And before I can stop him he has wrenched the doors open and fled, out of the antechamber and up the stairs. I run after him, and I am amazed at how fast he is, how quickly he bounds up the stairs. By the time I emerge from the summer house I just catch a glimpse of him leaving the garden through the small door past the mews. I know I cannot catch him. I am weakened by my efforts in the chamber. Hekate lent me her strength when I needed it most, but it has ebbed away now, and my own, flimsy body is exhausted from the unnatural demands I have made upon it. Freddie, in contrast, seems supernaturally strong now. I quickly summon my Cavaliers and instruct them to go after him.

Find him, stay with him until I come. Do not leave his side.

Yes, mistress.

I know they will be able to do as I have asked. What I am less certain of is whether or not, when I find him, I will truly be able to help Freddie. I have raised him from the dead, the Elixir has done its work, but he must be tended, he must be looked after. The effects are only temporary and so the Elixir must be taken regularly. If he stays too long without the precious potion his spirit will start to fade, and his body, his poor, dear body, will slowly begin to rot.

Chapter 19

19.

When Bram wakes up it is to find Gudrun sitting on the end of his bed, sifting through the many sketches that are strewn about the place.

“So,” she says without looking at him, “did you get to dance with your princess last night?”

Bram wearily props himself up on one elbow. His head throbs horribly and his eyes feel puffy and sore. He rubs his temples and yawns, tasting the fur on his tongue.

“What do you want, Gudrun?” His voice is croaky. He stretches his legs uncomfortably, dismayed to see how creased and crumpled Perry’s clothes are.

“Poor Artist,” says Gudrun, still studying the drawings. She shrugs. “Anyway, now you will see I am right.”

“Really? How so?”

“I told you a broken heart makes the best art.” She waves a handful of the sketches at him. “These are magnificent.”

He looks at them properly now, and even with his slightly blurred vision, he can see that she is right. They are the best he has ever done. He takes one from her gingerly and studies it more closely.

Lilith, how he loves the sound of her name in his head. My beautiful Lilith.

He goes to put the painting down on his bedside table and his gaze falls on two railway tickets. He snatches up the clock. It is twenty-five minutes to noon.

The train! My God, the train.