a struck link // christopher lightwood {3}

three // good graces (more than enough)

{ casa. }

Ian answered his front door and found Grace Blackthorn on the step. She had a very small suitcase with her, almost like Pluto's soft-bodied briefcase, and the look of someone watching over her shoulder, expecting to have been followed.

"Miss Blackthorn?" he said, startled. "What are you doing here—what can I do for you?"

"I need to leave," Grace said. "To get out of London. I was wondering if you could help me."

Ian stepped aside to let her in. This wasn't in his job description, not at all, and Grace did rather unnerve him and he wasn't sure she was entirely trustworthy and he had no idea how he was going to help or why she needed help or how much trouble she was in, much less how she knew that he was capable of helping her in the first place, but there was something about the look in her eyes that reminded him, horribly, of himself, a year younger and with the Voyance rune on the back of his hand freshly silvered, lost and in need of somewhere warm to go.

"So," he said. "Out of London. To anywhere in particular?"

"Somewhere I can keep in touch with people here, if I'd like to. But where I'll never be found."

Ian nodded. Okay. He saw the measure of the situation now. "Alright," he said. "I'll put the kettle on and make a telephone call." He paused. "Just a minute now. How did you know I could help you?"

"I didn't," said Grace. "I made a guess."

"Based on what?"

Grace shrugged. "Instinct." She reached out for his arm, almost as if to steady herself. "But you will help, won't you?"

I already said I was going to, Ian was about to respond, feeling confused about why she needed to ask again, but he never got to it. Grace winced and looked away, pulling in a deep breath and letting it out with a hiss.

"Ma'am?" Ian asked. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Grace said. "Just a headache. It's nothing."

< & >

Ian directed Grace into his drawing room and set out tea for her, then vanished into the study to make a telephone call. Grace had never met anyone who had a telephone in their house before. Even the Bridgestocks didn't. Then again, she'd never met a young, unmarried gentleman who owned an entire house before, either.

The truth was, he might have been her best hope, but Ian unnerved her. Grace had tried to make sure he'd help her, and her powers hadn't worked on him. Worse, she'd gotten a splitting headache and it still hadn't quite faded away. Maybe her gift hadn't recognized him as a man. According to Tatiana she had been given "power over men" but there'd been nothing about men like Ian. Men not in men's bodies.

Then there was the faded Voyance rune on the back of his hand. If he'd been stripped of his Marks he wouldn't have been allowed in the Institute, certainly not for a wedding. He was neither werewolf nor vampire. Which left one option: Ian died. So then how was he still alive?

Ian returned and took a seat on the sofa next to her. Grace blinked. This was...very familiar. Not that she particularly cared to make a mention of it, since he'd been nothing but kind and she needed his help and he didn't seem to be attempting to do anything she didn't want him to do.

"I placed a call to my Aunt," he said.

"Your Aunt?" Grace said.

Ian nodded. "Well, she's willing to help," he said, with a hopeful smile. "so there's that."