Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

Half of Lucie wanted to bolt to her feet and run after Cordelia, but she knew she did not have the energy—she would collapse halfway to the Institute gates.

What energy she had left was concentrated on Rupert. If she loosed her grip on his spirit, he would be torn back to the darkness she had pulled him from. And Jesse—Jesse was already approaching Rupert’s ghost, drawn by his father’s beckoning hand.

She was dimly aware of James and the others milling around at the bottom of the steps. She thought she heard Anna’s voice, sharply raised, but everything outside the small circle of her and Jesse and Jesse’s father seemed as if it were occurring on a shadowy stage. She gripped the edge of the cold stone step tightly as Jesse came to a stop a few feet from Rupert.

His father’s ghost regarded him with a calm sadness. “Jesse,” he said.

“But how?” Jesse whispered. He had a cut on his cheek, still bleeding; he was shivering with the cold, though Lucie doubted he’d noticed. He had never looked more human and alive than he did standing beside a ghost, a ghost who was nearly the mirror image of Jesse as he used to be. “If you’re a spirit—how was I a ghost for so many years and I never saw you?”

Rupert raised a hand as if he could touch his son’s face. “Your mother made sure of that,” he said. “But Jesse—we have little time.”

He was right, Lucie knew. He was slipping away from her, already growing more indistinct around the edges. His fingers were turning pale, translucent, the edges like smoke.

“I was asleep,” Rupert said, “and have been awakened, but only for this moment. I died before you were ever born, my child. Yet after death, I have seen you.”

“My mother said—you were bound in the shadows—” Jesse said haltingly.

“I could not return as a ghost on this earth,” said Rupert gently. He was fading faster now. Lucie could see entirely through him, see the stones of the Institute, see Jesse’s stricken face. “Yet I dreamed of you, even in my endless sleep. And I feared for you. But you have proved strong. You have restored honor to the Blackthorn family name.” Lucie thought he smiled; it was difficult to tell. He was wisps of smoke now, only the shape of a boy, like a figure seen in a cloud. “I am proud of you.”

“Father—” Jesse started forward, just as Lucie cried out—she could feel Rupert torn away from her, out of her grip. She tried to hold on, but it was like holding water. As he slipped away, she saw once again the star-spangled darkness, the world away from this one, the place between.

And he was gone.

Jesse stood shivering, sword in hand, his face a mask of sadness. Now that she was no longer struggling to hold on to Rupert, Lucie was able to catch her breath; slowly she rose to her feet. Would Jesse be furious? she wondered bleakly. Would he hate her for not being able to hold on to his father’s spirit—or worse, for drawing him back to this world at all?

“Lucie,” Jesse said, his voice rough, and she saw that his eyes were glittering with tears. Forgetting her fear, she ran toward him, slipping on the icy stone, and threw her arms around him.

He put his head down on her shoulder. She held him with care, making sure their skin did not touch. Much as she ached to kiss him, to tell him with her touch that his father was not the only one proud of him, it was too dangerous. The world was coming back to her more clearly now, along with her strength. Over Jesse’s bent head, she could see the courtyard, see the unearthly red sky illuminating drops of blood in the dusting of snow that covered the ground. The thunder had stopped; the wind was dying down. It was quiet.

In fact, Lucie realized, the silence was eerie. Her friends were gathered at the foot of the steps, but they were not speaking. No one was discussing what had just happened, or what would have to happen next.

She felt suddenly very cold. Something was horribly wrong. She knew it; she would have known it before had she not been so focused on Rupert. She drew away from Jesse, touching his arm lightly. “Come with me,” she said, and together they descended the steps, hurrying when they reached the courtyard.

As they neared the small group gathered at the edge of the steps, she saw who was standing there in a small circle: James, Matthew, and Ari. They were motionless. Her heart lurching, Lucie drew closer, until she could see Anna, sitting on the ground, Christopher’s head in her lap.

His body was sprawled across the flagstones, and Lucie thought he could not possibly be comfortable. He was twisted at an odd angle, his shoulder hunched in. His spectacles lay on the ground beside him, the glass cracked. Blood stained the shoulder of his coat, but not much; his eyes were closed. Anna’s hand stroked his hair, over and over, as if her body was making the gesture without her mind even being aware of it.

“Kit,” Lucie said, and all of them looked over at her, their faces strangely expressionless, like masks. “Is he all right?” she said, her voice sounding too loud in the awful silence. “He was all right, wasn’t he? It was just a little wound—”

“Lucie,” Anna said, her voice cold and final. “He’s dead.”



* * *



Tatiana hissed. “Lilith. The bitch of Edom.”

The serpents in Lilith’s eyes hissed and snapped. “Paladin,” said Lilith. “Slay her.”

“Wait,” Cordelia gasped, feeling the clench of Lilith’s will, closing around her like a vise. She pushed back, barely aware of a spark of hot pain at her wrist as she did so. Her voice shook as she said, “Tatiana stands at Belial’s right hand. No one is closer to him or knows his plans better. Let me question her, at least.”

Lilith smiled. The green scales of her dress flashed under the red light of the sky, a strange chromatic mixture of poison and blood. “You may try.”

Cordelia turned to Tatiana. The bone-white strands of her hair snapped in the wind. She looked ancient, Cordelia thought, a sort of crone torn by time, like the witches in Macbeth. “Before you stands the Mother of Demons,” Cordelia said, “and I am her paladin. Tell me how I can find Belial. Tell me, or Lilith will destroy you. There will be nothing left of you to rule your New London.”

Tatiana sneered. “So you are not so righteous after all, Cordelia Carstairs,” she said. “It seems we both have our demon masters.” She threw her head back. “I will tell you nothing. I will never betray my lord Belial.”

“The Blackthorn woman is a thrall,” Lilith said dismissively. “She is not negotiating with a will separate from Belial’s. She will do what he says and die for him. She is useless to you—and to me. Kill her.”