Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

Thomas could only stammer. “You—and me?”


“Grace is a mystery to the Merry Thieves, it seems,” said Alastair, “but I am a known and disliked quantity. I am only saying they would no doubt find it just as puzzling that you and I had—”

Thomas could stand it no more. He caught hold of Alastair’s collar and drew him in to kiss him. Alastair had clearly not been expecting it; the book he had been holding fell, and he laid an unsure hand on Thomas’s arm, steadying himself.

But he did not pull away. He leaned into the kiss, and Thomas unclenched his hands and let them find their way into Alastair’s hair, which was rough silk against his fingers. He felt an exquisite sense of relief—he had wanted this for so long, and what had happened between them in the Sanctuary had only made it worse—and then the relief melted away into heat, traversing his veins like liquid fire. Alastair was kissing him hard, each kiss opening his mouth a little wider, their tongues touching in a flickering dance. In between kisses, Alastair murmured soft words in Persian. “Ey pesar,” he whispered, “nik ze hadd mibebari kar-e jamal.” His tongue swept Thomas’s lower lip; Thomas shuddered, pressed into him, his breath catching with every kiss, every movement of Alastair’s body. “Ba conin hosn ze to sabr konam?”

And then, just as abruptly as it had started, it was over. Alastair pulled back, his hand still on Thomas’s arm, his face flushed. “Thomas,” he breathed. “This isn’t something I can do.”

Thomas closed his eyes. “Why not?”

“The situation hasn’t changed,” Alastair said, in a voice closer to his usual tone, and Thomas could feel the spell broken, dissipating as though it had never been. “Your friends hate me. And they are right to do so—”

“I told Matthew,” Thomas said.

Alastair’s eyes widened. “You what?”

“I told Matthew,” said Thomas. “About me. And that I—that we—that I cared about you.” He cleared his throat. “He knew about you and Charles already.”

“Well, Charles is his brother,” said Alastair, in an oddly mechanical voice. “And Matthew is himself—different. But your other friends…”

“Christopher won’t care. As for James, he is married to your sister. Alastair, you are already part of us, part of our group, whether you like it or not. You cannot use my friends as an excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse.” Alastair was still holding on to Thomas’s jacket, still leaning toward him. Thomas could smell Alastair’s scent of smoke and spice and leather. Desire burned deep in his belly like a swallowed coal, but he knew it made no difference. Alastair was shaking his head. “I learned—with Charles—things cannot be all stolen moments. But neither can we hurt others by blindly pursuing what we want—”

“So you do want me,” Thomas said, and felt a bitter sort of gladness.

Alastair’s eyes darkened. “How can you even ask—”

There was a bang and both of them looked up to see Christopher, carrying a tall stack of books, one of which had just fallen loudly to the ground. He seemed delighted to see them, as if it were perfectly normal for Thomas and Alastair to be sitting on the floor, with Alastair clutching Thomas’s sleeve.

“Enough shilly-shallying, you two,” Christopher exclaimed. “I’ve had an idea. We must go immediately to Limehouse.”





15 OLD VOICES




All day within the dreamy house,

The doors upon their hinges creak’d;

The blue fly sung in the pane; the mouse

Behind the mouldering wainscot shriek’d,

Or from the crevice peer’d about.

Old faces glimmer’d thro’ the doors

Old footsteps trod the upper floors,

Old voices called her from without.

—Alfred, Lord Tennyson, “Mariana”



Cordelia had been late getting out of the house, and she found herself at Chiswick House after the others had already arrived. She climbed out of the carriage, waving at Anna and Ariadne, who were waiting by the steps; the Institute carriage had already pulled up in the circular drive. Cordelia could see a few figures in the distance where James, Jesse, and Lucie seemed to have gone to look at the gardens.

