Things were quiet for the remainder of the evening.

James, Charles, and Juliette had a silent dinner, eating the leftovers from the banquet that had been chilled in the icebox. Lillian didn't join them. After the meal, Juliette disappeared upstairs without a word and Charles helped his brother tidy up the kitchen. They cleared dishes and wiped surfaces in near silence, and it was only when every last dish had been put away that Charles excused himself and went to his office.

He tilted the yellow memory into his scrying bowl and watched as it swirled about. He knew he should be working, scrying, poring over the memory to try to find any other clues on how they could stop this cult. But he was too tired, too drained to do anything except watch the memory swirl around in the bowl, giving off its sickly yellow light. He didn't want to re-live everything all over again.

When he finally left his office, he found Juliette sitting by herself in the parlor. It was one of the few times she didn't have a tall stack of books at her side. Her eyes, instead, were locked on various surfaces, which she gazed at silently for extended periods of time: the coffered ceiling, the dirty window, the antique side table.

Charles sat down next to her. For a moment, it was as if she didn't realize he was there. But suddenly, after a few minutes of sitting in silence, her eyes flickered to him.

"Mister Abbot?" she asked.

"Yes, Juliette?"

"Where do you think we go when we die?"

Charles hadn't expected the question, and yet it seemed fitting, considering the day. He turned to look at the girl; she stared back at him, blue eyes wide and unflinching.

"Well," he said, trying to think of what to say. He knew Juliette was too smart to accept anything other than his actual thoughts on the matter. "To be perfectly honest, I don't know. Some people believe that we go somewhere else after we die, like to Heaven or Hell or some other waiting place. Others believe in reincarnation, that the soul finds another body to inhabit on Earth and we live again. And still others think that there's nothing, that at the time of death we just cease to exist."

Juliette frowned, fiddling with the sleeve of her shirt. "I feel like wherever I go, death follows me."

"Juliette, that's not true—"

"It is, though!" she insisted. "I killed my mother, and then that man down in the tunnels. And now Madame Bisset is about to die too."

"Madame Bisset isn't your doing," Charles insisted. "She's been sick for a long time and that has nothing to do with you. Like James was saying: it's her time."

"I know. But it still feels like it's my fault. Like I'm cursed." She looked down at her hands, and Charles couldn't help but notice that for all of the complex magick she was able to wield at her command, her fingers were so small. "I've been thinking a lot about that man in the tunnel. I think his name was John."

"Juliette—"

"Let me finish," she said, cutting him off.

Charles was surprised by the fire in her voice and closed his mouth.

Juliette sighed. "I thought I'd feel worse, about what I did to him. But the thing is, I don't." She looked Charles in the eyes. "He was a horrible person and I'd do it again if I had to."

Her confession caught him off guard, but at the same time, he didn't blame her. He just smiled sadly at her. "You saved my life by killing that man. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay you for that. But I hope you'll never have to kill anyone again—even if they deserve it."

"I hope he gets reincarnated as an ant."

Charles couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. He felt bad about it a moment later—laughing at someone's death? Then again, he was trying to kill me. If it hadn't been for Juliette, he'd be the one laughing.

Juliette turned and looked back at the staircase. "I hope Madame Bisset goes somewhere nice when she dies. She deserves a lot more than what she got."

"I know," Charles said with a sigh. "I hope she does too."

They were sitting in silence for a little while longer when they suddenly heard the sound of a door opening upstairs and then the creaking of stairs. Charles stood up and saw Lillian as she traveled down the last few steps into the foyer. Her face was red and puffy and she wouldn't meet his eyes. Instead, she took her shawl off the hook in the front hall and began to wrap it around her dark curls.

"She's gone," she said simply.

Charles felt a pang in his chest. "I'm so sorry."

Lillian slipped on her shoes. "I'm going to go on a walk."

"Let me accompany you—"

"No," Lillian said. Her tone was harsh; she seemed to realize this as she adjusted her voice when she continued. "I've made it on my own before. I'll be all right. Just... let me be alone. Besides," she held up her wrist, where the golden bangle sparkled, "you'll always be able to find me."

As much as it pained Charles to see her like this, forcing her to stay inside, like a caged animal, would be even worse. He nodded his head, granting her permission, and quietly Lillian opened the front door and walked out in the night.

As the door shut behind her, Charles looked down at Juliette. "Juliette, I hate to ask this—"

"I can follow her," Juliette said, sliding off the settee.

"Are you sure?"

"I think I need some air too."

Charles smiled at her sadly. "Please be safe."

Juliette cracked a smile and held up a hand. Lightning danced across her fingertips, and the air crackled with a quiet rumble of thunder. "I will, Mister Abbot," she said. And then, after slipping on her shoes, she too was gone.

Charles sighed and sat down on the settee, rubbing his eyes wearily. A moment later, James emerged from the kitchen, carrying two small glasses.

"I heard everything," he said quickly before Charles could relay the news of Madame Bisset's passing. "I would have come out sooner but my hands were tied," he said, lifting up the glasses. "And now it seems Lillian has gone for a walk?"

"Juliette is with her," Charles reassured him, then peered at the glasses. The liquid inside was pale and silvery and smelled of lemon.

"A sleeping draught?" Charles asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I thought it would be appropriate, since today was so awful and... I remember, when Mother died, how much I just wanted to..." He trailed off, but Charles knew exactly what he was saying.

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it, when she gets back."

James passed a glass to him. "Why don't you have one? Get some rest. You've had a horrific day as well. I'm going to stay up a bit: stop the clocks, cover the mirrors, tend to the body." He sighed. "And then tomorrow I'll start on the funeral arrangements. I don't know if Lillian will want a proper showing, but it's the least we can do."

"Of course," Charles said, staring down at the glass. He took a sniff of the liquid and could already feel the potion's vapors seeping into his skin, making him drowsy. He wouldn't mind having a peaceful night's sleep.

He spent a minute searching for a blanket and finally settled down on the settee in the parlor. Once his brother draped a black cloth over the large mirror above the fireplace and stopped the small gears that made the clock on the mantle tick, Charles turned out the kerosene lamp, downed his glass, and prayed for the sweet release of a dreamless night.

He did have a dreamless sleep—at least until he was abruptly woken up by someone screaming his name and shaking his shoulders.

"What?" he sputtered, swiping at the person above him. He could hardly see in the dark, but he recognized the voice: Lillian.

"Get up, Charles!" Lillian shouted. "She's gone!"

"Wha—Who's gone? What are you talking about?" he asked. The sleeping draught had left his mind foggy and he couldn't keep his thoughts straight.

"Juliette!" Lillian said. Her eyes were wide, and even in the darkness, Charles could make out a thin border of tears. "I didn't realize it, but she was following me, out on the streets. And then I heard something behind me, and when I turned around, a man was holding her. He pressed a rag to her face, and she was out in seconds. I don't think she had time to react. I tried to stop him, but he moved too fast—inhumanly fast—and they both disappeared."

Adrenaline flooded Charles' system and he sat up with a jolt, heart pounding so loudly he could hardly hear anything else Lillian was saying. He couldn't believe it.

The cultists had Juliette.