Her reflection rippled. Her long pale hair turned iron-gray, her eyes darkening to a muddy green. Lines crept across her face. She wanted to shudder, to flinch away, but she held still. It was not her own reflection she was looking at, she told herself. She was gazing through a window, opening a pathway.
Tatiana Blackthorn smiled back at her from the glass. She wore a simple gray dress, and her hair was bound into long braids in the style of the Iron Sisters. Her eyes had not changed: they were sharp, calculating.
Tatiana smiled mirthlessly. “I thought you might have forgotten about your poor mother, trapped in the Adamant Citadel.”
“I think of you often, Mama,” said Grace. “But they watch me, you know. It is difficult to be alone.”
“Then why are you reaching out now?” Tatiana frowned. “Do you want something? I settled with the Inquisitor before I was exiled: there should be plenty of money for the Bridgestocks to buy you new dresses. I will not have it said my daughter is poorly outfitted.”
Grace did not try to protest that she had not asked her mother for money; there was never any point. “It is about Malcolm Fade,” she said. “I am close to getting him on our side.”
“What do you mean?”
“That he will help us,” said Grace. “With Jesse. Do you recall that aletheia crystal in the study at Chiswick House? The one that shows the trial of Annabel Blackthorn?”
Tatiana indicated impatiently that she did.
“She was exiled to the Citadel,” Grace said. “Because of her relationship with Malcolm. But if you could speak to her—perhaps get a message to him—”
Tatiana burst out laughing.
Grace sat very still, feeling cold and small, as she often had when she was a child. Her mother’s mocking laughter was as brittle as the cracking of melting ice.
“A message,” Tatiana said at last. “From Annabel Blackthorn. Grace, she’s been dead for nearly a century.” She smiled; there was real delight in her eyes. “The Blackthorns killed her. Her own family. The story that she had become an Iron Sister was only a lie to beguile Malcolm. They didn’t care what he did—a warlock can always be useful. But Annabel was their daughter. They were an old Nephilim family. They ran the Cornwall Institute. She had shamed them, so she had to die.” She looked gleeful. “I told you the Nephilim were savages.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. “Are you sure?”
“The proof is in the crystal,” said Tatiana. “Watch it, if you like; you know where it is. I never showed you all of it before, but since you’ve managed to stir up this trouble, you might as well know everything.”
“But we need Malcolm’s help, Mama. He can show us how to raise Jesse—”
“Well, you should have thought ahead, then, shouldn’t you,” said Tatiana dryly. “All these years the truth has been concealed from Fade, by the Clave, by other warlocks—who knows what the Spiral Labyrinth could have told him, if they’d wished? He won’t thank you for being the one who tells him. I can promise you that.”
Why don’t you care more? Grace thought. Don’t you want Jesse back?
But all she said was, “I’m sorry, Mama.”
A slow smile spread across Tatiana’s face. “Now, now. I had begun to worry that you had given up on your brother. On your family. That you had forgotten us in your rush to become the Consul’s daughter-in-law.”
“I could never forget you,” said Grace. It was the truth. “Mama—where is the crystal?”
Tatiana’s eyes gleamed. “I can tell you exactly where to find it,” she said. “In exchange, I ask only that you pay a visit to James Herondale at his new house on Curzon Street. I am ever so curious about his life with his new bride. Satisfy an old woman’s curiosity, won’t you, my dear?”
* * *
When James finally returned to Curzon Street, it was nearing sunset: the sky was sapphire shot through with amber. He found Effie waiting for him, looking put out: she told him that the Merry Thieves had all been in the drawing room for hours, demanding innumerable cups of tea. At last the Consul had arrived, bearing flowers and condolences, and demanded that the boys return home, as curfew was coming. Matthew （for whom Effie seemed to have a slight fancy） had left a note, which was waiting for James in his room. Risa had gone to Kensington with a packed valise, and also without explaining herself, which Effie thought was very rude, and she didn’t mind saying so.