Will passed a hand over his face, struggling to control his expression. “Jamie. I understand—believe me—one does ridiculous things when one’s in love. But you can’t go. This is desperate.”

“What’s desperate?”

“Your sister’s gone,” Will said.

“What?”

“She’s gone, Jesse Blackthorn’s body is gone, and Malcolm Fade is missing. According to the note she left, she and Fade intend to engage in some kind of necromancy to raise young Jesse from the dead. I don’t think I need to tell you what kind of price magic like that exacts.” There were sharp lines at the corners of Will’s mouth; James had rarely seen his father look so worried. Will usually hid his concerns. “James, she will listen to you where she will not listen to me or your mother. I need you to come with me to find her.”

Numb with shock, James stared at his father. Along the platform, the porters were walking the length of the Southampton train, making sure everything was buttoned up tight.

“You had better run to tell them you’ll be staying back,” Will said quietly. James knew he meant Matthew and Cordelia. “Though I must ask you to tell neither of them about Lucie. The fewer people who hear of this, the better, for her sake.”

Still numb, James started down the platform. Steam was beginning to rise from the train’s wheels; he could see the passengers through the windows, taking their seats, readying themselves for the journey.

He turned to glance back at his father. Will stood by himself on the platform, his broad shoulders hunched, his gaze fixed on the middle distance. James thought he had never seen Will look so alone.

“All aboard!” a porter shouted, passing James as he strode toward the front of the train. “All aboard for Southampton and Paris!”

Paris. James thought of Cordelia, on the train. Daisy would be settling into a plush velvet seat, maybe drawing off her scarf and coat, looking across the carriage at Matthew, full of excitement for the journey to come.…

He tried to imagine himself bursting into that carriage, spoiling the cozy scene with frantic demands. But what could he possibly say? He could not beg Cordelia—or Matthew, for that matter—to abandon their plans, to come back, only to then immediately depart London himself, with no explanation as to why he was leaving, or where he was going.

It would be impossible. And worse, it would be cruel.