By rights Scarlet should be fearful of fire, should hate it, since it took her mother and her home. But she finds, perhaps because she has no memory of the event, that it’s only when she thinks of fire that she feels scared. When she sees it, she’s fascinated.
“Whatever are you doing with that frightful spike?” Her grandmother shrinks back in the chair, as if Scarlet had held the finial to her throat. “Put it away.”
“I made it,” Scarlet says, hugging the spike protectively to her chest. “With the blacksmith this morning.”
They sit now in the café’s kitchen, eating buttered crumpets for dinner. A weekly treat.
Esme Thorne’s brow furrows. “The blacksmith?”
Scarlet bites into her crumpet, suppressing a flush of sorrow. “You bought me an apprenticeship for my birthday, remember?”
Her grandmother’s eyes cloud and Scarlet curses herself. Why did she use that bloody word? She should know better by now. But, too often, she forgets.
“But it’s not your birthday.” All at once, her grandmother looks like a child: wide, anxious eyes, a smattering of freckles across her nose—the same nose that had been bequeathed to three generations of Thorne women. “Is it? I—I didn’t forget your birthday, did I?”
“No, no, Grandma,” Scarlet says quickly. “Of course you didn’t. It’s not till the end of the month.”
Her grandmother relaxes. “I knew I couldn’t forget my own Ruby’s birthday.”
Scarlet puts down her crumpet. “No, Grandma, I’m not Ruby,” she says, already regretting the words. “I—I’m Scarlet.”
“I know,” Esme says, suddenly irritated. “That’s what I said.” She pulls back her long grey hair—at seventy-eight she’s only lately lost the last wisps of red—and tucks it behind her ears. “I wish you’d stop correcting me. It’s most obnoxious.”
Scarlet waits, poised to douse the flames of the fire she’s just ignited. But then it seems to snuff out. Her grandmother licks melted butter from her thumb.
“When you were a little girl you wanted to be a blacksmith.”
“Really?” Scarlet says, relieved but unconvinced. For the past few years it’s been trickier to distinguish fact from fiction in her grandmother’s mind. Still, Scarlet plays along. “Did I?”
Her grandmother nods. “Oh, yes. I even bought you an anvil and hammer once—for your twelfth birthday, I think—a small set, but real enough.”
“That’s amazing, Grandma.” Scarlet smiles, helpfully. “I don’t remember.”
“You don’t? Gosh, I . . .” Esme falls silent, gazing down at her plate. “You’d gone on a school trip. Afterwards you begged and begged me to buy them for you.”
She still has no memory of the event, but somehow Scarlet feels that this time what her grandmother’s saying is true. “So, what happened?” she asks. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know.” Her grandmother looks thoughtful. “I think . . . you didn’t want them. You said it wasn’t the same.”
Scarlet frowns. “What wasn’t?”
“I don’t rightly know.” Her grandmother looks up from the plate, squinting as the memory slithers away. She reaches into the air, grasping for it. “I think . . . I think . . . you didn’t want the tools. You wanted the fire.”
3rd October
Twenty-nine days . . .
1:03 a.m.—Leo
After settling his parents back at the hotel, Leo returns to Saint John’s. Tonight the moon is at the first quarter and the nearest gate into Everwhere is the one guarding the Master’s Garden. Tonight Leo must hunt, to sharpen his skills, and kill, to fuel his fading light. After observing Goldie for a few days, and continuing to dream about her at night, Leo knows that he must prepare diligently for the forthcoming fight to stand a chance of survival. For, even though she’s forgotten herself, Goldie is still the most powerful Grimm girl he’s ever seen. It’ll be close combat, but at least he’ll have the element of surprise on his side.
It’s after three o’clock when Leo steps out of his room. Occasional blurts of sound punctuate his walk along the student-populated hallway—drunken laughter from one room, enthusiastic copulation from another. Leo hurries on. He’s taking his degree at Saint John’s since it’s one of the few colleges with a gateway on the grounds, meaning Leo doesn’t have to roam the streets of Cambridge on moonlit nights.
Only the most ancient and prestigious colleges contain such doorways: those whose bricks, towers, trees, and soil have been steeped in thought for several centuries. Unfortunately, Saint John’s is also one of the largest colleges and Leo’s room is far from the Master’s Garden, so he always risks being seen by an overvigilant night porter.
Leo notices, speeding along stone corridors and darting across forbidden lawns, that he’s feeling out of sorts. Ordinarily, this is his favourite night of the month, but tonight he’s not buoyed by his usual enthusiasm. Which is strange, since Leo is the best of them, the brightest star, his demon father’s top recruit. He has the highest number of terminations of any soldier. And at only eighteen, depending on the world in which you’re counting.
Leo has heard that it’s possible, theoretically at least, for a soldier to travel to Everwhere on the coattails of a Grimm girl’s dreams—thus not limiting his entrance to an exact date and time—but he won’t manage this method himself, since it requires certain skills and deep intimacy with the girl in question. And Leo could never countenance loving a Grimm. Not truly. Not after what their kind has done to his.
Ten minutes later and a little breathless, Leo stands before the gate. He glances at his watch. At 3:33 a.m. he reaches up, pressing his palm lightly to the elaborate wrought-iron curls. The gate shimmers silver, as if brushed by moonlight. Leo pushes it open and steps through.
6:35 a.m.—Goldie
By now my thoughts of commanding armies and toppling nations have passed, replaced by the usual worries about providing for Teddy, avoiding Garrick, paying the rent . . . and I’m grateful. There was something slightly unsettling in feeling so powerful.
“G-G, come here.”
“What is it?” I shift from the kitchen to Teddy’s bed—everything in our flat is only a few steps from everything else—to see what he wants. Although I already know, because we go through the same routine every morning. And, sure enough, I find Ted naked, except for Batman underpants, beside a pile of discarded clothes.
He gives me a look of lament. “What can I wear today?”
I survey the situation. “Green trousers with red T-shirt and blue jumper?”
The look on Teddy’s face tells me I’m a frump.
“What about your favourite jumper?” I point to the puff of soft blue cashmere acquired from the child of a Swiss banker (room 23) a month ago. It was one of half a dozen identical jumpers—I could have taken two, no problem. But thieving is all about limits; once you get greedy, you get caught.