“Charles? What on earth?” Lucie gasped; she was already white as a sheet, and the sight of Charles bleeding on the ground didn’t seem to be helping. “I don’t understand—”

“Neither do I,” said Matthew grimly, drawing two more healing runes on Charles’s bare forearm. Charles seemed only half-conscious, his eyelids drooping, his shirtfront wet with blood. “We need to get Charles to the Institute—they can summon the Silent Brothers—”

James shook his head. “Not the Institute. It won’t be safe.”

Matthew’s forehead creased in confusion. “Why wouldn’t it be safe?”

Cordelia sat down on the edge of the fountain as James explained, as quickly as he could, what had happened. It seemed a great deal to him, and yet it also seemed to have taken no time at all: already the events were a blur of motion, shock, and blood.

When he reached the part of the story that involved Lilith, he found himself slowing down. Charles was resting against his brother, breathing harshly but steadily. Lucie said, “I don’t understand. Why would Lilith—Lilith, the Queen of Demons—think that Cordelia was her paladin?”

“Because I am.” Cordelia was sitting on the edge of the fountain. She had placed Cortana back in its scabbard. Her posture was rigid—she looked like someone who’d been dealt an awful blow and was tensed for another. “I swore fealty to someone I thought was Wayland the Smith.” James saw Matthew’s expression change; he looked down, suddenly, at the ground. “But it was Lilith, disguised. I was foolish to assume Wayland the Smith would want me as a paladin. It was a trick.”

“We were all tricked, Daisy,” said Lucie. “We all believed it was Magnus Bane we spoke to at the Shadow Market. You were not foolish.”

“I was arrogant,” Cordelia said. James wanted more than anything else to get up and to put his arms around her. He held himself back. “If it had not been for James—and for you, Lucie—this might all have ended in more disaster.”

“That is not true,” said James intently. “You are the one who delivered the second blow to Belial—without you, I could never—”

“Don’t go.” The voice was a hoarse whisper. James froze; it was Charles. His eyelids fluttered, though he seemed barely conscious still. His head moved restlessly from side to side, his bare hand clawing at the ground. Matthew laid a hand on his brother’s shoulder, guilt and worry etched on his face, just as Charles said, very clearly, “Alastair. Don’t leave.”

They all stared at each other in astonishment—all, James realized, except Cordelia. She looked chagrined, but not at all surprised.

Matthew blinked. “He’s hallucinating,” he said gruffly. “He needs another blood-replacement rune—”