“？‘Frequented’ seems an exaggeration,” Lucie said. “But what of you? What brings you tonight?”
Ariadne tucked a dark curl behind her ear. “Everyone made it sound so exciting. Since my engagement ended, I’ve realized how—restricted—my life has been. I’ve seen so very little, even of London.”
Lucie smiled to herself; though Ariadne was looking at her with sincerity, she couldn’t help but wonder how much this interest in the Ruelle had to do with a certain blue-eyed Lightwood. “It’s quite a quiet night this evening. You may not be seeing the Ruelle at its liveliest.”
Ariadne shrugged philosophically. “Well, I can always come another time.” She looked around. “I was hoping to see the famous Hypatia Vex, at least, but she isn’t here either.”
“She’s opening her new magic shop in Limehouse soon.”
“And the rumor is she’s got a new admirer. One of the werewolves told me. I hope you girls have a good time,” she added, with a glance toward Grace, “and if you haven’t tried absinthe before, you might want to start with a very little bit.”
Lucie thanked Ariadne for the advice and returned to the main part of the room to find Grace examining a guillotine that had been brought in, minus its blade, and propped next to a marble bust of a beheaded man. “How odd,” Lucie said, eyeing the statue. “A bust without a head is really more just a neck, isn’t it?”
“Thank goodness you’re back,” said Grace. “Can we go meet the warlock now?”
The door to Fade’s office, at the end of the narrow corridor, was ajar. Lucie pushed it open with her gloved fingertips; inside, Malcolm Fade sat in a brocade chair gazing thoughtfully into the glowing fireplace, an unlit burled-wood pipe in his hand.
He glanced over at them. There were lines of tension around his eyes and mouth. Lucie had always thought he looked young, twenty-four or -five perhaps, but at the moment it was impossible to put an age to his face. His dark amethyst eyes regarded them coolly.
“Come in,” he said. “And lock the door behind you.”
They did as he asked before taking their seats, side by side on a tapestry sofa.
“Did you get the information from the Adamant Citadel?” Malcolm asked, not bothering with pleasantries.
“Yes,” Grace said, her gray eyes serious. “I can tell you about Annabel. But you may not like it.”
“Yes, well, you might not like everything that I know either,” he replied, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “That doesn’t mean it isn’t worth knowing.”
“I’m not sure I should tell it to you,” Grace said, without emotion. “It is often true that people resent the bearer of bad news.”
“Grace,” Lucie hissed. “This is why we’re here.”
“Perhaps you should listen to Miss Herondale,” Malcolm told Grace. “I shall tell you one thing I know: I know who it is you’re trying to raise from the dead. It’s your brother, isn’t it? Jesse Blackthorn. I should have recalled the story earlier. He died receiving his first rune. A tragedy, but not one unheard-of among the Nephilim. What makes you think it entitles him to another chance at life?”
“My brother is not fully dead,” Grace said, and Lucie looked at her in surprise: there was real emotion in her words. “My mother preserved his body using dark magic. Now he is trapped between life and death, unable to experience either the joy of living or the release of dying. He hovers between two worlds. I have never heard of anyone else forced to endure such a torment.”
Malcolm did not look entirely surprised. “I had heard there might be a warlock involved in that story. That Tatiana Blackthorn had hired someone to assist her in—unorthodox magic.”
This was not news to Lucie. She recalled the first time Jesse had told her about his death, and what had happened after. I know she brought a warlock into the room in the hours after I died, to preserve and to safeguard my physical body. My soul was cut free to wander between the real world and the spirit realm.
It had not occurred to her, though, that Malcolm would be aware of it, or know which warlock Tatiana had hired. And the warlock who had preserved Jesse, who had arranged for him to remain in this half-alive state—well, who better to know how to bring him back?
“Which warlock?” she demanded. “Do you know?”
Malcolm templed his fingers. “We had an agreement,” he said. “Tell me what you know of Annabel. Then we will discuss what I know, and not before.”