Elsie was not very informative on either of the subjects Jack asked her about. She seized the list first, and prodded it with a triumphant finger. "I'm so glad you kept it! I didn't think you believed me-"

But Jack cut her off. "Myrrha first. Please."

"The list is far more interesting-"

"I'm more interested than you could possibly know. But Myrrha is dangerous."

Elsie sank her hands into her pockets and muttered, "I don't know her." 

"Robin's wife. Look at his memories – you'll be able to see her."

"No." She sighed. The frown-lines above her blindfold were deep, as if she was screwing her eyes up. "I know who you mean, I just – don't have anything to tell you. I'm not connected to her in any way. When I turn my thoughts towards her, there's just... silence. Is it possible she could be a human?"

"Not a chance," said Jack, much louder than he'd intended. His insides were plummeting. He hadn't realized how much he'd been counting on Elsie to reassure him, give him something useful to do.

He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. Oh, why hadn't he been expecting this? Of course Myrrha would find some way to shield herself from the little mother. She wasn't stupid. That only left Robin, and what did he know? Only what Myrrha had thought it worthwhile to tell him.

But – no, no, no, this wasn't possible! Myrrha was good at magic, but Elsie was the little mother. If all magic was demon, then all magic came from her eventually. Myrrha might be clever enough to shield herself – she was clever enough for anything – but strong enough? How could she be?

"I refuse to believe she can hide herself from you," he said, in a voice that sounded whiney, even in his head. "No-one's ever done it before, have they?"

"If they have, they were so successful that I never knew anything about it," said Elsie.

"What about the gargoyles? Didn't you say they cut themselves off from you somehow?"

"Ye-es, but they weren't completely successful. Part of their minds still slept while I was gone. And it was easy enough for me to locate them when I got back. I've never known anyone to cut themselves off from me as completely as this Myrrha. I suppose she must know a lot about magic."

"But you're the origin of magic!" Jack wailed.

"She said she didn't know anything!" said Danvers, in a voice so un-Danvers-like that Jack gaped at him. "Can't you let it be? She's not going to go anywhere near Myrrha and nor should you. Nor should anyone."

For the first time, it occurred to Jack that Danvers had been the last one to see her. He had gone to visit her to beg for a counter-spell, when Jack had been more lost than he'd ever been in his life. He might know all kinds of things – what she did with her spare time, who she consorted with, how she protected herself. 

If he'd been less eager, he would have heeded the flushed cheeks and the earnest expression. Danvers was in the mood to take a stand. Or he was frightened. They both looked the same, from the outside.

"What did you see when you went to visit her?" he asked breathlessly. "What was she doing? Who was she with?"

Danvers looked lost for a moment, as if trapped in the memory. But then he drew himself up with a tightening of the jaw and glanced pointedly at Elsie. "I refuse to discuss it in front of a lady."

"Lady?" said Jack, without thinking. He hadn't meant any disrespect, he just wasn't used to thinking of Elsie as a lady. It was only when Danvers lurched forwards and grabbed him by the collar that he realized his remark was open to a different interpretation.

"Yes, lady, sir!" snarled Danvers. "And I'll have stern words with anybody who says otherwise!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Oh, heaven save me from your stern words, Danvers."

Elsie elbowed her way between them, until they drew, sullenly, apart. "Stop it, both of you! You're being irrelevant. This is the important thing." She was still brandishing the list, twisted up at the corners where she'd been fidgeting with it. "It doesn't matter that I can't see Myrrha, because Miss Syal can, and we can make her almost invulnerable with this!"

"All right," said Jack, trying to bite back his impatience. "Tell me."

Elsie grinned. She was much more at home on this topic. "Well, it was a vision. While you were hanging about in her memories-"

"Hanging about?" Jack repeated. "Do you think it was a pleasant diversion? Do you think I wanted to be there?"

"-I was feeling really sorry for her, trapped in that one, horrible moment in her past. And then these images kind of – stole across me. I even fell down," she said, as though she was proud of it. "Didn't I, Mr Danvers?"

Danvers cleared his throat, still flushed and embarrassed. "Yes – I was most concerned-"

"Oh, never mind that. The thing is, I know more than I know I know. If you see what I mean. I think, on some level, I'm aware of my past, and maybe even the future, and it comes back to me in visions if I really concentrate."

