“Not a bit,” said Effie. “I don’t get paid enough to run about the snow in me nightie.” She sniffed. “And you should know that decent men don’t embrace women other than their wives in their vestibules. They rent a nice house in St. John’s Wood and do it there.”

James felt dizzy. He had been angry when he’d opened the door to see Grace, angry that she’d thrown her arms around his neck, but he’d let her hold on to him, wanting to keep her in the house. It had never occurred to him that Cordelia might have seen him embrace Grace, heard what she’d said. I had to tell you, darling, I am going to end it with Charles. There never was anyone for me but you.

And what had he said back? Thank God.

Three steps took him to the entryway. A pair of Cordelia’s gloves was on the side table; he stuffed them into his pocket, not wanting her to be cold—the night was freezing—he would give her his coat when he found her, he thought. “Effie,” he said. “I want you to summon the Consul. Immediately. There’s a treacherous criminal in the drawing room.”

“Cor.” Effie looked intrigued. “The popsy? What’d she do, then? Nicked something?” Her eyes widened. “Is she dangerous?”

“Not to you. But get the Consul. Ask her to bring Brother Zachariah.” James yanked on his coat. “Grace will tell them what they need to know.”

“The criminal will tell them everything about the crimes she committed?” said Effie, looking baffled, but James didn’t answer. He had already bolted out the door into the night.

After what had seemed an interminably long day, Will was glad to retire to his bedroom, kick off his shoes, and watch his wife do what she did best: read. Tessa was curled up in a window seat, her hair hanging thick and lustrous around her shoulders, her nose buried in a copy of a book called The Jewel of Seven Stars. It always amused him that even though her life was filled with demons and vampires, warlocks and faeries, his wife made a beeline for fantastical fiction every time they entered Foyles bookshop.

As if she could hear his thoughts, she glanced over and quirked her mouth up at him. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” he said. “Did you know, you grow more beautiful every day?”

“Well, that’s odd,” said Tessa, resting her chin thoughtfully on the spine of her book, “because as a warlock I do not age, and so I should look the same day to day, neither improving nor worsening.”

“And yet,” said Will, “you continue to accrue radiance.”