James swung about with a stern look. “You shouldn’t have walked home by yourself, Luce, not in the middle of the night. Promise me you won’t again. It’s too dangerous.”

“But I—” Lucie clamped her mouth shut. After a moment she tried again: “None of us should be out alone, I suppose. Poor Filomena.”

“Where’s Christopher?” Thomas asked.

“Apparently Father set up a patrol to search the neighborhood for any evidence,” said Anna. “Christopher volunteered. They’re still out looking.”

“Poor Kit, he was distraught,” said Matthew. “Said he’d had quite a nice chat with Filomena at the Wentworths’ party, about botany. I didn’t even know you could have a nice chat about botany.”

“I volunteered as well, but Uncle Gabriel said if anything happened to me he’d never hear the end of it from Mam,” said Lucie, looking disgruntled.

A Silent Brother—Enoch, Cordelia thought—had emerged from the Institute. He knelt down, his parchment robes brushing the snow, and peeled back a corner of the sheet to examine the body. Cordelia looked away.

“Where was she killed?” she asked. “Near Anna’s?”

“No,” James said quietly. He had pulled off his gloves and was worrying them with his bare fingers. The day had warmed, the bright sunlight falling through the bare branches of the nearby trees making a delicate pattern of latticework across his face. “She was killed somewhere else. Close to here.”

Anna looked at him in surprise. “Yes, on Shoe Lane,” she said. “She almost made it all the way back to the Institute.”

James was crushing his gloves in his hands. Lucie stared at her brother, a peculiarly blank look on her face, as if she didn’t quite recognize him, or were looking past him at something else. But there was nothing else there.

“I’m starting to remember,” James said.

Matthew laid a hand on James’s shoulder. Cordelia could not help but wonder if she should have done that—surely she should be comforting James? But the thought of touching him in public frightened her. Not because it was inappropriate, but because of what it might reveal. Surely her emotions would be written on her face. “Jamie,” Matthew said, in a low voice. “Did you have another dream?”

“I didn’t remember it when I first woke up,” James said, not meeting Cordelia’s eyes. “But now—it’s coming back in pieces.” He dropped the gloves into the melting snow, stark black against the white. “There was a girl, she was singing—singing in Italian—Raziel, and there was blood—so much of it—”

“James,” Anna said sharply, moving to block him from the view of those crowded around Filomena’s body. She glanced around at their small group. “We need to get inside.”

James nodded, white-faced. He was leaning quite hard on Matthew, who had an arm around him. “Yes. I’ll take us through the Sanctuary.”