Chain of Iron

“They sent him to the Basilias because you defeated the Mandikhor demon,” Lucie pointed out. “Otherwise he’d have gone to jail, Daisy, and he’d still be there. You don’t have to know how to feel, but it’s because of you that there’s a chance for reconciliation. I’m sure he knows that.”

“I suppose,” said Cordelia, with a wan smile. “Only I don’t know what to say to him, and I don’t have time to think of it. And it seems an awful thing to do, to make James attend this awkward family dinner—”

“He is your family,” said Lucie firmly, “just as I am; you are my sister now, and you will be my sister forever after. We will always be sisters and parabatai. That is what matters. In fact—” She glanced around. “Why don’t we practice the ceremony?”

“The parabatai ceremony?” said Cordelia. She had to admit, the thought had a certain appeal. “Do you know all the words?”

“I watched James and Matthew’s ceremony,” said Lucie. “I think I remember. Here, pretend where you’re standing is a circle of fire, and I’m standing in a different circle of fire.”

“Hopefully we will be wearing gear,” said Cordelia, arranging herself in the imaginary circle. “Our skirts would quite go up in flames.”

Lucie thrust out her hands and indicated Cordelia should do the same. They clasped hands, and Lucie, an intense look of concentration on her face, began to speak: “Though most parabatai are men, the ceremony uses words from the scriptures that were spoken by Ruth to Naomi. By one woman to another.” She smiled at Cordelia. “‘Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go—’”

Lucie suddenly jumped as if stung and dropped her hands. Alarmed, Cordelia moved toward her, forgetting about the imaginary fire rings in her concern. “Lucie, is everything all right—?”

The door opened and Filomena di Angelo came in. She wore a bored, sulky sort of expression—she had very dark eyebrows and red lips, and it made everything she did seem dramatic.

“Ah, Lucie, I did not realize you would be in here,” she said, looking around without curiosity. “Mr. Lightwood suggested I take a look at the training room, as I had not yet seen it. I admit,” she added, “I have more interest in examining the art and culture of London than discovering whether British Shadowhunters stick demons with pointy things in decidedly different ways. I suspect not. What do you think?”

Lucie seemed to have recovered herself. She gave a too-bright smile and said, “Do you recall Cordelia, Filomena? She was the one who was getting married a few weeks ago—”

“Ah, yes, to the young man, the one who looks magnifico in abiti formali.” Filomena sighed. “Quelli sì che sono un petto su cui vorrei far scorrere le dita e delle spalle che mi piacerebbe mordere.”

Cordelia burst into giggles. “I’m afraid that if you went up to James and—what was it?—bit into his shoulder, he would be very alarmed.”

“I didn’t know you spoke Italian!” Filomena seemed delighted. “I actually said I wanted to run my hands over his chest and bite his shoulders—”

“Filomena! That’s my brother we’re discussing!” Lucie protested. “And Daisy’s husband. I promise you, there are many other handsome men in the Enclave. Thomas has very nice shoulders. Legendary shoulders, in fact.”

Filomena looked surprised. “Thomas? Yes, but—” She looked from Lucie to Cordelia and shrugged. “I suppose that Fairchild boy seems interesting. Not the redheaded one, obviously.”

“Anna Lightwood is throwing a party at her flat tomorrow night,” Lucie said. “You must come! All the young people from the Enclave will be there. Matthew, too.”

“L’affascinante Anna is hosting a party?” Filomena clapped her hands. “Now that seems like something I might well enjoy.”

“Oh, if you like art and culture—and attractive shoulders—you certainly will,” Cordelia assured her. She couldn’t wait to tease James about the pretty Italian girl who admired him so much. “And find many beaux there, I suspect.”

“Of course,” Filomena said, tossing her dark head as she prepared to leave the room. “Rome conquered the world in six hundred years. I shall conquer the Enclave in one night.”

 

James’s visit to the Pounceby household had been grim and difficult. The drawing room had been dim, the curtains pulled to keep out the harsh winter sun. Augustus had glared the entire time, as though James had tied all his shoelaces in knots, and Basil’s widow, Eunice, had cried on James’s shoulder at great length, telling him that he was a good boy and had grown into a thoughtful young man.

James longed to extract himself and sprint for Mayfair on the double. But his loyalty to his parents won out, and he had stayed with the Pouncebys for nearly an hour, until blessedly Gideon, Sophie, and Eugenia had shown up and provided him an opening to escape.

It was a relief when James arrived at the Consul’s house in Grosvenor Square. The place itself was a comfort to him. He had whiled away many happy afternoons there during his life. Not five minutes after he arrived, however, he was already beginning to suspect this was not going to be one of them.

He had intended to head directly to the laboratory, under the assumption that his friends were there. Alas, he found his progress blocked by the flung-open doors of the study, where Matthew was draped across a settee like Cleopatra, blandly regarding his nails as Charlotte paced the floor worriedly. Oscar the dog was asleep in the corner, snuffling as he dreamed.

“The Enclave is putting together a day patrol to search the area Basil Pounceby’s body was found. Your name came up, Matthew, but I took you off the list, explaining that you are not well,” Charlotte said. She sounded less than happy about it.

James would have tried to sneak past unnoticed, but Matthew had seen him. Matthew began gesturing frantically but subtly (the sort of trick really only he could pull off) for James to stay. James glared, but remained.

“Why would you do that?” Matthew demanded. “I’m fit as a fiddle, Mother.”

“I said it because it was true.” Charlotte’s voice shook. “Matthew, you aren’t well. You are always drinking, and when you are not drinking, your hands are shaking. Neither condition is conducive to patrol.”

Matthew rolled his eyes, sitting up a few degrees and rearranging the cushions. “It’s not my fault that you and Father were the most boring people alive when you were adolescents. I’m not like you. I want to enjoy being young. I want to drink and stay up late. There’s nothing wrong with it. You are over-worrying.”

“There is an old saying.” Charlotte’s voice had gone very quiet. “First a man takes a drink, then the drink takes the man.”

James thought of Cordelia’s father and winced. However well intended, Charlotte was taking exactly the wrong tack with Matthew, mistaking his blasé attitude for indifference. He had resettled himself in a position of even more louche inactivity than before; Charlotte might take the gesture for scorn, but James knew that underneath Matthew’s lassitude was fury—the same fury that drove him to brazen the situation out in front of James, as if to say: See how ridiculous this all is, see how foolish they’re being.