Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

Cordelia spoke with great care. “A… necromancy problem?”


“No! Honestly. I haven’t done any necromancy. It’s more of a—well, a kissing problem.”

“And you want to talk about it now?” Cordelia inquired.

“I do, because—well, I suppose it’s sort of a necromantic kissing problem.”

“Kissing Jesse isn’t necromancy,” Cordelia said, frowning. “He’s alive now. Unless you’re kissing someone else.”

“I’m not,” said Lucie, “but every time I kiss Jesse or touch him, for more than a moment”—she blushed deeply enough for it to be obvious even under witchlight—“anytime my skin touches his, really, I feel as though I am falling into shadow. And… I see things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Belial’s sigil. But changed; it doesn’t match up with what’s in the books. And I saw towers, gates, like in Alicante, but as if Idris had been possessed by demons.” Her voice shook. “I heard an incantation, some kind of demon language saying—”

“Don’t speak it aloud,” Cordelia said quickly. “Belial might be trying to trick you into doing just that. Oh, Lucie. Did you talk to Malcolm, tell him what was happening?”

Lucie nodded. “He said that in using my power to raise Jesse, I might have forged a channel between myself and Belial.” She frowned. “I imagine I’m seeing things he’s thinking about, or doing. I wish he would stay out of my mind. As it is, I fear even to touch Jesse’s hand.”

At least you can see him. At least he is in the same world with you. But that was unfair, Cordelia knew; for such a long time, it had not been true. “I cannot say I know Jesse well yet, but it is apparent that he truly loves you. And that he is patient. He has had to be, considering the life he’s had. I am sure he will wait for you—there is nothing he cares about more.”

“I hope so,” Lucie said. “It’s all going to be over soon—one way or another. Isn’t it?” She shuddered. “Shall we go? It feels terrible to be out on the street right now, but it’s better than the creeping feeling this place gives me.”

They left Malcolm’s office and made their way back into the main room of the Ruelle. As they headed for the exit, something caught Cordelia’s eye: a patch of wall that had been painted with the image of a forest, small owls peeking from between the trees. She recognized it as a piece of the mural of Lilith that had covered the wall during Hypatia’s celebration of the Festival of Lamia, now incompletely painted over.

The image of the mural remained with her, and by the time they were back out on Tyler’s Court, it had given her an idea. A very, very bad idea. It was exactly the sort of idea that seized the imagination and, against one’s own will, took hold, growing stronger by the moment. It was a dangerous idea, perhaps a mad idea. And there was no James around to tell her not to do it.



* * *



There had been a long, long time of darkness before James awoke. How long, he could not have said. He had been in London, in the courtyard of the Institute, looking at Cordelia through a mist of shadow. Then he had seen Matthew rush toward him and heard Belial’s roar in his ears—and then it was the roar of the wind, a tempest that tumbled him head over heels, and darkness had come down like an executioner’s hood.

The first thing he had noticed upon awaking was that he was lying flat on his back, staring up at a sky that was a sickly yellow-orange, roiling with dark gray clouds. He scrambled to his feet, head and heart pounding. He was in a courtyard with a flagged stone floor, surrounded on all sides by high, windowless walls. Above him on one side rose a fortress of gray stone that looked very much like the Gard in Alicante, though this version of it had high black towers that vanished into the low-hanging clouds.

The courtyard looked as if it had once been a sort of garden, a pleasant, enclosed outdoor space meant for the enjoyment of the occupants of the fortress. There were stone walkways, which had probably once bordered a riot of flowers and trees; now, all there was between them was packed dirt, gray and stony; not so much as a single weed poked up from the unfriendly ground.

James whirled around. Cracked, ancient marble benches, the stumps of withered trees, a stone bowl placed precariously atop a broken bit of statuary—and there, a flash of green and gold. Matthew.

He took off running across the courtyard. Matthew sat propped against one of the stone walls, in the shadow of the dark Gard. His eyes were closed. He peeled them open slowly as James sank down on his knees beside him, and offered an exhausted-looking smile. “So,” he said. “This is Edom. I’m not sure I see what all the fuss”—he coughed and spat black dust onto the ground—“is about.”

“Math,” James said. “Hang on—let me look at you.” He pushed Matthew’s hair back from his face, and Matthew winced. There was a jagged cut across his forehead; though the blood had dried, it looked painful.

James fumbled for his stele and took Matthew’s arm, pushing his sleeve up. Matthew watched with a sort of distant interest as James drew a careful iratze against his friend’s forearm. They both stared as the iratze seemed to tremble, and then faded, as if it were being absorbed by Matthew’s skin.

“Let me guess,” Matthew said. “Runes don’t work here.”

James swore and tried again, concentrating fiercely; the iratze seemed to hesitate for a moment this time, before abruptly fading like the other one.

“It feels a bit better,” Matthew offered.

“You needn’t humor me,” James said darkly. He had been kneeling; now he sank down beside Matthew, feeling drained of energy. Overhead, a dark red sun was drifting in and out of the black masses of cloud above the fortress. “You shouldn’t have come, Math.”

Matthew coughed again. “Whither thou goest,” he said.

James picked up a jagged black pebble and threw it at a wall, where it made an unsatisfying plink. “Not if you’re following me into death.”

“I think you’ll find it’s especially when I’m following you into death. ‘And naught but death part thee and me.’ No exceptions for demon dimensions.”

But there’s nothing you can do to help, James thought, and But Belial will kill you if it amuses him, and I will have to watch. He said neither of those things. It would be cruel to say them. And there was a part of him, though he was ashamed of it, that was very glad Matthew was here.

“You need water,” James said instead. “We both do. It’s dry as a bone here.”

“And we’ll need food soon enough,” Matthew agreed. “I assume Belial knows that and will try to starve us out. Well, starve you out. You’re the one he wants to break. I am an annoyance.” He sifted his hand through a pile of dark pebbles. “Where do you think he is?”