Lucie could not help the surprise that went through her. She recalled Grace at the Hell Ruelle: I told him the truth. Shouldn’t he know the truth?

“That is why I summoned you. I thought you deserved to hear my decision from me.” Malcolm filled the bowl of his pipe with tobacco and tamped it down gently. “I will not help you. Necromancy is inherently evil, and notoriously difficult. Even if I could assist you in compelling Jesse Blackthorn to rise again, I fail to see what would be in the bargain for me.”

It had begun to snow outside; Lucie could hear the soft brush of the flakes against the tent fabric. “But if you could help me raise Jesse, I could—I could help you do the same with Annabel.”

“You told me that Jesse Blackthorn’s body has been preserved using magic. Annabel died a century ago, and I have no idea where she was buried.” Bitterness sheathed the rage in his voice, like a brittle scabbard over a blade. “She is lost to me. I’ve read over the texts, I’ve studied what there is to know. It might be one thing with Jesse, as he is an… unusual case. But with Annabel—” He shook his head. “To compel the dead back into a mortal body requires necromancy, and necromancy carries too heavy a price. And without the original body—to take a body from another living human would be a terrible act.”

Lucie took a deep breath. She could get up and walk out of this tent and resume her normal life, with no one the wiser. But she thought of Jesse—of Jesse dancing with her in the snow outside the Institute. Of Jesse vanishing as the sun touched him. Of Jesse in his coffin, with the snow falling all around him, never feeling the cold. “Mr. Fade, I am able to speak with the dead, even those who are not restless. I could summon Annabel’s ghost for you, and we could ask her where to find her body—”

Malcolm went rigid, the pipe unlit in his hand. He turned slowly; Lucie could only see his profile, sharp as a hawk’s. “Annabel is a ghost? She haunts this world?” His voice was ragged. “That is not possible.”

“Mr. Fade—”

“I said it is not possible.” His hand shook, loose tobacco spilling from the bowl of the pipe. “She would have shown herself to me. She would never have left me alone.”

“Whether they are ghosts or not…” Lucie hesitated. “I can reach the dead.”

Slowly, Malcolm sat up straighter. Lucie could sense his desperation; there was something almost brutal about it, about the intensity of his need. “You could speak to Annabel? Bring her ghost to me?”

Lucie nodded, lacing her cold fingers together. “Yes, and if you help me reunite Jesse’s soul with his body, I will do whatever you need. I will summon Annabel, and find out where she is buried.”