Cordelia made an exasperated sound. “I fear my mother might be equally enthused over any eligible bachelor who pretended an interest in tea. That is why I told you to find me one, remember?”

She had made her voice light and joking, but the smile left James’s face anyway. “Right,” he said. “When all this business is over…”

“Yes, yes,” Cordelia said, starting back up the stairs.

“I really do like tea!” James shouted from the bottom of the steps. “In fact, I love it! I LOVE TEA!”

“Good for you, mate!” yelled the driver of a passing hansom cab.

Despite everything, Cordelia could not stop herself from smiling. She went inside and shut the door; when she turned, her mother was standing directly behind her, still looking delighted. “He is handsome, isn’t he?” said Sona. “I never would have thought it. He was such an awkward boy.”

“Mâmân,” Cordelia protested. “James is just a friend.”

“Why have such a handsome friend? It seems a waste,” said Sona. “Also, I do not think he regards you as only a friend. The way he looks at you—”

Cordelia threw her hands up. “I need to speak with Alastair about—about training,” she said, and escaped at speed.

The door to Alastair’s room was open. Cordelia stood a moment in the hallway, looking at her brother: he was seated at his satinwood writing desk, mundane newspapers strewn in front of him. He rubbed at his eyes as he read, weariness evident in the set of his shoulders.

“Any interesting news?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe. She knew better than to actually enter without an invitation; Alastair kept his room neat as a pin, from the polish on the walnut wardrobe to the spot-free set of blue armchairs by the window.

“Charles says that a rash of demon attacks can often be accompanied by a spike in what the mundanes report as crime,” said Alastair, flicking aside the page he was reading with a newsprint-stained finger. “I can’t say I’m seeing anything here, though. Nary a single juicy murder or the like.”

“I was actually hoping to speak with you about Charles,” said Cordelia.

Alastair flicked his gaze up at her. People often remarked that the two of them had the same black eyes, the iris only a shade lighter than the pupil. A strange effect considering Sona’s eyes were light brown and Elias’s blue. “About Charles?”

She nodded.

“Well, come inside then, and shut the door,” he said, leaning back in his chair.