It was a bracing day, cold enough to sting her chest when she breathed. She glanced around as she pulled on her gloves. At night, the house and its grounds had the feel of a classical ruin, like a Roman villa gone to seed—marble and brick chipped and unrepaired, paint peeling, formal gardens now a shaggy war of briars and hedges invading each other’s space. She remembered the effect as quite Gothic, with Grace very much the pale maiden languishing behind the dark walls.

But here in the white winter sun the house looked merely shabby and squalid. Nothing romantic lurked here, she thought. Only the end result of decades of domestic horror, negligence, and cruelty.

As she went to join Ariadne and Anna, the others approached—James, pale but calm, Jesse, seemingly distracted, and Lucie, brightly friendly as she greeted Ariadne and Anna, but careful not to look at Cordelia.

Cordelia had not expected anything different—it was probably why she had dawdled getting started that morning—but it still hurt to have Lucie ignore her. Not, she thought, that she didn’t deserve it.

At least all of them were wearing ordinary clothes, not gear, which was a relief to Cordelia—she had wondered about it herself and finally decided on a simple dress and sturdy boots. It was not as if she could fight anyway, she thought bitterly, if the situation arose. She would have to fling herself behind someone else for protection, like the sort of Victorian heroine she particularly disliked.

Anna glanced around with a languid blue gaze. “I believe that’s all of us,” she said. She wore a Norfolk hunting jacket over a pair of trousers tucked into boots; around her neck was a brightly patterned silk scarf, tucked into the collar of her shirt. Below it dangled the ruby necklace she always wore, which detected the presence of demons. On anyone else the combination would have been odd; on Anna it was dashing.

Cordelia said, without thinking, “What about Matthew?” and saw James glance quickly away.

“He hasn’t come,” said Ariadne. “He’s doing a favor for me today, I’m afraid.”

That was a bit surprising, but, Cordelia reminded herself, Ariadne had been engaged to Matthew’s brother. And Matthew and Anna were very close. She felt a bit left out—she had been missing Anna lately, and even more now that she and Lucie had fallen out.

“I daresay six of us should be more than enough,” James said. “I would suggest we divide into two equal groups.”

“Capital,” said Anna. “Cordelia, would you be kind enough to join Ariadne and me?”

Cordelia felt a rush of gratitude. Anna was being kind, drawing Cordelia away from any potentially awkward interaction with James.

“Of course,” Cordelia said.

“Jesse,” said Ariadne, and Jesse looked surprised. She hesitated. “I just wanted to make sure—I mean, we all know it’s for the greater good, but are you all right with us, you know… ransacking your house?”

Jesse looked at the sky. James said, in some surprise, “Do you mind?”

“It’s not that,” Jesse said. “I was only going to say—you might as well look through my house, because I’ve been in all of yours.”

“Scandalous!” Anna said, delighted. “But why?”

“Nothing indecent,” Jesse said. “I’ve never looked in on any of you in the bath, or anything like that. It’s just, ghosts, we tend to drift about. We don’t really obey property laws. I obey them now, of course,” he added, “and I am perfectly fine with you pillaging this wretched pile. I can’t imagine I’d ever want to live here, even if I do inherit it. Given that I’m Jeremy Blackthorn these days, who knows who will end up with it? I’d say it ought to go back to the Lightwoods, but I doubt you want to be cursed with the place.”

“Do you think there are likely to be any demons or such about?” Lucie said curiously.

“It seems unlikely,” said James, “given how many times the Enclave has been over this place. I suppose one can never be entirely sure.”

“Not where my mother is concerned,” said Jesse. “I can think of a few places she might have hidden things—I’d suggest Anna, Ariadne, and Cordelia search inside, and the rest of us take the gardens and greenhouse area. When we’re finished, we can meet back on these steps.”

James nodded. His dark gold eyes scanned the horizon. “Hard to imagine your mother enjoyed living here, with the place in this state,” he said.

“She liked it like this,” said Jesse. “She’s the one who smashed all the mirrors and stopped the clocks. It was a reminder to her every time she set foot here that she was a victim, and your families were to blame.”