They followed him down a narrow hall to a private room papered in a William Morris pattern and outfitted with a writing desk and several amber-colored brocade chairs. He gestured impatiently for them to sit. Grace perched coquettishly on the edge of her seat, tilting her head so that she gazed up at Malcolm through fluttering lashes. Grace really was awfully odd, Lucie thought, sitting down in another brocade chair. Did she think flirting with a century-old warlock would work? Then again, any port in a storm.

Malcolm, leaning back against the wall beside a painting of a stormy sea, seemed amused—and entirely unmoved. “Aren’t you children supposed to be home at this hour?”

“You mean,” Grace said, quick as a whip, “you know about the murders, then?”

Malcolm sank down into a leather chair behind the desk. Something about him reminded Lucie of Magnus, though Magnus had kinder eyes. By contrast, there was something remote about Malcolm, as if he were walling some part of himself away where it could not be touched. “I am the High Warlock. Things like Shadowhunter curfews fall under my purview. Though I’ve already told the Clave: I have no idea who killed those three Nephilim.”

“We understand,” Lucie said. “And we truly are sorry to interrupt your evening. I was hoping you might be able to help us with something else. Something we’re trying to learn more about. It has to do with raising the dead.”

Malcolm’s eyes widened. “How refreshingly candid,” he said, running a finger over the ebony inlay on his desk. “It’s always nice to see the youth of today thirsting for knowledge. Do you think the murderer is trying to raise the dead?”

“It’s not about that,” Lucie said carefully, “but rather, whether there are ways to raise the dead that don’t involve so much… er, death. Ways that don’t require evil deeds.”

“There is no way to raise the dead without doing great evil,” Malcolm said flatly.

“That can’t be true,” Grace said. Her gaze was still fixed on Malcolm. “I beg you. Help us. Help me.”

Malcolm’s gaze darkened. “I see,” he said, after a long moment, though Lucie wasn’t sure what he saw. “Grace—your name is Grace, isn’t it?—I am helping you already, by telling you the truth. Life is in balance, just as magic is in balance. And so there is no way to grant life without taking life.”

“You are very famous, Mr. Fade,” said Grace. Lucie looked at her in alarm: What was Grace playing at? “I remember hearing that you were once in love with a Shadowhunter. And that she became an Iron Sister.”

“What of it?” Malcolm said.