this time.”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  “I’m definitely right. Even your creepy ex agrees with me.”

  He frowned at her, then shrugged. “If I had not intervened, Apahar might be completely free now.”

  “So putting yourself in stupid danger was justified? You aren’t invulnerable.”

  “No. I’m not.”

  “Don’t fight alone next time.”

  He nodded. “Next time.” They had walked back to the mansion, wary of gern, and of Simon’s children. Just because Simon had helped drive off Apahar did not mean he would necessarily give Olivia any time to rest or prepare. The law of the council dictated earth-born exiles could not know the truth and be allowed to live, and this new guardian appeared to be a true believer in that law.

  Back to the mansion, to the electric chandelier in the ballroom.

  Saul stalked to the center of the room with Olivia close behind him. He stopped before the wooden stand where the faceless form of his unfinished warrior art-child loomed. He paced around to the broad back of the still form.

  Carved into that back was a series of circles and intersecting lines that indicated the taph of the child. Once he invested his spark, these symbols would serve to delineate the powers of the newborn creation. He had built the creature to be physically and mentally strong, to be able to disguise his form with illusions so as to be less conspicuous among the earth-born, and to be able to see through the skin of lies that hid gern from sight.

  Yet, the most vital aspect of this taph was contained in the three diagonal lines that stretched from the large circle at the center of the diagram down to the tiny one near the base of the sculpture’s spine. These lines intersected with each other at the point they joined the circles’ edge, an unusual choice. When one built an art-child to bond to an existing taph, the lines typically connected to the circle separately.

  The difference would allow this child to bond to an unwilling taph, and that could be Saul’s salvation. Gern, whether made from taphs or aleph shards, lacked the mobile soul that carried the human taph between worlds when the body died. If this child were to bond to a human taph from a dying body, the soul would still move on. However, if it bonded to a gern’s taph, the gern would be bound to fight the child to retain its own powers lest they be subsumed, body and mind.

  Ambitious? Yes.

  Daring? Perhaps.

  Saul dared wonder if this could be hope to defeat Apahar. Hope accomplished little. Saul circled the child’s stand and then turned to the table where the passage blade sat.

  Olivia stood beside it, frowning. “Why did you take this thing?” she asked.

  “Every abei-gern has a passage blade,” said Saul.

  “I know that. I’ve been hunting gern longer than you, remember?”

  Saul nodded. “Right. Forgive me. Gern use these blades to cut the veil that separates each world from the gray between.” He put one hand on the tabletop. Carefully, he slid his hand under the blade and picked it up by the shining metallic flat. “I want to use this blade to give my new child the same ability to cut between worlds.”

  She frowned. “How would that work?”

  “It should be simple enough. I have already prepared the child to bond with other taphs. This passage blade will be his first test.”

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  Rult prowled out from under the card table. “You’re going to wake this one up?”

  Saul nodded to the cat-like art-child. “He will be your new brother.”

  Olivia frowned up at the towering frame of the unfinished creature. “He doesn’t have a face.”

  “Not yet,” said Saul. “But by morning, he will.”

  “You think finishing it will take that long?” Olivia asked.

  Irene scoffed from across the room. “How little does this exile know?”

  Saul shot an annoyed glance at Irene, then turned to Olivia. “I don’t know, but this will be more difficult than making Rult.”

  Olivia nodded. She turned to Cecilia and Morrie. “Looks like it won’t be safe for you to go back to the dorms tonight.”

  “We have to find George,” said Morrie. “Who knows what happened to him?”

  “I do,” said Saul.

  Morrie’s eyes widened. “You saw him? Is he alright?”

  “I saw him.” Saul put a thumb to his lip. “For now, he seems to be fine.”

  Cecilia sighed with relief and turned to Morrie. “That’s good news. We can find him tomorrow.”

  “So, where are we supposed to stay?”

  Saul shrugged. “This house is huge. Pick a bedroom.”

  Morrie frowned. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. This is still the safest place in town right now.” Other than the passage house, Saul added mentally, but any of these three would be killed if they went there. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye out for trouble.”

  Morrie’s eyes moved to Cecilia. She put a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right.”

  “This is all crazy,” said Morrie, “But right now it seems that way.” He looked ready to cry, but his voice remained firm as he turned to Saul. “We don’t have any choice but to trust you.”

  “Sorry,” said Saul, surprising himself with the sound of sincerity. “I’ll do what I can to protect you.”

  “What you can?” Cecilia walked closer and looked up at the frame of the incomplete child. “Including bringing clay to life?”

  “As it turns out, yes.” Saul looked at the red-haired girl. Her pale face reminded him a little of Irene, but with the real article standing in the same room, he shoved that comparison out of the way. “Where I come from, all the natives have this power.”

