" Wrath."
It meant nothing to James.
It was a word. It was a word he had heard in a dark sitting room in Ballymun four nights ago and it had meant nothing then either, and it should have gone past him now the same way.
Except the man had said it looking at Alice.
James turned his head.
Alice had not moved a muscle, which was the problem. Somebody who hears a word that means nothing looks confused. Somebody who hears a word that means something looks at the person who said it. Alice was doing neither. She was standing perfectly still with her wings open and her face doing absolutely nothing at all, and James had lived in a house with her for four months and knew exactly what that cost her.
"What's Wrath."
"James—"
"Alice. What is it."
She hesitated. It was not long — half a second, maybe less, the length of a decision being made about how much to hand over.
James noticed it anyway.
"One of the Seven," she said.
He got about a second and a half to do anything with that.