"Could you concentrate on Myrrha?" said Jack feebly.

Elsie stamped her foot. "Never mind about Myrrha! I'm telling you I saw the future – or a possible future. I saw how we could get Miss Syal back. She never really came back from what Robin did to her. That memory I sent you to – the one you found it so hard to endure for even half an hour – she's in it all the time."

Jack winced. He desperately didn't want to think about that.

"Anyway," Elsie went on. "I saw those three things on the list, and knew they were the answers. I knew that if I – or somebody, it probably has to be the right person, now that I think about it – could collect them, she could be saved."

"And what-?" Jack started. He was finding it hard to curb his impatience now. There were so many things he wanted to know that it was hard to prioritize the questions, or even frame them into words. This question was hardest of all, but it was, in some groping, half-formed way, the most important. "What happens if we save her? What does it mean to be saved?"

Elsie hesitated, but in fascination more than puzzlement. "I think you understand already. It's not a question of making her happy, although I'm sure that would be enough for you. She's in danger from her own mind all the time. Every second. You want this to be the solution forever – you want this to keep her safe forever – but I can't promise that. It will only do what I said it would do – she won't be stuck in that moment anymore. The only thing I'll add is a speculation, not a promise. Imagine what that woman could do if she wasn't trapped in her worst memories. Imagine what she could achieve if she was able to give something her full attention."

It was a beguiling idea, and he could see that it had taken over Elsie already. She was positively smirking with confidence. She folded her hands together as if she'd said all that needed to be said – as if the matter was settled. Ellini would take care of Myrrha anyway. She had perfect confidence in her. And it probably wasn't necessary to help her at all, but if they did, it would only need to consist in making her stronger, not finding her enemy's weak-spots.

But Jack couldn't be so sanguine. He couldn't act as if the past seven months hadn't happened. He knew what it was to lose her now, and he was not going through it again. "Tell me exactly what you saw."

The ring was a kind of pinkish-gold, she said, all pointed and gothic, with a scattering of seed-pearls around a central ruby. The sister was – well, she was Ellini's sister. What was her name? Sita? She had been falling slowly through darkness, her pigtails floating out from her head like charmed snakes. There had been droplets of water glittering in the air around her, and the roar of water – a river, or a waterfall? – somewhere in the distance.

And the piano had just been a piano. A very nice one, obviously. A grand, she supposed. Shiny mahogany, with a candelabra on top, like the kind you'd find in concert-halls. Nobody had been sitting at it, but there had been a suggestion that somebody was just about to. She didn't know who.

Jack had been bursting to interrupt her in several places, but he let her get to the end of her description. It was little enough; she might as well finish.

The ring and the piano didn't interest him at all. But Sita... well, if there was one thing guaranteed to make Ellini happy – and guaranteed to be impossible – it was the return of her little sister.

"Can you bring people back from the dead?" he demanded. "Because she's dead. You do realize that, don't you? Robin doesn't make mistakes."

Elsie tilted her head in that infuriating way of hers, as though she was listening to a voice on the air that only she could make out.

"No, not dead," she said at last. "Dying. Very, very, very, very slowly."

***

This, if anywhere, seemed like the place to begin. Ellini was roaming the countryside, Myrrha was hidden from them, planning god-knew-what diabolical business, Alice was still missing, Anna might have her head lopped off at any moment, and it wouldn't be long before Robin came bounding up in a vengeful fury, trying to kill Jack for the night of bliss he had enjoyed at Ellini's hands. But this was a conundrum he couldn't resist. Besides which, it seemed like the only useful thing he could do.

Obviously, it was too important a topic to be discussed on the landing, so they went down to Jack's office, which was now Matthi's office. He made himself sit down in the chair at the front of the desk – the visitor's chair – for all that he hated the new owner of this room. He didn't like the ostentatious way she had tidied up, as if she meant everyone to be struck by the contrast.

Elsie was infuriatingly silent, while Danvers bustled about making tea. It was mint tea, with leaves picked fresh from the garden. Its colour contributed to the gold-green haze in the room, as the afternoon light beamed in through ivy-shrouded windows.

Elsie held the sugar-cubes close over the surface of her tea-cup and waited for them to drink up the liquid. The pointed corners of her mouth twitched upwards when she felt the wetness at her fingertips. Jack didn't seem to be the only one who was aware of this because, when she gasped and giggled, dropped the cube and licked her fingers, the teapot wobbled in Danvers's arm.

