“From no one of import,” Malcolm said, quickly. “A—faerie.” He turned his gaze back to the broken courtyard. “Magnus,” he said. “Do the Nephilim really understand what is happening to them? It has been thousands of years since Princes of Hell walked on the Earth. The Nephilim are descended from angels, but to them angels are fairy tales. A power that exists but is never seen.” He sighed. “It is not wise to forget to believe.”

“They are human,” Magnus said. “It is not in their capability to understand that which by its nature is almost beyond understanding. They see demons as what they fight. They forget that there are unimaginable forces that can bend the laws of the universe. The gods are walking, Malcolm, and none of us are prepared.”

In the end, it was decided they would all return to the house on Curzon Street—the Merry Thieves, Anna, and Cordelia—though Cordelia was to stop briefly at Cornwall Gardens first. All except Lucie.

Lucie had already decided it would be impossible. The timing was too constricted, and she wanted the few hours she could have with her parents before the night fell—though Will and Tessa had told her it was all right to go to James’s house, as they’d be fending off Enclave members for hours. But telling Cordelia she couldn’t come back with them because she was too tired still hurt.

I hate lying to her, she thought dismally, even as Cordelia hugged her and told her that she understood. I absolutely hate it.

“I wish you could be there,” Daisy said, squeezing her hand. “No one knows about—about Lilith—save you and James and Matthew. I don’t know how the others will react. They may hate me.”

“They won’t,” said Lucie. “They will stand by you, every one of them, and if they don’t, I will hit them with my bonnet.”

“Not your best bonnet,” said Cordelia somberly. “That would be a dreadful waste.”

“Certainly not. The second best,” said Lucie. She hesitated. “In the Shadow Market—when I told you I was keeping secrets to help someone… it was Jesse.”

“I had guessed that.” Cordelia’s dark gaze dropped for a moment: she was looking at the locket around Lucie’s throat. The locket Lucie had finally adjusted so that it hung correctly, showing the circlet of thorns etched on its front. “Lucie, if you cared about him—you must have spent quite a bit of time in his company. And hidden it from me.”

“Daisy—”

“I am not angry,” Cordelia said; her eyes met Lucie’s. “I just wish I had known. You are mourning him, and he is a stranger to me. You could have told me, Lucie; I would not have judged you.”