Noah laughed at that, which made him cough. He took a drink from the flask to quiet the hacking, then shook his head.

“Not new, no. I never expected to be here, but none of this is surprising. It is what it is. Or it’s a shadow of what it should be. It’ll do. The days are late and things are falling apart.”

Cyrus probably thought it amusing to give Lindsay someone who spoke in the same sort of cryptic, poetic riddles that drove him mad coming from Cyrus and Ezqel. Perfect. It wasn’t as though Lindsay had expected to be rewarded for the events that had led to them fleeing New York and landing in Atlantic City—and it had felt like landing, despite Cyrus’s claim that he had come to this place to wait for someone, a young woman who would soon come into her magic—but this was starting to feel suspiciously like punishment.

“Throw me a bone, would you?” Lindsay muttered. “I’m trying not to completely fuck you up. Your magic is new. Is there anything else I need to know to keep from screwing up here?”

“You don’t need to worry about anything except making sure I don’t kill anyone. Not that it’s likely to happen.” He pulled his left hand from his pocket and held it out. The wound where his ring finger was missing was raw and ugly and new, barely held closed with half a dozen stitches. Stitches. Not magical healing.

When he shook his hand, a bracelet slid out from under his sleeve to rest at the base of it. The bracelet wasn’t ornamental, it was heavy and ancient, the dull metal hacked with deep runes like black gashes and set with raw gems that probably would have been priceless if they’d been cut. There was no opening to it, and it looked too small to have fit over his hand.

“My father wouldn’t offend Cyrus by sending me here the way I am,” Noah said mildly. “I don’t know what Cyrus expects of you. I know what’s expected of me.”

It took a moment for Lindsay to realize what Noah was saying, and what, exactly, Noah had on his wrist. He could feel the blood draining from his face and he had to cut Noah off, shoving him and two strangers out of his way as he ran for the nearest alley. His stomach heaved and he barely managed to keep his shoes clear of the mess.

The velvet on his chest was warmer than anything he’d felt in this awful place, but the collar on his throat was like ice. It closed with a click and a tiny, silvery noise. A collar for his throat, a cuff for each wrist.

“Only very special mages got to wear this, you know.” The warmth of the velvet left him and clear, glassy eyes like marbles filled his vision. “Celare.”

“Start the experiment.”

Hands braced on the brick wall in front of him, Lindsay struggled to catch his breath and fight down the next wave of nausea. Why the fuck would Cyrus do that to him? Cyrus knew, Dane knew, and neither of them had warned him. Instinct had him touching his wrists, but he made himself turn to check on Noah.

“We’re going back to Cyrus. You’re getting that off.”

“Are you all right?”

The alley had been nearly pitch black, but now Noah held a soft yellow flame cupped in his right hand. He was rigid with tension and his hand shook, yet he managed to keep the flame steady.

Noah could still use his magic. That meant the bracelet wasn’t the same as what Moore had used on Lindsay. That was something.

“I’ll live. Cyrus and Dane might be a little worse for wear, but I’ll be all right.”

Lindsay was going to have a long talk with both of them. Binding him to a mage he knew nothing about was one thing, but not telling him about the artifact controlling Noah’s magic was something Lindsay couldn’t let go.

He pushed away from the wall and swallowed down the rush of nausea that spiked again. He took a deep breath and shook his hair back out of his face.

“Let me see it?”

“Do you want it off?” The light from Noah’s fire cast his features into sharp relief; he looked gaunt and aged, like a carving of a tribal mask.

“Yes.” The risk that Noah might kill them all the way he’d destroyed so many cigarettes in the last few days wasn’t enough to change Lindsay’s answer. “We’ll find another way. I don’t know what the hell it is, but I don’t want it on you.”

“You’ll have to take it off.” Noah held out his hand. “We call this magic barre salvetet. It’s a very old one, old enough that it doesn’t quite fit my magic. That’s why I could make fire, still, a little. The word to end it is finiri. To put it back on, oriri. My will won’t make it work, now that things are decided. It is not so old that it forgets the way of things.”

Lindsay didn’t want to touch it, didn’t want to have anything to do with something like that, but he wanted it off Noah more. That he could simply speak a word and the bracelet would come off but that Noah couldn’t do the same... Noah really was his in a way that the magic understood.

When Lindsay touched his fingertips to the metal, it was hot like he’d imagined Noah’s skin would be.

“Finiri,” he whispered. The bracelet had been far too small to move past Noah’s hand, but somehow it landed in Lindsay’s palm with a faint ringing tone. He nearly dropped it in surprise and disgust, but managed to slip it into his pocket first. He’d decide what to do with it later.

The alley went dark as Noah let the fire go. “I’m sorry to have offended you,” he said, with a formality to his words that reminded Lindsay of when he’d spoken to Cyrus.

“It’s not you.” Lindsay didn’t want Noah to think it was anything he’d done. There was enough reason for tension and distance and confusion between them without that. “I can’t...” He took another slow breath and explained, “I wore something very much like it, under other circumstances, and Cyrus knew it when he gave you to me.”

“Cyrus couldn’t have accepted me without it.” Noah stepped back. “Nor could my father have given me over. It would have been wrong to do to all of us.” His tone was dull, like he was tired. “And it’s better than the alternative. For some things, even some terrible things, the necessity of them overrides all else.

Whether we like it or not.”

“If Cyrus believed in the necessity of it, he shouldn’t have given you to me.”

Now Lindsay realized the barre had been—like Noah himself—a wordless challenge from Cyrus and he had no intention of telling Cyrus, or Dane for that matter, that he’d panicked at the sight of it. Whether he succeeded or failed at the challenge set before him depended on Noah, but it also depended on Lindsay stepping up and doing what needed to be done.

He’d taken care of the barre. Now, he had to take care of Noah.

Lindsay stalked out of the alley and turned the corner. It was time to take Noah to the abandoned school. There was a huge gymnasium that had been stripped down after the school had been closed, and it would be perfect to work in.

“Besides, you have to learn to control it on your own. No artifact is going to hold your magic back if it wants out badly enough.” Lindsay knew that first-hand, and he knew how much damage the resulting fracture could cause.

“Don’t assume I didn’t want to wear it. Nor that my magic wants ‘out’.” Noah took out his flask and opened it, then offered it to Lindsay.

The sour taste of vomit was enough to push Lindsay into swishing something that tasted like fire through his mouth. Maybe he’d have been better off with the vomit. He forced himself to swallow and passed the flask back to Noah with a muffled cough.

“I don’t want to know what that is. Christ. But your magic must be new if you can’t tell it’s itching to get out. Look at you. You’re burning up, and I don’t know how many cigarettes I’ve seen burst into flames in the past few days.”