The Atlas Six (The Atlas, #1)(31)

“You can’t bring anyone else into the house,” said Dalton, as an apparent amendment. “But as it would be near impossible to accomplish anyway, I don’t bother including it as a caveat.”

“Do you live here as well?” asked Parisa.

“On the grounds,” Dalton confirmed evasively.

“If there’s any sort of problem—” Libby chirped.

“This is not a school,” Dalton clarified again, “and as such, there is no headmaster to alert in the event that any of you find yourselves dissatisfied. If there is indeed a problem, it belongs to the six of you collectively. Anything else?”

Nothing.

“Very well, goodnight,” said Dalton, as the six of them wandered off to find their rooms.

Much like the house itself, the bedrooms were incredibly English, each room occupied by identical four-poster beds, reasonably sized desks and wardrobes, and a single vacant bookshelf. Nico’s room, which was the first door on the left, was beside Callum’s and across from Reina’s. Libby looked uneasy as she made her way to the end of the hall with Tristan, which Nico supposed was unsurprising. She had a great fear of being disliked, and he doubted Tristan had ever truly liked anyone. Thus far, Nico’s decision to ally himself with Libby wasn’t a promising sign for his popularity in the house, but if the situation ever called for changing teams, he was confident he could manage it. Besides, better to be the most tolerable option of the three physical specialties than to be the hanger-on to the other three.

Nico wasted little time getting to bed. For one thing, Gideon had promised to visit, and for another, his power was reliant almost entirely on his physical state. In general, magic was a physical exertion; there was a certain degree of sweat involved, and recovery between bouts of use was a necessity. Nico likened it to the mortal Olympics: someone with natural aptitude could manage the fundamentals of their own specialty quite easily, perhaps without even breaking a sweat, but to win a gold medal required extensive training. As for other specialties outside one’s own, more of the same. You could certainly attempt to succeed in every Olympic sport, but you could just as easily kill yourself trying. Only someone very foolish or very talented would attempt as much as Nico de Varona had attempted.

Luckily, he was both troublingly talented and exceedingly unwise.

“This was extremely difficult,” remarked Gideon, manifesting in Nico’s head somewhere in the midst of whatever he’d been dreaming before, which he could not now remember. He seemed to be inside some sort of interminable jail cell now, reclining on a narrow cot with Gideon on the other side of the bars.

“Wherever you’ve gone,” Gideon said, “it’s a fortress.”

Nico glanced around, frowning. “Is it?”

“I can’t actually get through,” Gideon said, gesturing to the bars. “And I had to leave Max outside.”

“Outside where?”

“Oh, one of the realms.” They had tried mapping them in college, but it was difficult. Realms of thought were hard enough to grasp, and the realms of the subconscious were extensive and labyrinthine, ever-changing. “He’ll be fine. I’m sure he’s sleeping.”

Nico rose to his feet, approaching the bars. “I didn’t realize it’d be so difficult.” On second thought, though, he probably should have.

“There are a lot of defensive wards up,” Gideon said. “More than I would expect.”

“Even mental ones?”

“Especially mental ones.” Gideon plucked something in the air like a guitar string. “See that? Someone over there is a telepath.”

Parisa, probably, if what Tristan implied was correct, though Nico doubted that particular ward was her doing. It must have been a thread within a larger shield against telepathy, which made sense. Not every variety of theft required a corporeal form of entry.

He glanced up, looking for a camera (or the iteration of one), and spotted it in the corner.

“Well,” Nico said, pointing to it. “Try not to say anything too incriminating.”

Gideon looked over his shoulder, shrugging. “I haven’t got much to say, to tell you the truth.” A pause, and then, “Avez-vous des problèmes? Tout va bien?”

“Si, estoy bien, no te preocupes.” Anyone watching could probably translate, but that wasn’t really the point. “I suppose we shouldn’t do this too often, then.”

Gideon inclined his head in apparent agreement. “You’re not properly sleeping when I’m here,” he pointed out. “And judging by this place’s security, you’re going to need all your energy.”

“Yes,” Nico sighed, “probably.”

“Is Libby there?”

“Yes, somewhere.” He grimaced. “Though you’re not supposed to know that.”

“Well, it was more of a lucky guess, really.” Gideon tilted his head. “You’re being nice to her, aren’t you?”

“I’m always nice. And don’t tell me what to do.”

Gideon’s smile broadened.

“Tu me manques,” he said. “Max hasn’t noticed you’re gone, of course.”

“Of course not.” A pause. “Y yo también.”

“Strange without you around.”