““I had thought we were friends," he said. "I cannot be your friend." He took a step forward. "What if I were to ask you—" "Gideon!" It was Henry, at the open door, breathless, wearing one of his terrible green-and-orange-striped waistcoats. "Your brother's here. Downstairs—" Gideon's eyes widened. "Gabriel's here?" "Yes. Shouting something about your father, but he won't tell us anything more unless you're there. He swears it. Come along." Gideon hesitated, his eyes moving from Henry to Sophie, who tried to look invisible. "I . . ." "Come now, Gideon." Henry rarely spoke sharply, and when he did, the effect was startling. "He's covered in blood.””
