“Lilith,” Belial said bitterly. “Of course. I should have known.”
25 ARCHANGEL RUINED
His form had yet not lost
All her original brightness, nor appeared
Less than archangel ruined, and the excess
Of glory obscured.
—John Milton, Paradise Lost
There was a low moaning sound. It took Lucie a moment to realize it was coming from her. She was lying on her stomach, her cheek pressed to a cold, hard surface. She blinked her eyes open with effort and saw a thick layer of dust on a wooden floor, and ahead of her, a filthy, dark blue wall.
Her head ached so badly the pain sent spikes of nausea through her. Swallowing hard, she pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around.
She was in a long room, high-ceilinged and dancing with dust: above her sparkled a battered chandelier in the shape of a twisted spider. Aha. She was in the ballroom of Chiswick House, where she had once climbed through a window and met Jesse.
Jesse. More recent memories came back to her in a flurry—her rush to the coffin, the discovery of the runes on Jesse’s body, taking the Blackthorn sword from the wall. The blow from behind and the darkness…
Lucie touched the back of her head and felt a painful lump where she had been struck. She twisted around another inch—and saw a froth of gray skirts, and a pair of dove-gray kid boots. She dragged her gaze up. Grace sat a few feet away on a splintered wooden chair, her ankles neatly crossed, her back straight. Across her lap she held a fireplace poker.
Lucie sat up hastily, ignoring the pain in her head. Her back hit the wall; she thrust out her hands defensively as Grace stared at her. “Don’t you come near me with that thing again,” Lucie gasped. “Why on earth would you—”
Grace looked incredulous. “How can you even ask? Lucie, you—you of all people, standing over my brother with a drawn sword! How could you do it? Did you think if you destroyed his body, I could never raise him? Why would you want such a thing?”
Despite everything, Lucie felt a twinge of guilt. In Grace’s disbelief and horror, she felt her own horror: she had never wanted to be in that position, never wanted to be a danger to Jesse.
She scrubbed her dusty hands across her face. “You don’t know the whole situation,” she said. “There’s more to it, Grace.”
Grace looked skeptical. “More to what? Or do you stand over all your friends brandishing swords while they sleep?”
“Jesse isn’t asleep,” Lucie said in a low voice. “Grace, I need you to listen to me.”
“No!” Grace’s eyes flashed. “I shan’t.” Her hands tightened on the poker. “You’ve been reluctant for ages now—you haven’t wanted to do everything we can to help Jesse. But I’ve kept trying things, even without you—”
“You mean that horrid incense you were burning out there?” Lucie demanded.
Grace glared. “Burning activated moth powder as a means of catching a wandering spirit is very well attested to by Valdreth the Unliving.”
“Well, if Valdreth the Unliving says it’ll work, I’m sure it will; necromancers are notoriously trustworthy.” Lucie’s voice dripped sarcasm. “You’re right—I haven’t wanted to have anything to do with this nonsense, because it can’t work. There’s no little, harmless way to raise the dead—”
“But it is working,” said Grace.
Lucie stared at her.
“Jesse has runes now,” said Grace, in a small voice. “They’ve begun to appear on his skin. Sometimes I can see his coffin’s been disturbed. Like he’s moving inside it. Jesse is getting better, Lucie. Ready to come back.”
“No,” Lucie said, shaking her head. “Oh, no, no. I’m sorry, Grace. But it’s not your incense or spells or anything else like it that’s making runes appear on Jesse.” She took a gamble. “You said you’d sacrificed a rabbit out here,” she said. “But that didn’t happen, did it? You actually quite like animals. There was blood in the shed, but you didn’t know where it came from, did you?”
“What are you suggesting?” Grace’s voice rose, and Lucie knew she’d been right. “I—yes, I came one morning, and I saw him in the coffin, and there was blood on his clothes. I thought he must have risen and injured himself somehow; I thought—that’s good, isn’t it? Only living things bleed.”
“Oh, Grace.” Lucie felt immensely sad. “You thought he was coming back to life? I wish it was that. He isn’t better. He’s possessed.”