The Last Hours: Chain of Thorns

“That,” Cordelia said, “is beautifully noble. And also very stupid. And you are not the one who is going to allow Thomas to do anything; he has the feelings he has, and they are his business.”

“Animals are innocent. To have their trust is an honor. He will be miserable unless you let him stay with you, help you. You are not saving him from a burden by keeping him away. Only breaking his heart.”

The truth is rarely pure and never simple.

—Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest

“Can I touch you?” she whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes. Please.”

“Can I touch you?” she whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut. “Yes. Please.”

Grace. For a moment, James could say nothing; his throat had closed up. The thought of Grace was like falling down an endless black hole, a pit lined with mirrors, each of which reflected back a vision of himself cringing, foolish, filled with shame.

“It was what you said about your dream,” she explained. “That you heard Belial say, ‘They wake.’”

“I’ve no idea what he meant,” said James. “But Grandfather does like a puzzle. Whether it has a solution or not.”

“Ugh,” said Lucie. “Don’t call him Grandfather. It makes it sound as if he carried us piggyback when we were children.”

“I’m sure he would have,” said James, “as long as he was piggybacking us up a volcano to sacrifice us to Lucifer.”

“We are all flawed creatures. As diamonds are flawed, each distinct imperfection makes us unique.”

“Yet I would do it again. I am sure my mother is mourning the daughter that she never had. But if she loves me—and I believe she does—I think she must love the reality of me.”

As they walked back to Anna’s flat, their boots kicking up slushy snow, Anna kept a weather eye on Matthew.

Matthew had always been her companion in mischief. She swore she could remember the day when she was two years old, when gurgling baby Matthew had been plonked into her lap and she had decided then and there that they would be the best of friends.