Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

“I came to get something for Jesse,” James said. “I took him shopping, with Anna—he needed clothes, but we forgot cuff links—”

“He did need clothes,” Cordelia agreed. “Nothing he had fit.”

“Oh, no,” said James. “We are not chatting. When I came in, I saw your dress in the hall, and Effie told me she’d caught a glimpse of you leaving. Not getting into a carriage, just wandering off toward Shepherd Market—”

“So you Tracked me?”

“I had no choice. And then I saw—you had gone to where your father died,” he said, after a moment. “I thought—I was afraid—”

“That I wanted to die too?” Cordelia whispered. It had not occurred to her that he might think that. “James. I may be foolish, but I am not self-destructive.”

“And I thought, had I made you as miserable as that? I have made so many mistakes, but none were calculated to hurt you. And then I saw what you were doing, and I thought, yes, she does want to die. She wants to die and this is how she’s chosen to do it.” He was breathing hard, almost gasping, and she realized how much of his fury was despair.

“James,” she said. “It was a foolish thing to do, but at no moment did I want to die—”

He caught at her shoulders. “You cannot hurt yourself, Daisy. You must not. Hate me, hit me, do anything you want to me. Cut up my suits and set fire to my books. Tear my heart into pieces, scatter them across England. But do not harm yourself—” He pulled her toward him, suddenly, pressing his lips to her hair, her cheek. She caught him by the arms, her fingers digging into his sleeves, holding him to her. “I swear to the Angel,” he said, in a muffled voice, “if you die, I will die, and I will haunt you. I will give you no peace—”

He kissed her mouth. Perhaps it had been meant to be a quick kiss, but she could not help herself: she kissed back. And it was like breathing air after being trapped underground for weeks, like coming up into sunlight after darkness.

James caught at her waist, pulled her tight against him, his mouth slanting over hers. She had kissed him before, and it had always been overwhelming, an experience that shattered all her senses. But there was something different in this kiss—never had she felt such unbridled desperation in him, such a consuming blaze of need and fury and love, a whirlwind that seemed to spin her high into the upper atmosphere, where she could barely breathe.

They fell back against the wall. Her hands threaded themselves into his dark hair, soft and familiar. He bit at her lower lip, sending a shudder of exquisite sharpness through her before he soothed the sting with his tongue. She delved into his mouth; the sweet heat of him was like hot honey, and the moan she wrung from him was pure gratification. Kissing him was like traveling, exciting and unfamiliar, and at the same time it was coming home. It was everything.

“Daisy,” he whispered against her mouth, sending delicious shivers through her, a chorus of cascading sparks. “Do you have any idea what it would do to me if something happened to you? Do you?”

“Oh, my goodness!” It was Effie, her gray pompadour wobbling with shock. Cordelia and James sprang apart; James’s expression was composed, but Cordelia was sure she was blushing scarlet.

“Effie,” James said. “The door was closed.”

“Well, I’m sure,” Effie snapped. “I thought you meant to keep out a draft. Besides, there’s someone at the front door.” She snorted. “Married folk, carrying on like this. Well, I never, in all my born days, I haven’t. Humph!”

She stalked off. James turned to Cordelia—he looked a mess, flushed and disheveled, his mouth red from kisses. “Daisy—don’t go—I’ll get rid of whoever it is, you can wait upstairs—”

But she was already backing away, shaking her head. She had held everything she felt for James locked away for so long, and now she had opened that door just a crack and already waves of emotion were battering at her.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, his voice shaking. “To show you something.”

“It’s too much,” she whispered. “Too much right now—I can’t—” His face fell. She sucked in a breath; she so desperately wanted to tell him she would wait for him upstairs, she so desperately wanted him, it felt like a sort of insanity. Her whole body screamed at her: Be with him, touch him, let him love you.

But upstairs waiting was where she had been when she had seen him with Grace. She could not relive that experience. And she could not trust her body. She knew that well enough.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “At the party—we’ll talk then.”

He only nodded; Cordelia caught up her skirts and ran from the room, nearly knocking down a very surprised-looking Jesse Blackthorn in the entryway as she fled the house.



* * *



“Jesse,” James said. “I, ah—well. Hello. I hadn’t been expecting you.”

Jesse only raised his eyebrows. James had hung back for several moments before leaving the study, composing himself. He could still feel Cordelia in his arms, still smell the scent of her spice and jasmine perfume. He felt exhausted, wrung through with layers of emotion: fear, then anger, then desperation, then desire. And hope, dashed quickly. Hope wore out the soul, more than any other feeling.

He let the control Jem had taught him take over, before he left the study and strode down the hall to find Jesse looking bemused in the foyer. Effie had taken herself off to continue her hysterics elsewhere, which was probably all to the good. Jesse was wrapped in the new olive-green coat Anna had helped him choose, and in his hand, he clutched a sheaf of yellowing parchment sheets bound in fragile leather. James recognized them immediately: Tatiana’s notes from Chiswick House.

“Is this a bad time?” Jesse said.

Yes, James thought, but it wasn’t as if he was going to be able to get Cordelia back now. And Jesse looked intensely worried. James felt suddenly cold, and not only from the night air. “Is Lucie all right?”

“Yes,” Jesse said. “This isn’t about her.”

James smiled. “Aren’t you supposed to stay in the Institute at night?”

Jesse said, “Aren’t you?”

“I only came to fetch some cuff links,” James said.

“Well, I came to talk to you,” said Jesse, “where we could not be overheard. About my mother’s papers.”

“Oh!” said Effie, who had, it seemed, not vanished in hysterics after all, but rather come up behind James with little warning. And was staring past him, at Jesse. “Good evening, sir.”

Was Effie… blushing? Certainly James had never seen her look like that before. She was close to twittering. “I’m so sorry, sir, I only ran to fetch you a towel for the snow in your hair. I should have taken your coat and scarf first—of course—lose track of my own head next. Such a lovely coat, too, and so suitable for such a handsome young man.”

As Jesse handed over the coat and scarf, Effie clutched them to her like treasures. She gazed at Jesse, who looked back with mounting puzzlement.

“Effie,” James said. “Perhaps some tea?”

“Oh! Yes, of course. I’ll lay it on in the drawing room, and build up the fire there as well.” She bustled off, still clutching Jesse’s coat.

“She seems nice,” Jesse said as James led him down the hall to the drawing room. James thought to himself that Effie had never before demonstrated the slightest interest in any of his visitors. It seemed she liked the look of Jesse. After all, Effie must like the look of someone. Didn’t everybody?

In the drawing room, they settled into armchairs, Jesse still clutching the sheaf of old papers; they gave off a sooty, sour smell, like embers and rot.

“I’ve been going through them,” he said, without preamble. His expression was grim. “All of them. They took a little decrypting, but it wasn’t much of a code. The key was my father’s name—Rupert.”

“I’m guessing from your expression that you didn’t much like what you found,” said James.

“I always knew my mother was bitter,” Jesse said. “I assumed that she’d struck out at you purely because of her hatred of your parents. But it seems you’ve been central to Belial’s plans—to Belial and my mother’s plans—all along.”

“I know,” James said. He’d never been quite sure how much Jesse knew, but the notes seemed to be providing a quick and harsh education. “Belial’s goal has always been to possess me, to live in my body, since it can sustain him on Earth without burning away.”