“So we dug into the earlier histories,” said Ty. “And we found something. There was a family of Blackthorns who had a daughter who fell in love with a warlock. They were going to run off together, but her family caught them. She was sent to be an Iron Sister.”
“‘Her parents trapped her in an iron castle.’” Mark had caught up Tavvy’s book. “That’s what that means.”
“You speak the language of fairy tales,” said Diego. “Not surprising, I suppose.”
“So then she died,” said Emma. “What was her name?”
“Annabel,” said Livvy. “Annabel Blackthorn.”
Julian exhaled. “Where did all this happen?”
“In England,” said Ty. “Two hundred years ago. Before ‘Annabel Lee’ was ever written.”
“I found something as well,” said Diego. From the inside pocket of his jacket, he produced a slightly wilted-looking stem with several leaves clustered on it. He laid it on the table. “Don’t touch it,” he said as Livvy reached out. She drew her hand back. “It’s belladonna. Deadly nightshade. Only fatal if ingested or absorbed in the bloodstream, but still.”
“From the convergence site?” said Mark. “I noticed it there.”
“Yes,” said Diego. “It is much deadlier than your average belladonna. I suspect it was what was smeared on the arrows that I bought at the Shadow Market.” He frowned. “The odd thing is that it normally only grows in Cornwall.”
“The girl who fell in love with the warlock,” Ty said. “That was in Cornwall.”
Everything in the room suddenly seemed very clear and bright and harsh, like a photograph brought into sudden focus. “Diego,” Emma said. “Who did you buy the arrows from? In the Market?”
Diego frowned. “A human with the Sight. I think his name was Rook—”
“Johnny Rook,” said Julian. His eyes, meeting Emma’s, were dark with a sudden realization. “You think—”
She held out her hand. “Give me your phone.”
She was aware of the others looking at her curiously as she took the phone from Julian and strode across the room, dialing as she went. The line rang several times before it picked up.
“Hello?”
“Rook,” she said. “It’s Emma Carstairs.”
“I told you not to call me.” His voice was cold. “After what your friend did to my son—”
“If you don’t talk to me now, the next visit you get will be from the Silent Brothers,” she snapped. There was rage in her voice, though little of it was actually about him. Anger was rising in her like a tide; anger, and the sense of betrayal. “Look, I know you sold my friend some arrows. They were poisoned. With a poison only the Guardian of the Followers would have access to.” She was gambling now, but she could tell by the silence on the other end of the phone that her shot in the dark wasn’t going wide. “You said you didn’t know who he was. You lied.”
“I didn’t lie,” Rook said after a pause. “I don’t know who he is.”
“Then how do you know it’s a he?”
“Look, he always showed up in a robe and gloves and a hood, okay? Completely covered. He asked me to distill those leaves, make a compound he could use. I did it.”
“So you could poison the arrows?”
She could hear the smirk in Rook’s voice. “I had a little left over and thought I’d amuse myself. Centurions aren’t too popular around the Shadow Market, and belladonna’s illegal.”
Emma wanted to scream at him, wanted to scream that one of the arrows he’d poisoned for fun had nearly killed Julian. She held herself back. “What else did you do for the Guardian?”
“I don’t need to tell you anything, Carstairs. You don’t have any proof I know the Guardian that well—”
“Really? Then how did you know that body was going to be dumped at the Sepulchre?” Rook was silent. “Do you know what the prisons in the Silent City are like? Do you really want to experience them firsthand?”
“No—”
“Then tell me what else you did for him. The Guardian. Did you use necromancy?”
“No! Nothing like that.” Now Rook sounded a little panicked. “I did things for the Followers. Made luck charms for them, made sure they’d have some windfalls, access to parties, premieres, have people fall in love with them. Get their deals made. No big things. Just enough to keep them happy and believing that it was worth it to stay. Believing the Guardian was taking care of them and they were going to get everything they wanted.”
“And what did he do for you in return?”
“Money,” Rook said flatly. “Protection. He warded my house against demons. He has some magical power, that guy.”
“You worked for a guy who sacrificed people,” Emma pointed out.
“It was a cult.” Rook was practically snarling. “Those have always existed—they always will. People want money and power and they’ll do anything to get them. That’s not my fault.”