James looked exhausted, Cordelia realized. He had come far out of his way to tell her this news, so that she did not have to hear it from people who didn’t know Thomas or care about him or his friends.

He must be desperate to leave, she thought. She couldn’t keep him here talking when he no doubt wished to be with his family, or with Grace.

“It was kind of you to come and tell me,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “I would ask you in for tea, but I know you must be eager to return to your family.”

“Actually, I am not returning to the Institute. I have made a plan with Matthew and Lucie to confront Gast in his flat. I’ll be meeting them there. I came to see if you would join us.”

Surprised, Cordelia said, “Oh, did Lucie ask you to fetch me along?”

James hesitated. “Yes. She did.”

“Anything for my future parabatai, of course,” Cordelia said. And she did mean it. She wanted badly to see Lucie, and even more to have something useful to do. Some way to help. All night she had been thinking of Barbara, who she had known so little, but who had been so young, and seemed so kind.

“I doubt this warlock will be happy to see us,” said James. “Bring your gear and Cortana; we must be ready to fight.”

Emmanuel Gast lived in a flat above a handkerchief manufacturer’s, near the junction between Cheapside and Friday Street. Matthew pointed up Friday Street as they went past. “There used to be a pub up that street called the Mermaid Tavern, where Shakespeare used to drink.”

In Lucie’s opinion as a writer, this was not an artistically inspiring avenue. On each side of the street were dingy brown buildings with narrow leaded windows and grubby Dutch gables. Awnings hanging outside several buildings were dyed a mottled brown too, not by design but with the dust of the streets and the smog of the city. Cheapside was one of the busiest thoroughfares in London, crowds surging from the fishmongers’ stalls all the way to the white bell tower of St. Mary-le-Bow.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think much of Shakespeare’s taste.”

Matthew smiled, though he looked as tired as Lucie felt. He wore dark gear just as she did, a white mourning band around his wrist and a white flower in his buttonhole. He had been making jokes all morning, and Lucie had been trying as best she could to keep up. It was hard not to let her mind wander to thoughts of Barbara, of the now even more crowded infirmary at the Institute. Of when the next attack might come, and who might be hurt or killed in it.