He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he felt a flash of pain. When he opened them, he was smiling, though it did not reach his eyes. “You have been quite a surprise since you came into our lives,” he said, and she knew by “our” he meant the five of them, the Merry Thieves and Lucie. “I did not feel that our little group was missing anything before you arrived, but now that you are here, I cannot imagine it without you.”

Before Cordelia could respond, the door opened and Risa was there. She took one astonished look at Cordelia, then called over her shoulder for Sona. Cordelia’s mother appeared, wrapped in a silk robe de chambre. She looked from Matthew to Cordelia, dripping water on the front steps, and her dark eyes widened. “Oh,” she said, her voice carrying that mixture of disapproval and concern that only a mother’s could. “Oh, Layla. What happened?”

If Cordelia had expected her mother to be angry, she was pleasantly surprised. Like a master artisan of falsehoods, Matthew spun a story for Sona of bravery, intrigue, danger, and hinted romance. Cordelia had been at the Institute, he claimed, and would have remained loyally by James’s side—for he was suffering the loss of Barbara with great sorrow—but knew her mother would worry if she did not return home. Matthew had offered to escort her, but they had been set upon by demons on the Thames footpath. Cordelia had fought bravely but was knocked into the river. It had all been very dramatic.

Sona forced a bar of Fry’s Chocolate Cream and a thick scarf on Matthew before he was able to make his escape. She then went for Cordelia with an icy will, making sure she stripped off her wet clothes and that Risa drew a hot bath for her. No sooner had Cordelia exited the bath and put on a nightgown and slippers than she found herself reclining on the couch in the library in front of a roaring fire. A cozy dressing gown was wrapped around her shoulders, and Risa placed a fresh cup of tea in her hands while shaking her head with a disapproving air.

Cordelia had never been so hot in her life.

Sona perched on the arm of the sofa. Cordelia watched her mother warily over the edge of her teacup, fairly sure that Sona was settling in for a lengthy scold. Instead her dark eyes were worried. “Cordelia,” she said. “Where is Cortana?”

Cordelia started. She knew when she had last seen Cortana—in James’s hand, by the riverbank. But in the ensuing chaos, she had forgotten to take it back from him before she climbed into the carriage Magnus had summoned.

“I…”