Aside from fretting about Father and how he now thinks of me, and watching my mother struggle with the endlessness of her grief, the most difficult thing for me to bear has been separation from Bram. We have scarcely been able to meet at all these long, dark months. Mangan finished his sculpture of Charlotte in time for it to be presented to the Pilkington-Adamses by Christmas, so there has been no excuse for me to accompany her to the house in Bloomsbury. She has been stalwart in providing an alibi for us when she can, but since her mother decided to take the family to their Scottish estate for the New Year and has seen fit to keep her there, we are without our best ally. We write notes and letters, but must be careful that even these are not seen by Mama, who would set about asking all manner of questions. She would not approve of Bram. Indeed, I can think of no way of presenting him in a light that would make her look at him favorably. Any thought of the future casts me down, and my cowardly tactic for enduring this is simply not to think of it.

As if there were not obstacles enough in the path of our seeing each other, the events of Yulemass have complicated things still further. An emergency meeting was held, with only the senior witches present. It was decided that I should not be left at any time unguarded. I railed against such a decision, reasoning that I have my own guardian spirits who accompany me whenever I am out of the house. It is well known among coven members that I have an able and trustworthy escort in my Cavalier captains. But there is fear among my fellow witches now. The threat to me is unavoidably a threat to the security and perhaps even the continuation of the coven itself. Those who were singled out by Amelia for the dreadful prophecy of loss she brought with her are understandably anxious that we strengthen our position. Further spirits have already been called or summoned in an effort to gain more detailed information of what lies ahead, and of what might be done to change things. Sadly, we have found little comfort, for the consensus seems to be that war is inevitable. Amelia was, alas, right about this.