Questions are ripping through my mind and racing quickly toward daydream and conjecture. I’m imagining the Order as I might find them. I’m imagining Anna, reaching for her, through a gate torn between dimensions. The wooden face of the puppet flashes in between, the carved black letters springing toward my eyes like the rip-off squeal-shot in a horror movie.

“Theseus.”

I look up. Gideon’s back is straight now, and the suitcase is clipped closed.

“This would never have been my choice,” he says. “The moment you came here, you tied my hands.”

“It’s a test, isn’t it?” I ask, and Gideon lowers his eyes. “How bad is it? What’s going to be waiting for us, while you’re in some private train car, or in the backseat of a Rolls, ordering around a chauffeur?”

He doesn’t make a big show of caring. He actually winds his pocket watch.

“Aren’t you even worried about Jestine?”

Gideon picks up his suitcase. “Jestine,” he humphs, moving past me. “Jestine can take care of herself.”

“She’s not really your niece, is she,” I say quietly. He pauses just before opening the sliding door. “Then who is she? Who is she really?”

“Haven’t you figured that out yet?” he asks. “She’s the girl they’ve trained to replace you.”

* * *

“This sausage is unbelievable,” Thomas says around a mouthful.

“Bangers,” Jestine corrects. “We call them bangers.”

“Why the hell would you call them that?” Thomas asks, looking disgusted even as he inhales the rest.

“I don’t know,” Jestine laughs. “We just do.”

I’m barely listening. I’m just robotically shoving things into my mouth, trying not to stare at Jestine. The way she smiles, the easy laugh, how she’s managed to win Thomas over despite his suspicions, all of these things juxtapose with Gideon’s words. I mean, she’s … nice. She hasn’t held any information back, hasn’t lied to us. She hasn’t even acted like we’re worth bothering to lie to. And she seems to care about Gideon, even if it’s obvious that her loyalty is with the Order.

“I’m stuffed,” Thomas declares. “I’m going to go take a shower.” He pushes away from the table and hesitates with a mortified expression. “But I’ll help you clean up first.”

Jestine laughs. “Go,” she says, and slaps his hand away from his plate. “Cas and I can do the washing up.” After making sure she’s serious, he shrugs at me and bounds up the stairs.

“He doesn’t seem too concerned about any of this,” Jestine observes as she picks up plates and carries them to the sink. And she’s right. He doesn’t. “Is he always so … reckless? How long has he been with you?”

Reckless? I’d never think of Thomas as reckless. “A while,” I reply. “Maybe he’s just getting used to it.”

“Have you gotten used to it?”

I sigh and get up to put the jams and jellies back into the refrigerator. “No. You don’t really get used to it.”

“What’s it like? I mean, are you always afraid?” Her back is to me as she asks. My replacement is pumping me for information. Like I’m going to mentor her or something, train her in before my two weeks are up. She looks at me over her shoulder, expectant.

I take a breath. “No. Not afraid exactly. It keeps you on your toes. I guess it’s sort of like crime-scene cleanup. Just interactive.”

She chuckles. She’s tied her hair back to keep it out of the sink, and it hangs down her spine in a long, red-gold rope. It makes me remember how she looked the night we got here, when she jumped us. I might have to take this girl down.

“What’s that smile about?” she asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “Don’t you know about ghosts already? The Order must’ve taught you.”

“I’ve seen my share, I suppose. And I’m ready to tangle, if they come at me.” She rinses a coffee cup and sets it in the strainer. “But not like you are.” Her hands plunge back into the sudsy water, and she yelps.

“What?”

“I cut my finger,” she mutters, and lifts it up. There’s a slice running between her first and second knuckle, and bright red blood mixes with the water, lacing its way down her palm. “There was a chip out of the butter dish. It’s not bad; the water makes it look worse.”

I know that, but I still grab a towel and wrap it around her finger, pressing down. I can feel her pulse through the thin cloth as the cut throbs.