James could hear his heartbeat, thudding in his ears. He remembered Cordelia, in the study, trying to get him to remember the summer he had scalding fever—the hurt in her eyes when he did not seem to recall it.

He had already loved her then.

“But the bracelet was not perfect,” said Grace. “The spell that bound you to me weakened when we were distant. Each summer, in Idris, its power would be refreshed, and you would love me again, and forget everything else. But then, this past summer, you did not come to Idris, and the spell began to truly falter.”

James remembered how unhappy he’d been that they were not going to Herondale Manor over the summer, because his parents insisted on remaining in London to help the Carstairs. Memories had tormented him then: the walk up the road to Blackthorn Manor under the leafy branches of the hawthorn trees; long conversations with Grace at the iron gates; the cool water she brought him in china cups she’d pinched from the kitchen.

But none of it had been real: he had been longing for a drug, a fever-dream. Grace had manipulated him since they were children. James felt his body respond as it did in the face of any threat, his muscles tightening with coiled rage.

“So that is why you came to London?” he spat. “To tighten my leash? Grace, why? I know your mother is mad, twisted by grief and spite. But why would she go to these elaborate lengths to make me think I loved you?”

“Don’t you see?” Grace cried, and James thought it was the first time he’d ever heard her burst out with any sort of real emotion. “Because of him. Belial. Everything was because of him. He wanted to control you, and she wanted you in pain, so they both got what they wanted.”

James felt as if he could barely catch his breath. “Belial,” he echoed. “He was the one in the forest? He gave you this… curse?”

“He called it a gift,” Grace said, in a small voice.

It only made James more furious. “How long have you known that I was Belial’s grandson? Did you know even before I did?”

She shook her head. “I found out when I took the bracelet from you four months ago. It was Belial who sent a demon to threaten me, to command me to put the bracelet back on.”

James remembered, suddenly, what he could not remember before—the words Grace had said to him the night Blackthorn Manor had burned. The day she’d placed the bracelet back on his wrist. It had to be you. My mother made me her blade, to cut every barrier raised against her. But your blood, his blood, is a barrier I cannot cut. I cannot bind you without his chain.