"So where is Sita?" Jack prompted, when he couldn't bear it any longer. 

Elsie sniffed. "I don't know. The demon realms, I think. That's the only place she could have been dying for twenty years. Time passes at different rates there, you see – slower or faster, depending on which level you're on."

Jack stared at her. "What are you saying? That the past twenty years have seemed like twenty minutes to her?"

"Could be. We won't know until we find her. I can open a door to any place within the demon realms, but she's a new-breed, you see – I can't pinpoint her exactly. I need you to help me narrow down the options."

"How do I do that?"

"Find out how she could be in the demon realms. Where she started from. I can show you how she died, if you like."

"I thought you said she wasn't dead?"

Elsie snapped her fingers impatiently. "You know what I mean! I can show you what happened. Not from her perspective, I think, because she lost consciousness, but I can show you Ellini's memory-"

Jack shrank back from her so fast he almost toppled off his chair. "No, no, no, no. Don't send me back there. Don't make me watch that."

Elsie wrinkled her nose, as though disappointed at this squeamishness. "All right then, I'll just tell you. Robin pushed her into a well, or – or some sort of earth-works. An excavation? I don't know. It must have been near where she lived in Camden Town. I can see a pub-sign on the street opposite – of an old woman with a funny hat on-"

"The Mother Redcap," said Jack gloomily. "It's on Camden High Street."

Then something dark and horrible clicked into place in his head, and he started laughing.

"What's funny?" Elsie entreated. She usually joined in with any laughter on principle, but this was too dark and bitter. She could sense the pain in it.

"The character from the Ramayana," said Jack, his eyes closed tightly. "Rama's wife, Sita – that's how she dies. She's the daughter of the earth-goddess, Bhumi, and at the end, she prays for the earth to take her back and release her from a cruel world. The ground cracks open, and Bhumi takes Sita in her arms, and carries her back into the earth."

It was so horrible he could barely get his mouth around the words – not just the amount of thought Robin had put into that little girl's death, but the way he had ruined such a lovely moment, in one of Ellini's favourite stories.

"I don't know that story," said Elsie. She could hardly keep the longing out of her voice.

"Well, I'm not surprised, now, that Ellini never told it to you."

Elsie picked up another sugar-cube and dipped it into her tea. "It was a very cruel thing to do," she said – a comment which elicited another convulsive laugh from Jack. "But, if we could save her from her past, she could... own it. It could be her secret weapon rather than her secret shame."

"I hope you're right," said Jack, his insides churning. "I'll go to Camden tomorrow, and see what I can find out. I need you to keep her at the Academy. Tell her you can't be sure Anna will be safe unless she stays. Get Danvers to use the words 'deeply concerned', that should do it. And I'm sure this has already occurred to you, but she can't know what we're doing. It would be too cruel if – if we couldn't manage it."

"I never thought of that," said Elsie. "It never crossed my mind that you couldn't manage it."

"Even Orpheus couldn't manage it," Jack retorted.

And that was when he heard the music. Perhaps he'd been subconsciously aware of it for a while. Maybe that was why Orpheus popped into his head. Certainly, there had been something soft and textured about the air – something more than the gold-green light could account for. And Elsie had tilted her head in that curious way of hers, as if listening to the wind. 

It stole over Jack like a cold, slow realization. For a while, he couldn't place it. It was connected with happy memories, so why had his stomach turned to lead?

And suddenly, he knew where he'd heard it before. He'd been lying on his front on the roof of the Turl Street Music Rooms, feeling the vibration of the notes in his stomach, listening keenly for some kind of mistake, something that would identify the pianist as merely human, instead of the earthly incarnation of perfection.

It was the song of the inevitable. If this had been a fairytale, it would have been the sound that Buttons heard resounding in his ears when Prince Charming walked into the room, armed with a glass slipper.

Jack got up without glancing at Elsie or Danvers and very slowly opened the door to the Entrance Hall.

Oh damn. Oh damn, damn, damn. How had he got in? Had he wandered harmlessly between the gargoyles? Was he as perfect as all that?

Jack had never seen Elliott Blake before – and, although he wasn't what might conventionally be called handsome, each new detail struck him with a fresh sense of gloom. He was small, nervous, and expressive. Dark-haired, but with complicated blue eyes that were disconcertingly magnified by his spectacles.

