Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

It seemed odd to Lucie that warlocks could not, themselves, call up those dead who no longer haunted the world, but had passed into a place of peace. That the terrible power in her blood allowed her to do something even Magnus Bane, or Malcolm Fade, could not. But there it was—she had given Malcolm her word, though the hungry look in his eyes made her shiver a little.

“I did not know what would happen when you raised Jesse,” Malcolm said. “For him to have come back as he has—with breath and life, perfectly healthy, perfectly cognizant—is more miracle than magic.” He took a ragged breath. “Annabel’s death was no less unjust, no less monstrous, than what happened to Jesse. She deserves to live again no less than he. Of that I am certain.”

Lucie did not bring up the detail that Jesse’s body had been preserved by Belial in a strange half-living state, and Annabel’s surely hadn’t. Instead she said anxiously, “I gave you my word, Malcolm, that I would call up her spirit. Let you commune with her ghost. But no more than that. She cannot be… brought back. You know that.”

Malcolm seemed barely to hear this. He threw himself down into a nearby chair. “If indeed miracles are possible,” he said, “though I have never believed in them—I know of demons and angels, but have put my faith in science and magic only—”

He broke off, though it was too late for Lucie’s unease. It was vibrating at a high tempo now, like a plucked string. “Not every spirit wishes to return,” she whispered. “Some of the dead are at peace.”

“Annabel will not be at peace,” said Malcolm. His purple eyes looked like bruises in his pale face. “Not without me.”

“Mr. Fade—” Lucie’s voice shook.

For the first time, Malcolm seemed to notice her anxiety. He sat up straight, forcing a smile. “Lucie. I understand that you barely survived raising Jesse, and that you are significantly weakened. It will hardly do any of us any good if calling up Annabel sends you back into unconsciousness. We must wait for you to be stronger.” He gazed at the fire as though he could read something in the dance of its flames. “I have waited a hundred years. Time is not the same for me as it is for a mortal, especially one as young as you are. I will wait another hundred years, if I must.”

“Well,” said Lucie, trying to keep her voice light, “I hardly think I will need that long.”

“I will wait,” Malcolm said again, speaking perhaps more to himself than to her. “I will wait as long as it takes.”





3 THE SLOW DARK HOURS




But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

—Christina Rossetti, “Up-Hill”



James estimated that he’d been talking for about a month.

Magnus, who seemed able to detect comfortable coaching inns from a distance, had found them one on the road to Polperro. Once Balios and Xanthos had been safely stabled, Will had booked the three of them a private dining room on the inn’s ground floor, where they could eat and talk in private.

Not that James had eaten much. The room was nice enough—old-fashioned, with dark wallpaper and worn rugs, a wide oak table in the center—and the food seemed decent. But once he’d started talking about the events of the past few weeks, he’d found it hard to stop; after all the secrets and lies, the truth poured out of him like water from a jug. Even then, he’d had to remain careful to keep the secrets that weren’t his to tell: he said nothing of the pledge Cordelia had accidentally made to Lilith, only spoke of Lilith impersonating Magnus to trick them.

“I know I ought to beg your forgiveness,” James said, when his voice had run dry. “I should have told you all of this, but—”

“But you were not the only one affected,” said Will. He looked tense, the lines beside his eyes unusually prominent. “And so you kept your mouth shut to protect your friends and your family. I am not entirely an idiot, James. I do understand how these things work.”

Magnus uncapped a decanter of port and poured a thimbleful into Will’s and James’s glasses. “I am worried. Belial should not have been able to return to our world after the blow Cordelia dealt him with Cortana. But he did return, through a plan he must have put in place years ago, back when Jesse Blackthorn was only a baby—”

Will was looking furious. “This is why we should never have tolerated Tatiana Blackthorn’s bizarre behavior with her children. What could it harm, not to let the Silent Brothers do Jesse’s protection spells? What harm indeed. Thank the Angel that Maurice went up to retrieve her from the Adamant Citadel. The Silent Brothers are going to need to get the whole story out of her.”

“Why didn’t you tell the Enclave,” Magnus said to James, not unkindly, “if you knew Belial was responsible?”

“He didn’t tell the Enclave,” Will said, “because if the Enclave found out that Belial is his grandfather, is Tessa’s father… well, the consequences could be quite dire, for our family. For Tessa. I knew also, and I also said nothing, for the same reason. James cannot be blamed for that.”

“Does anyone else know?” said Magnus.

“Only my closest friends,” James said. “Cordelia, of course, and Matthew… and Thomas and Christopher. And Anna. They will keep the secret. I trust them with my life,” he added, perhaps a little defensively.

Will exchanged a look with Magnus that James couldn’t read. Slowly Will said, “I am glad that you at least had your friends to confide in. I wish you had told me as well, James.” He looked sad for a moment. “It breaks my heart to think of you being tormented by these dreams of Belial, and keeping them a secret besides.” He picked up his glass, as if he’d just noticed it was there, and took a sip. “I’ve seen death myself,” he said quietly. “I know how terrible it is to witness it.”

His father’s eyes flicked away from them for a moment, and James wondered what he meant—and then, with a start, remembered that long ago, Will had held Jessamine while she died in his arms. He was so used to her ghostly presence in the Institute that it was easy to forget the trauma her death must have brought to them all. His father made it easy to forget; his usual sanguine demeanor did a good job of hiding all that he had been through.

Magnus cleared his throat, and James looked over to see his luminous cat’s eyes peering at him thoughtfully. Will caught this and sat up in his chair, returning from his reverie. “What are you thinking of, Magnus?”

“Only that Belial was willing to wait a long time for his plan regarding Jesse to come to fruition,” said Magnus. “I wonder what other plans he might have made in the meantime. Plans of which we have no knowledge.” His eyes glittered at James. “I must ask. What were you dreaming of, in the carriage? When you woke up screaming?”

There was a guilty knot in James’s chest. He was still keeping a secret, after all—Cordelia’s secret. “I dreamed of a gathering of shadows,” he said. “I stood in a fire-blasted place and saw monstrous creatures rushing through the air.”