Anna flicked an eyebrow upward. “Ah yes, about that. Let me be perfectly clear what you are asking: You want me to seduce a warlock in order to procure you a tragically outmoded box in which to, no doubt, house a dangerous demon?” Anna surveyed the room. “How did you decide on this plan? And why in Raziel’s name haven’t you told anyone else about it?”

“Because we are guessing?” hazarded Matthew.

“Because we cannot,” said Lucie stiffly. “We have sworn a vow to protect the source who gave us the information our guesses are based on. We cannot even tell you, dear Anna. You must simply trust us that this is for a good reason.”

Anna threw her hands up. “All right. You are off your heads, every one of you.”

James’s mouth tugged upward at the corner. “Don’t you think you could do it?”

“Humph.” Anna toyed with her watch so the chain caught the light and glittered. “I could do it. But it goes entirely against my code. It is against my strict policy to seduce anybody twice.”

“I didn’t know you’d seduced Hypatia once,” said Matthew.

Anna waved an impatient hand. “Ages ago. How do you think I got invited to the Hell Ruelle in the first place? Honestly, Matthew.”

“How did you leave things with Hypatia?” said Lucie. “Was her heart broken? In that case, she might want… revenge.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Wait here a moment, my dear novelist. In fact, all of you wait here, except Cordelia. You come with me, Daisy.”

She swung up from her place on the arm of Christopher’s chair and strode across the room, bounding up a couple of steps and disappearing behind a wooden door. Cordelia stood, smoothed the frills of her gown, wiggled her eyebrows at Lucie, and marched into the infamous bedchamber of Anna Lightwood.

It was surprisingly ordinary. If Cordelia had hoped for scandalous etchings or tearstained love letters pinned to the walls, there were none. Instead there were cigars laid out with bottles of cologne on a battered walnut desk, and a kingfisher-blue waistcoat slung carelessly over a japanned screen. The bed was unmade, the sheets a tangle of silk.

As Cordelia closed the door carefully after her, Anna glanced up, tossing her a grin and a brightly colored bundle. Cordelia caught it reflexively. It was a long bolt of cloth: a royal-blue silk.

“What’s this?” asked Cordelia.

Anna leaned against one of her bedposts, her hands in her pockets. “Indulge me. Hold it up against yourself.”

Cordelia did as she was told. Perhaps Anna was having a dress made for a paramour? And using Cordelia as a model?

“Yes,” Anna murmured. “The shade quite suits your coloring. As would a claret, I think, or a deep gold or saffron. None of these insipid pastels all the girls are wearing.”

Cordelia smoothed a hand down the fabric. “I didn’t think you liked dresses.”