The Entrance Hall was as tall as the whole building. It had good acoustics, but, even worse, it was lined with staircases and balconies that looked out over the tiled floor below. And now, from every floor, heads were peering over the banisters. Slave-girls were appearing in doorways, drifting down the stairs, as if being pulled towards the piano.

If Ellini had been there, what a spell it would have cast on her! All her beloved girls standing spellbound, just like the inhabitants of the Underworld when Orpheus had come in, and strummed his lyre, and, just for a moment, loosened the yoke of their interminable suffering.

The music reached its sweeping crescendo, and Elliott Blake paused – seemingly just to rest his fingers – but the girls took advantage of his silence to applaud. Some even whistled, because they were used to music-halls, not concert-halls.

Elliott got to his feet, startled, as if he'd been caught doing something illicit, but he soon relaxed. You couldn't help relaxing in front of the girls. They were not ladies – they were not being polite. They had enjoyed his music, and they wanted more of it, and their simple selfishness put him at his ease. Jack hated that more than anything.

"Can I help you?" he said icily, when their applause died down.

Elliott Blake looked at him – perhaps even recognized him, because his smile was as cold and cautious as Jack's voice. "Miss Ellini Syal, please."

"She's not here."

He shrugged. "It's all right. I'll wait. There's a piano."

One of the girls burst out, "Do you know Champagne Charlie?"

There was general laughter – with which Jack did not join in. The contrast between Champagne Charlie and the refined melody they had just been listening to struck everyone as comical, even the girl herself. She giggled good-naturedly at her mistake.

"Madam," said Elliott, turning to her with a smile. "It may not look like it, but in the past seven months, I've played every saloon and music-hall between Bournemouth and Blackpool. I assure you I know every bar of Champagne Charlie."

"Oh, don't waste 'im on that!" said Mary Carmichael. "Can't you play 'ome Sweet 'ome? Or the Lost Chord, by Arthur Sullivan?"

"Very well," said Elliott. "But I don't sing. One of you ladies will have to accompany me."

"We can all accompany you," said Mary Carmichael, turning to the girls clustered behind her in the doorway. "'oo doesn't know the words to 'ome sweet 'ome?"

"Some of us can even pronounce it," said Ginniver.

Jack tried, without much hope, to make himself heard above the giggles. "She might not be back tonight at all."

"Not to worry" said Elliott, resuming his seat at the piano. He didn't even look at Jack. Oh, he definitely recognized him. "I have rooms at the Red Lion in St. Clement's. I wouldn't dream of imposing on these charming ladies."

"Well, we'll see 'ow good you are," said Mary Carmichael, to yet more giggles from the crowd.

Jack shut his eyes. By the time he'd reopened them, the music was tinkling through the hall again – so clear and crisp and springy that it made him want to slink into the shadows and cover his head.

He knew nobody else would be struck by the contrast between Elliott and himself. Nobody else knew he'd ever played the piano at all. And probably the majority of the girls didn't know enough about music to understand how good this boy was.

But he felt it – a little, sickly niggling in the pit of his stomach, telling himself he would never measure up. He was used to taking delight in other people's talents, using them to his own advantage, but he couldn't do that with this. He wanted it too much.

When the girls started singing along, he decided to leave them to it. He retrieved his hat and coat from the cloakroom and made his way back to the Faculty with a feeling of gloom he would scarcely have thought possible when he'd woken up that morning.

Part of him was exasperated with himself. Could he really still despair after everything that had happened? After last night, and this morning? After she'd wanted him, and he'd satisfied her, and he had felt her love, not as a tantalising possibility, but a concrete fact?

And then he thought of that music, which had been there for her when he hadn't, and had made her want to live in the blackest extremity of her despair. The music would have a hold on her. But the music wasn't the man, surely? Elliott Blake might be completely unsuitable as a person. He might be coarse and uneducated and have no interest in books.

No, said a nasty voice in Jack's head. That's you. All that and you can't play the piano.

When he got to the Faculty, he went straight to his room, intending to wrap himself up in the covers where she'd slept, breathe in the smoky scent of her skin, and pretend the second half of the day had never happened. 

When he realized Sarah had changed the sheets, he started to cry.