“If this is about Christopher, I know no more than you do,” said Charles, looking impatient. “He’s at the Silent City. I believe Matthew has gone to the Institute to be with James. I suggest you do the same.”

He started to shut the door. Without thinking, Thomas jammed his considerable shoulder in the gap between the door and the frame. “I already know about Christopher,” he said. “I need to use the laboratory downstairs. Christopher can’t, so I will.”

“No,” said Charles. “Don’t be ridiculous. People are dying. This isn’t the time for playing about—”

“Charles.” Alastair appeared in the entryway. He was in trousers and shirtsleeves, and was jacketless. His bare forearms were lightly muscled, his chin lifted in that arrogant tilt he affected, even when no one was looking at him. “Let Thomas in.”

Charles rolled his eyes but stepped back from the door. Thomas half stumbled into the entryway.

“What is it that you want to do?” Alastair said. He was looking at Thomas, his dark brows knotted.

Thomas explained Christopher’s idea for an antidote quickly, skipping, of course, all the bits that involved illegal visits to greenhouses. “I just need the laboratory to see if it will work,” he finished. “Alastair—”

“Thomas, honestly,” said Charles. “Perhaps you mean well, but this isn’t the time to be doing rash and silly experiments. I’m on my way to meet with the Enclave. I don’t have time to stay here and make sure you don’t blow up the house.”

Thomas thought of Christopher—shy, clever Christopher—and the years and years of quiet determination that had made him an expert at what he did, respected by Henry, far more capable than he was ever given credit for.

Thomas clutched the box that held the malos root to his chest with determination.

“My sister and my cousin have both been struck down by this thing—this demon poison,” Thomas said. “My sister is dead. Christopher is dying. How can you think I am not being serious about this? That this is rash or silly? Creating an antidote is the only way that we can save those who are still living.”

“The Enclave—” Charles began, buttoning his jacket.

“Even if the Enclave locates and kills the Mandikhor demon, that won’t help those who are ill,” said Thomas. “It won’t help Ariadne.”

Charles’s mouth flattened into an irritated line, and for a moment Thomas had the bizarre feeling that he was going to say that he didn’t care about Ariadne. He saw Alastair give Charles a dark sort of look—almost as if the same thought had occurred to him.

Thomas cleared his throat. “Someone once told me that we need to stand back and let people do what they’re good at, and Christopher is good at this. I have faith in him. This antidote will work.”