  “And you come from a place called Hidria, where people go when they die.” Cecilia whistled. “It’s not easy to believe.”

  “I have a feeling that you won’t need to believe me for long.” Saul’s eyes flicked to Olivia. “Even with this child, I don’t think I can defeat Apahar and his gern alone.”

  “You’re not alone,” said Olivia.

  Irene stopped with her mouth half-open and shot a dark look at Olivia from behind. Had she meant to say the same? A flicker of warmth toward his first love returned for a moment, despite the scars from burns and cuts she had left him.

  “Thank you.” Saul set down the passage blade. He folded his hands behind his back. “Based on the records of how Apahar was imprisoned on Earth by the ancients, it will take an army to drive back Apahar’s line. He had an entire fifth of all known abei-gern at his command back then, and the creatures have multiplied in the intervening time.”

  “How long ago was that battle?” asked Morrie with what sounded for the first time like more curiosity than annoyance. “I mean, you say Apaahar is under Kerenger—”

  “Beneath Gatewood Hall,” said Saul, “Yes.”

  “Right, but Gatewood Hall is at least two hundred years old. And you said the makers who beat him the first time were ancients.”

  “Seffuinn was the maker leader. He, or maybe she, records are ambiguous, led the force against Apahar.”

  “Okay,” said Morrie, with a tinge of annoyance. “If you’ll stop interrupting me, can you tell me how long ago this was?”

  “No one is exactly certain. At least eight thousand years, and possibly many more than that.”

  Morrie’s eyes widened slightly. “Eight. Thousand. More?”

  “It was early in the history of Hidria, yes. My people were only just pioneering the art of worldmaking, and our numbers were far fewer than now.” Saul turned his back on them and looked up at the faceless mask of his incomplete hope. “At the time, the focus of the greatest makers was on the creation of a governing entity.”

  Olivia walked to his side. She tilted her head toward him. “You never told me about this before.”

  Morrie made a huffing sound. “Okay, what does ‘governing entity’ mean?”

  Irene broke her silence with a derisive snort. “You exiles call the idea ‘god,’ here on earth.”

  Olivia glanced over her shoulder at Irene. Saul turned toward her and nodded.

  Irene shook her head. “None of them succeeded. A perfect art-child cannot be made. And that would be required for a governing entity to exist.”

  Saul closed his eyes and took a long breath. “That is true, but some of the godmakers came close. They created art-children of tremendous power.” He looked at Irene. “Even

  Irene agrees with that.”

  Irene rolled her eyes at Saul. “I’d be a fool not to acknowledge a fact.”

  Cecilia shot a nervous glance at Morrie, then looked at Saul. “Could they make something that can take over a person?”

  The unspoken part of her question hung in the air. How did Simon’s children control her and George? Saul did not like the answer he had to give for the sake of honesty.

  He shrugged. “Such an ability is unknown to me, but makers keep secrets.”

  Cecilia’s face fell. “We still don’t know how he’s doing it then, so we can’t know how to stop it.”

  “True,” said Saul. “But I doubt someone working as a guardian has the talent to create anything near as powerful as a puppeteer art-child. Such skill would have gained him notoriety, even in the Cardwynn Family.”

  “You shouldn’t underestimate him, just because you used to be a challenger.” Irene sighed. “That’s one reason you are here on Earth and not living in your own world, Saul.”

  Saul glared at Irene. “Thank you for the reminder.” He sighed. “As things are, you four have done all you can tonight.”

  Irene turned back to the entrance hall with a flip of her hand. “Good night, Saul.”

  “So, she’s staying here too?” asked Morrie. “Can we trust her?”

  “She isn’t a guardian, and I doubt she is working with Simon. For now, I don’t think there is a better way to keep an eye on her.”

  Olivia scowled at him. “I suppose you don’t consider it safe for me to go home either?”

  Saul’s face heated up. “Correct. Right now, this is the only place we can all protect each other.”

  She nodded. “Guess I’ll call in and ask for someone to cover my shift tomorrow morning.”

  “Probably for the best.”

  Cecilia stretched an arm over her head and stifled a yawn. “I think I need to sleep.”

  “Take a room upstairs,” said Saul. “There’s space.”

  Morrie and Cecilia left the ballroom. He heard them walk through the entrance hall and start up the stairs. Olivia sat down in one of the folding chairs near the center of the room.

  She motioned to the tower of the incomplete art-child. “Go on. I want to see how you finish this thing.”

  Saul took a deep breath and then nodded. “Rult, mix me some clay. Nat, dim those damned lights. This will take some time.”