Chain of Iron

She sank back with a sigh against the blue silk seat, suddenly tired. It had been a long night. Anna had slipped away an hour or so after midnight with Lily, a vampire from Peking. Lucie had stood firm—she’d wanted to remain at the Ruelle as long as Cordelia was amused; she knew her friend was half dreading the next day. She couldn’t blame her. Not that people didn’t get married for all sorts of reasons of expediency rather than love, but even if it was temporary, it was very dramatic. Cordelia would have to put on quite a performance tomorrow, as would James.

“Penny for your thoughts,” said a low voice. Lucie looked up, her mouth curling into a smile.

Jesse. Sitting opposite her, his face illuminated by the rosy glow of the carriage lamp that filtered through the window. She had trained herself not to jump when he suddenly appeared between one moment and another; in the four months since they had become reacquainted, she had seen him nearly every night.

He always looked the same. He never gained an inch in height, or his hair an inch in length. He was always reassuringly dressed in the same black trousers and white shirt. His eyes were always deep and green, like verdigris on a tarnished coin.

And his presence always made her feel as if delicate fingers were walking up her spine. Shivery and warm, all at the same time.

“A penny is very little,” she said, keeping her voice light with an effort. “My thoughts are most interesting and should require a greater outlay of cash.”

“Pity I’m stony broke,” he said, indicating his empty pockets. “Did you have a good time at the Ruelle? Anna’s outfits are truly spectacular; I do wish that she could advise me on waistcoats and spats, but, you know …” He raised his arms, gesturing at his never-changing attire.

Lucie smiled at him. “Were you lurking about? I didn’t see you.”

It was rare that she didn’t see Jesse if he was present in a room. Four months ago, he had given his last breath—once imprisoned in the golden locket she now wore around her neck—to save James’s life. Lucie had been worried afterward that the loss would mean Jesse might fade away or disappear; while he remained bothersomely insubstantial, he was still very visible, if only to her.

He leaned his dark head back against the blue-and-gold upholstery. “I may have popped by to make sure you got into the Ruelle safely. There are a lot of suspicious types around Berwick Street at night: thieves, cutpurses, rapscallions….”

“Rapscallions?” Lucie was delighted. “That sounds like something from The Beautiful Cordelia.”

“Speaking of which.” He pointed an accusing finger at her. “When are you going to let me read it?”

Lucie hesitated. She had allowed him to read some of her earlier novels, like Secret Princess Lucie Is Rescued from Her Terrible Family, which he had enjoyed very much, especially the character of Cruel Prince James. But The Beautiful Cordelia was different. “I’m polishing the book,” she said. “It requires polishing. All novels must be polished, like diamonds.”

“Or shoes,” he said dryly. “I’ve been thinking of writing a novel myself. It is about a ghost who is very, very bored.”

“Perhaps,” Lucie suggested, “you should write a novel about a ghost who has a very devoted sister and a very devoted … friend who spend a great deal of their time trying to figure out how to make him not a ghost anymore.”

Jesse didn’t reply. She’d meant to be amusing, but his eyes had gone dark and serious. How odd that even when one was a ghost, the eyes were the window to the soul. And she knew Jesse had a soul. And that it was as alive as anything else living, desperate to be free in the world once more, not sentenced to a half-existence of consciousness that came only at night.

Jesse glanced out the window. They were passing through Piccadilly Circus, nearly deserted at such a late hour. The statue of Eros in the center was lightly dusted with snow; a lone tramp slept upon the steps below it. “Don’t have too much hope, Lucie. Sometimes hope is dangerous.”

“Have you said that to Grace?”

“She won’t listen. Not a word. I—I don’t wish you to be disappointed.”

Lucie reached out her hand, still in its blue kid glove. Jesse seemed to be watching her in the faint reflection traced against the inside of the window, though of course he could not also see himself. Perhaps he preferred it that way.

He turned his own hand over, palm up. Drawing off her glove, she rested her fingers lightly on his. Oh. The feel of him—his hand was cool but slightly insubstantial, like the memory of a touch. And yet it sent sparks through her veins—she could almost see them, like fireflies in the dark.

She cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about me being disappointed,” she said. “I am terribly busy with important things, and I have a wedding to arrange tomorrow.”

He looked over at her then, smiling almost reluctantly. “You’re the only one planning this wedding?”

She tossed her head, making the flowers on her hat tremble. “The only competent one.”

“Oh, indeed. I recall the scene in Secret Princess Lucie Is Rescued from Her Terrible Family in which Princess Lucie bests Cruel Prince James at the art of flower arranging.”

“James was very annoyed by that chapter,” said Lucie, with some satisfaction. Light glowed into the carriage as they passed the streetlamps: outside, a lone policeman walked his solitary beat before the Corinthian portico of the Haymarket Theatre.

She could no longer feel Jesse’s hand against hers. She glanced down and saw that she seemed to be resting her fingers against nothing—he seemed to have gone from slightly to entirely insubstantial. She frowned, but he had already withdrawn his hand, leaving her to wonder if she’d imagined things.

“I suppose you’ll see Grace tomorrow,” Jesse said. “She seems unbothered by the wedding and appears to wish your brother well.”

Lucie couldn’t help but wonder. Grace was a subject she and Jesse could only touch on lightly. She never saw them at the same time, since Jesse lay unconscious during the day, and Grace had difficulty getting away from the Bridgestocks and Charles during the night; Jesse often visited her, but she never spoke to Lucie about their conversations. For all that Grace and Lucie were working together to save Jesse, the topic of him as he was, now, was an awkward one.

Jesse did seem to understand that Grace had gotten engaged to Charles in order to be protected from Tatiana’s influence, and that James and Cordelia were marrying to save Cordelia’s reputation. He even seemed to think it was the right thing to do. But Jesse loved his sister with a great protective love, and Lucie had no desire to discuss with him the fact that she worried Grace had broken James’s heart.

Especially not while she still needed Grace’s help.

“Well, I’m glad to hear it,” she said briskly. Turning out of Shoe Lane, they rolled through the iron gateway of the Institute and into the courtyard. The cathedral rose above them, dark and imposing against the sky. “When—when will I see you again?”

She immediately wished she hadn’t asked. He always turned up, rarely missing more than a night between their meetings. She shouldn’t press him.

Jesse smiled a little sadly. “Would that I could make an appearance during the wedding. It is a pity. I would have liked to see you in your suggenes dress. It looked like a butterfly’s wings.”