Cordelia cleared her throat. “Miss Blackthorn,” she said. Was this a distraction? Somewhere Lucie was creeping about, seeking a ghost. Cordelia had rather thought Tatiana would come to the door too, but she would have to make do with Grace. “I came to see if you were all right after today’s events,” said Cordelia. “As a fellow newcomer to London, I know it can be difficult—”

“I am quite all right,” Grace said. Cordelia had the unnerving feeling that behind Grace’s blank expression, she was sizing Cordelia up.

“We are not so dissimilar, you and I,” Cordelia said. “Both of us traveled a long way to get here—”

“Actually, there’s a Portal in the greenhouse at Blackthorn Manor,” said Grace coldly. “It leads to the garden here. So it was a short journey.”

“Ah. Well, that is different, but neither of us know the Enclave well, or the young people in this city aside from Lucie and James. We are simply trying to make our lives here as best they can be—”

The torchlight cast strange shadows on Grace’s countenance. “We are not alike,” she said, without any anger. “I have obligations you cannot understand.”

“Obligations?” The word startled Cordelia. “You cannot mean—” James. You cannot mean James. An understanding with a man might be considered an obligation, but only if the relationship was unwanted. Since Grace had entered into hers with James secretly, without her mother’s knowledge, surely it must be what she desired?

Grace gave a tight smile. “Did you come because you find the situation amusing?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

With a sigh, Grace began to turn away. Cordelia reached out to catch at her sleeve. Grace gave a low cry of pain and snatched her arm away.

“I don’t—” Cordelia stared; she had touched Grace only lightly. “Are you hurt? Can I help?”

Grace shook her head violently as a dark shadow loomed up behind her. It was Tatiana Blackthorn.

Tatiana was the same age as Cecily Lightwood but looked years older, the lines of hatred and anger cut into her face like knife marks. She wore a stained fuchsia dress, her gray-brown hair loose and cascading. She looked at Cordelia with loathing.

“Just like your cousin,” she sneered. “No sense of propriety at all.” She took hold of the door. “Get off my property,” she finished, and slammed it loudly in Cordelia’s face.

Cordelia was making her way back toward the gates when she heard the noise.