“I don’t suppose I need to ask you not to tell Gast who sent you,” he said, straightening up from the desk. “If I find out you did, I shall turn you all into a matched set of teacups. As for me, I am going to Capri. My nerves are in a state. If London is to be devoured by demons, I do not wish to be present for the event. Good luck to you all.”

This seemed an odd attitude for a former High Warlock, but Lucie kept her mouth shut as Fell made his way to the door. She thought he might leave without another word, but he lingered a moment.

“I do not entirely know how to treat you Herondales,” he admitted. “A warlock has never had a child before. I cannot help but wonder: What will you become?”

He looked steadily at James, and then at Lucie. The fire crackled in the grate, but neither of them spoke. Lucie thought of the demon at the bridge, telling James it would honor his blood. Her blood.

Ragnor shrugged.

“So be it,” he said, and left.

Lucie dashed over to the writing desk and seized the piece of paper in her hands, then spun around smiling. Thomas and James returned her smile; Thomas with hope, James with weariness. Matthew was gazing bleakly at the glass in his hand.

Then the door opened, and Will and Tessa came in.

Lucie, worried for an instant they had heard some betraying hint of Ragnor Fell’s information, tucked the paper quickly into the pocket of her walking dress. Then she caught sight of their faces, and everything else was forgotten.

It was like the end of summer in Idris. One day she and James would be playing in the forest among the green trees and mossy dells of flowers. Then would come an almost imperceptible change in the air and she would know: there would be frost tomorrow.

Thomas backed up, his face turning white beneath his tan. His shoulder struck Matthew’s and the glass fell from Matthew’s hands. It shattered at their feet, scattering shards across the hearth.

There would be no more waiting for frost, Lucie thought. It was here.

“Thomas, we are so sorry,” said Tessa, reaching out her hands. “Your parents are on their way. Barbara has died.”

11 TALISMANS AND SPELLS

Knowledge is proud that he has learn’d so much;

Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

Books are not seldom talismans and spells.

—William Cowper, “The Task, Book VI: Winter Walk at Noon”

“The tahdig is cold.” Sona towered in the doorway of the town house, her arms crossed as she glared at her two children. “Risa set supper out more than two hours ago. Where have you been?”