She closed her eyes and reached. As she had done once before, she sought Jesse’s soul among the mist and shadow behind her eyelids. For a moment there was blankness. Her heart tripped, stuttered—what if he was gone, gone forever—and then there was light around her, inside her.
But there was not the sense of wrongness she had felt before, when she had told him to live. Instead of shadowy monsters, she saw a dusty parlor—she was inside it, kneeling on a window seat, looking over the garden wall at a neighboring building: Herondale Manor. In the pane of the window, she could see Jesse’s face reflected, small and pale. She was inside his memories, she realized, looking around the room in wonder. Cobwebs were already forming in the corners, the wallpaper beginning to peel.…
She was whirled away to another scene, and another—the decrepit corridors of Blackthorn Manor; a memory of Tatiana Blackthorn, face twisted into a rare smile. She was standing in the open front door of the manor. Lucie could see the briar-covered gates in the distance. There was a small girl standing behind Tatiana, cowering away as though terrified to enter the house. Her gray eyes were wide and frightened.
Then Jesse and Grace were laughing together, climbing the overgrown trees that grew on the grounds of Blackthorn Manor. Grace had a smudge of dirt on her face, and her hem was torn, and she looked happier than Lucie had ever seen her look. But then the memory shifted abruptly. She—Jesse—was in the same cobwebbed parlor, dressed in formal gear that was a little too large, and one of the Silent Brothers was approaching, stele in hand. Tatiana hovered by the doorway, twisting her hands together. Lucie wanted to shout, to reach out to demand that they stop, that the Voyance rune would be Jesse’s death sentence—but then the scene shifted again. She was in Brocelind Forest, the trees bathed in moonlight. Jesse was walking the moss-covered paths, and this was Jesse as Lucie knew him—as a ghost.
Then she was in the ballroom of the Institute, and now she could see herself—her blue lace dress that matched her eyes, the curls escaping from her bandeau, and she realized with a shock that through Jesse’s eyes she looked different than she imagined herself. Graceful, desirable. Beautiful. Her eyes were bluer than she knew them to be, her lips fuller and redder, her lashes long and secretive. She looked like a woman who was capable, adult, who had intrigues and secrets of her own.
She felt his longing for her, as if it would crack her own chest open. Jesse, she thought, though she was not really thinking at all—she was reaching for him, as she had always done, reaching out to draw him back to her. Live.
I command you to live.
Wind tore through the Sanctuary, though the doors were closed. Lucie opened her eyes to see the tapers blow out, plunging the room into dimness. In the far, far distance, she seemed to hear a sort of howl, like a tiger whose kill has been torn away from it. The air was full of the scent of singed wicks, of parchment and candle wax.…
Under her hand, Jesse’s chest quivered and rose with a breath.
She staggered back. Only then did she realize she was shivering uncontrollably; she felt weak, drained, as if she had lost pints of her own blood. She wrapped her arms around herself as Jesse’s hands moved, fluttered—raised themselves to his face. He tore at the blindfold, gasping, his back arching off the bier.
Lucie wanted to go to him, to help him, but she couldn’t move. She swayed on her feet as Jesse sat up, the Blackthorn sword clattering to the floor. He swung his legs off the bier—he was breathing hard, his eyes darting around the room. She saw him register the extinguished candles, the runes of mourning on the floor, the bier.
And then he saw her.
His lips parted, his eyes widening. “Lucie.”
She sank to her knees. Oh, you’re alive, you’re alive, she wanted to say, but there was not enough strength in her to form the words. The world had begun to blur at the edges. Darkness was creeping in around her. She saw Jesse spring up. He was a blur of white as he came toward her. She heard him call her name, felt his hands on her shoulders.
The world tilted. She realized she was lying on the floor and Jesse was leaning over her. She heard the sound of a door opening in the distance, and now there was someone else there too. Malcolm had come in from outside, bringing the chill of night with him. He wore a white traveling coat and a furious expression. “What have you done?” he demanded, his rage cutting through the hissing in her ears.
She smiled up at both of them. “I did it,” she heard herself whisper. “I brought him back. I commanded him.”