Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

And yet, he knew the truth—that he would forgive Eugenia. She was his sister.

“I’ll be off, then,” Thomas said, as Grace, her new rune freshly applied, returned to the worktable. “Don’t leave the house. I’ll come back in a few hours to escort you back to the Institute,” he added. “All right?”

Jesse nodded. Grace seemed too deep in her work to respond; as Thomas headed up the stairs, he saw her hand Jesse a beaker of powder. At least they seemed to feel comfortable working together; perhaps that could be a path to forgiveness, in the end.

On the way out, Thomas stopped in the kitchen to fetch a pitcher of water, and went to water the potted plants in the entryway. A show of faith, he thought, that the Fairchilds would return home. That despite Belial’s power, all would be right again eventually. He had to believe that.



* * *



Perhaps Anna, Ari, Alastair, and Thomas had done their job a bit too well, Cordelia thought; when she and Lucie returned to the Institute, they found it looking as if it had been abandoned for decades. Wide boards had been nailed over the lower windows, and the upper windows were painted black or hung with dark fabrics. Not a hint of light escaped into the smoky glare of London.

The Sanctuary was lit with a few candles burning low, which gave off just enough light to keep Cordelia and Lucie from bumping into the walls. Even though Cordelia knew full well it was the same Institute it had been a few hours ago, the dim amber glow gave the place a somber feeling, and they went up the stairs in silence.

Although it was possible that Lucie’s silence was merely a sign of her suppressed excitement. When Cordelia had turned to her in Tyler’s Court and said, “I’ve had an idea, and I need your help,” she had fully expected Lucie to reject the entire plan. Instead Lucie had turned the color of a raspberry, clapped her hands, and said, “What a wonderfully terrible idea. I am entirely willing to help. And keep it secret. It is a secret, isn’t it?”

Cordelia had assured her it was, though it would not stay that way for long. She only hoped their observant friends would not note Lucie’s suspiciously bright eyes and ask questions. At least the dark would help with that.

Once upstairs, they heard a murmur of voices coming from the library and headed that way. Inside they found Alastair and Thomas and Anna and Ari, stained with paint, dusted in sawdust, and holding a picnic on the floor in the middle of the library. A coverlet from one of the spare bedrooms had been spread out in the space between two of the study tables; on the tables themselves were an assortment of tinned foods from the pantry: canned salmon and baked beans, tins of cherries and pears, even steamed Christmas pudding.

Anna looked up as they came in and beckoned them to join in. “It’s all cold food, I’m afraid,” she said. “We didn’t want to send up any smoke from a fire.”

Cordelia settled herself on the coverlet, and Alastair passed her an open tin of apricots. The sweet taste was a relief from the bitter air outside; as she ate, she couldn’t help but be reminded of another picnic, the one they’d held in Regent’s Park when she first came to London. She thought of the sunlight, the abundance of food—sandwiches and ginger beer and lemon tarts, but lemon tarts only made her think of Christopher, and remembering the picnic made her think of those who were gone. Barbara had been there, with Oliver Hayward. And Matthew and James and Christopher, of course, and they had all vanished along with the summer and the sunlight. She glanced over at Thomas. Who was he, without the company of the other Merry Thieves? She didn’t quite know, and she wondered if he did either.

She set down the empty apricot tin with a thump. James and Matthew, at least, were not gone beyond reach. They were still alive. And she would not let them be lost.

Lucie was poking at the tinned pudding with a fork. “Other than nailing boards to windows, what have you been up to while we’ve been gone?”

“Looking for magical exits from London,” Ari said. “Ones that Belial might have overlooked.”

“There are some old burial barrows, one over at Parliament Hill, that used to be Faerie gates,” Anna added. “And some very old wells mentioned in historical texts, that water faeries used to inhabit. Bagnigge Wells, Clerks’ Well—we’ll be spending tomorrow with our heads down wells, it looks like.”

“While Thomas and I will be trying to kill a Watcher,” said Alastair.

“Trying to determine how to kill a Watcher,” Thomas said. “Without the other ones noticing.”

“Or being killed by one yourself,” said Anna. “How was the Hell Ruelle?”

“Awful,” said Cordelia. “The Downworlders are a bit more active than the mundanes, but no less lost in a dreamworld. If you speak to them, they’ll look at you, but they don’t really know you and they don’t really hear you. It’s very unsettling.”

“So they’ll be no help,” said Thomas glumly.

“Belial did say they wouldn’t be,” said Lucie. “I suppose it’s now a matter of what Cordelia and I do next. Anna, what would be most helpful?”

“Well, we could always use help looking for a way out of London,” said Anna, leaning back on her hands. The gold braiding on her waistcoat gleamed, and even the smudge of dirt on her high cheekbone looked elegant.

“Alastair,” Cordelia said in a low voice, “could I talk to you in private?”

Alastair raised his eyebrows but stood up, brushing the crumbs off his trousers, and allowed himself to be led out of the library. It seemed almost silly to seek privacy in the vast emptiness of the Institute, but Cordelia led him to the drawing room anyway. She closed the door behind them and turned to him; he was watching her, his arms crossed over his chest, a frown darkening his expression. Without preamble, he said, “You want Cortana back.”

The Alastair of a year ago would not have known her well enough to guess that, Cordelia thought. It was a downside of their improved relationship that he did now. “How did you know?”

“The look in your eye,” Alastair said. “I know that look. You have a plan, and if I don’t miss my guess, it is both a very big plan and a very bad plan. So I assume it has something to do with Belial. And killing him. Which can only be accomplished with Cortana.”

“You don’t know that it’s a bad plan,” Cordelia protested.

“I know that we’re desperate,” Alastair said, in a quieter voice. “We’ve assigned ourselves these projects, and perhaps they’ll help—but I know that they may not accomplish anything. We may have stayed behind in London only to die here.”

“Alastair…”

“And I know that when it comes down to it, you and Cortana are our single best hope. It’s just…”

“What is it?” Cordelia said.

“If you plan to face Belial somehow, let me come with you,” he said, to Cordelia’s surprise. “I know Belial would be likely to step on me as though I were an ant. But I would stand with you, for as long as I am able.”

“Oh, Alastair,” Cordelia said softly. “I wish I could have you with me. But where I’m going, you cannot follow. Besides,” she added, seeing him start to scowl rebelliously, “I have no choice but to face this fight, this battle with Belial. You do. Think of M?m?n. Think of the little brother or sister we have not yet met. One of us must stay safe, for their sakes.”

“Neither of us will be safe, Cordelia. There is no safety in London now.”

“I know. But this is a Prince of Hell we are speaking of; the only thing that protects me from him at all is Cortana. It would be foolish and—and even selfish—for us both to face him at once.”

Alastair gazed at her for a long time. Finally, he nodded. “All right. Come with me.”

He led her back out into the hall; it wasn’t long before Cordelia realized where they were going. “The weapons room?” she demanded, as they approached its metal doors. “You hid a sword in a room full of weapons?”

Alastair smiled crookedly. “Have you never read Poe’s ‘The Purloined Letter’?” He pushed the doors open and led her inside. “Sometimes ‘in plain sight’ is the best place to hide something.”