Chloë eyes go darker still. “Jilly Coppercom?”

I nod. “It’s all got to do with—”

But she cuts me off. “Don’t tell me about it now. Save the story until we’re with Lucius so you only need to go through it once.”

When she leads me inside the Rookery, it’s like stepping back into a Victorian household. There’s an umbrella stand just inside the door with a cloak rack on the wall above it, all brass and oak. Wooden wainscoting runs the broad length of the hall at about waist height, setting off a willow leaf pattern of Morris wallpaper. There are paintings in ornate wooden frames, old-fashioned oil landscapes, mostly, though I do see a couple of more contemporary pieces, also in oils. One in particular catches my eye. It shows a pair of dark-haired teenagers with a hint of crow heads surrounding them like auras.

Chloë allows herself a small smile when she sees me looking at it.

“That’s one of Jilly’s,” she says.

I’m surprised. It’s really good. But then I don’t know all that much about Jilly beyond the fact that she seems to have some very powerful friends.

“So she’s an artist?”

“She was.” Chloë seems to catch herself. “No, that’s not right. She still is. She’s just been limited in how much she can express since the accident. I can’t tell you how worried I am, having heard your bad news.”

“I’m sorry to have been the one to bring it.”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s something we needed to know if we’re going to be able to do anything about it.”

“To tell you the truth,” I say as we continue down the hall. “I didn’t think Raven would even see me.”

Chloë smiles. “First, he prefers to be called Lucius. ‘Raven’ has too many connotations that he’d just as soon let lie. And secondly, we always have time for kin.”

“I’ll remember that.”

But I don’t feel any more comfortable as we go on. I catch glimpses of a stately dining room, a living area with sideboards and fat comfortable furniture, and then Chloë leads me into the library to meet the owner of the house.