The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)(124)

“Oh,” she said, “interesting,” and wandered away.

The frequent overuse of Nico’s magic was starting to show, even in the manifestation of his dreams. The atmosphere of his subconscious felt thinner, and remaining purposefully inside it was more difficult than usual. He had to wrestle between his need to sleep soundly and the importance of clinging to his conscious thoughts, vacillating between his waking self and his dream self. He could feel himself wavering in some in-between place, ready to snap awake, prepared to slumber more deeply, depending how much energy he exhausted containing Gideon within his consciousness.

At least it was easier the longer the days got, the warmer the weather became. Body temperature was easier to regulate, and even groggy half-sleep was sufficient to remain where he was. The only thing that refused to lessen was his guilt.

“Was it Eilif?” he asked hoarsely.

“No,” Gideon said.

“But how do you know?”

“Because I know.”

“But it could it have been—”

“It wasn’t.”

“But—”

“Sleep,” Gideon advised, and Nico shook his head, forcing himself not to manifest any dancing lollipops or sheep into the ambiance of his dream space.

“Not until I understand this. Not until it makes sense.”

“What doesn’t make sense? You have enemies,” Gideon pointed out. “Libby could have easily been a target for one of the other agencies like yours. Or for anyone.”

“But she’s not a hostage,” Nico said, frustrated. “I could understand it if she were, but—”

He broke off, blinking, and frowned.

One of the other agencies like yours.

“Wait,” he said, and Gideon turned away. “Wait. Wait—”

“Cálmate,” said Gideon, not looking at him.

“Absolutely not,” snapped Nico, rising sharply to his feet. “How long have you known? And how do you know?”

Gideon glanced through the bars at the spare inches between them and then set his mouth grimly, suggesting that Nico should not ask.

“Fuck.” Nico shook his head, furious. “Que cojones hiciste? Tell me you didn’t,” he answered himself, cognizant enough now to indulge the heat of his frustration. “Not after everything I did to keep her out! After every precaution I took, Gideon, fuck—!”

“I didn’t break any wards to meet her,” Gideon countered blandly. “I stayed in here.”

“Jesus,” Nico exhaled, letting his forehead fall against the bars. “Gideon.”

He could feel the twist of Gideon’s tension, the tightening of his knuckles from the other side.

“Listen to me, Nico.” A low warning. “Libby’s gone. You think I’m going to sit back and wonder if you’re next?”

Nico didn’t look up.

“I agreed to meet with my mother on the condition that she would tell me exactly where you were, what you were doing. Which, by the way, I should have known. You should have told me from the start this was more than a—”

Nico winced.

“A fellowship,” Gideon finished with obvious resentment.

“Gideon—”

“There was a catch, obviously. The usual strings. She wants me for a job, and I knew she would.” He paused. “But it was worth it to finally have an answer.”

Nico shut his eyes, warring with his dream self’s need to float away like a balloon.

“What’s the job?”

“I told you, the usual.”

“Meaning what? Theft?”

Gideon shook his head. “Break someone out. For a fee.”

“Break them out of what? Their subconscious?”

“Their conscious mind, actually.”

Nico glanced up with confusion, finding Gideon’s eyes on him. “How is that possible?”

“You really should have taken more electives,” Gideon sighed, but at a pursed look of impatience from Nico, he shrugged. “The mind has mechanisms, Nicky, levers. It is possible to trap certain functions inside it, or to prevent the pieces of a person’s mind from working as intended.”

“So then how would you break in?”

“I wouldn’t,” Gideon said firmly, which Nico did not find particularly reassuring. “I’ll tell my mother it’s impossible. Or I’ll find her the money some other way, she won’t care about the details. Whatever it takes. But I knew she’d tell me where you were.”

“Eilif is a real piece of work,” Nico reminded him gruffly. “She’s basically just a mermaid with a gambling problem.”

“It’s not a gambling problem—”

“It’s close enough,” Nico snapped, though immediately, his head hurt. Worse, Gideon gave him a look that said don’t snap, which he loathed. Mostly because it was effective.

“This Society of yours is not a secret,” Gideon told him. “Not enough of one, anyway. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s corporately funded.”

“So?”

“So money is important, Nico. Don’t you care to know whose pocket you’re in?”

Nico tipped his head back with a groan. “Gideon. Basta.”