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She kissed my cheeks before she marched out, leaving her coffee untouched. The moment the door shut behind her, I combed through the desk drawers and an antique cabinet. There was nothing inside them but stacks of letterhead paper and some history books.

I turned to face the two sets of doors to my left, which led to the next office. Beyondthatoffice lay the Salon Doré. In this amaurotic body, I couldn’t sense whether or not Ménard was there.

He would be. Most of his day must be comprised of meetings. I could still get a brief look at the entrance. With all the confidence I could muster, I opened the nearest door and stepped through.

The Salon Blanc was spotlessly white, from its carpet to its ornate ceiling to the lilies perfuming the air. Against my will, I remembered the white room where I had been beaten, and my heart thumped harder.

Six people in suits sat around a table, clearly gathered for a meeting, their heads bent over a collage of paperwork. My appearance made them all look up.

“Luce. Good morning.” The nearest removed his gold-rimmed spectacles. “Can we help you?”

Name: Jakob Coquelin. Position: Second Minister of the Exchequer.I could almost hear Arcturus again.Known to Frère as—

“Jaquot,” I said, with an apologetic smile, “is the Grand Inquisitor in his study?”

As I spoke, I looked past him, to a pair of gilded white doors. One armed Vigile stood beside a fingerprint scanner.

“Indeed,” came the reply. “I believe he is on the phone to Chief Tjäder. Shall I give him a message?”

“No, it’s all right. I’ll try again later.”

I retreated back into the Bureau Cramoisi and shut the doors behind me.

That confirmed it. Getting in to the Salon Doré would be almost impossible. As Ducos had anticipated, Ménard would be ensconced in there all day, dissecting reports, meeting his advisors and ministers, making calls. His soldiers were helping to drive the invasion of the Iberian Peninsula, and he would be in constant contact with his commanders there.

No, my energy was best spent on the meal in the evening. All I had to do now was tuck Frère back into bed.

“Luce?” Kotzia popped her head in. “The representatives from the Société Française pour la Préservation Culturelle are ready for you downstairs.”

“My migraine is worse,” I said. “A little more sleep will help, I think. Can you entertain the representatives for a while?”

“Of course.” She came straight to my side. “We’ll serve coffee. I’ll return to wake you in half an hour. Is that all right?”

“Yes. Thank you, Aleka.”

Kotzia took me back to the bedroom and drew the curtains. Once she was gone, I removed the earrings, wiped off the lipstick, changed into a nightgown like the one I had woken up in—the original had been whisked away—and roughed up my hair. I returned the red dress to where I had found it.

Once I left her, Frère would stir at once, with a genuine headache and no memory of what had just happened. Kotzia would take her down to the coffee morning, which she already knew about. Hopefully Kotzia would be in too much of a hurry to mention anything that had just occurred.

One last touch. I opened the back of the golden clock and set the time to half past six. When Kotzia returned to wake her, Frère would think it was seven, exactly when her day should begin. An attendant would correct the clock during the day. It would be as if I had never been here.

When my host was tucked back into bed, I released her spirit and returned to the æther. From here, everything rested on Frère.

8

Into the Fire

A room with pale blue walls. A hairline crack in the ceiling above me. Something was clamped onto my left forefinger, hard enough that I felt my pulse there. Eléonore Cordier patted my cheek.

“Flora?” she said. I managed to nod. “Welcome back. Can you tell me where you are?”

“Rue de Surène.” My tongue felt like rubber. “Scion Citadel of Paris.”

“And the month?”

“February.”

“Perfect.” Cordier shone a small flashlight into my eyes, then snapped her fingers in front of them. I blinked. “Your reflexes are working. So far, so good. Did anyone suspect?”