Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,137

moment later she was spared the choice as footsteps sounded in the hall. Her mother and father came in, both bright-eyed from the brisk wind outside. Tessa stopped to set her gloves on a small Moroccan table by the door, while Will swept over to kiss Lucie and ruffle James’s hair.

“Gracious,” said James, his tone light. “What is the meaning of all this unbridled affection?”

“We were with your aunt Cecily and uncle Gabriel,” said Tessa, and Lucie realized her mother’s eyes were a bit too bright. Tessa took a seat on the sofa. “My poor loves. All our hearts are shattered for Sophie and Gideon.”

Will sighed. “I remember when Gideon and Gabriel could barely stand each other. Now Gabriel is there each day for his brother. I am glad you and James have each other, Luce.”

“I suppose the good news is that there have been no new attacks today,” said Tessa. “We must hold to that. This dreadfulness could end at any time.”

Will sat down beside his wife and pulled her into his lap. “I am going to kiss your mother now,” he announced. “Flee if you will, children. If not, we could play Ludo when the romance is over.”

“The romance is never over,” said James glumly.

Tessa laughed and put up her face to be kissed. James looked exasperated, but Lucie was not paying attention: she could not help but hear Jesse’s voice in her head.

There is deliberate evil at work here. A desire to destroy Shadowhunters and to hurt them. It will not be ended soon.

She shivered.

* * *

In the morning, a grand package festooned with ribbons arrived at 102 Cornwall Gardens. It was addressed to Cordelia, and Sona followed Risa as the maid carried it up to Cordelia’s room.

“A gift!” Sona said, as Risa deposited the box on Cordelia’s bed. Sona was entirely breathless. Cordelia looked at her with concern—her mother was usually quite energetic, so a few flights of stairs should not have winded her. “Perhaps it is from a gentleman?”

Cordelia, who had been seated at the vanity table brushing out her hair, sighed. She had cried half the night, horribly aware that she had embarrassed her brother. She certainly didn’t feel she deserved a gift, or an excursion to the Hell Ruelle in the evening, for that matter. “It’s probably from Lucie—”

Her mother already had the wrappings off and the box open. Risa had stepped back, plainly finding Sona’s excitement alarming. As Sona tore through a delicate layer of paper, she gasped aloud. “Oh, Layla!”

Curiosity getting the better of her, Cordelia came to join her mother at the side of the bed. She gaped. Out of the box had tumbled a dozen dresses: day dresses and tea gowns alongside gorgeous evening wear, all in rich colors: kingfisher-blue lace, cotton in cinnamon and wine, silks in Prussian green, claret, and burgundy, shimmering gold and dark rose.

Sona held up a silk dress the color of bronze, with a soft chiffon edging at the bodice and the hem. “It’s so lovely,” she said, almost reluctantly. “They’re from James, aren’t they?”

Despite her surprise, Cordelia knew exactly who they were from. She had seen the small card signed A tucked among the tea gowns. But if believing they were from James meant her mother would allow her to wear them, she would let her mother think what she liked.

“It’s very kind of him,” she said. “Don’t you think? I can wear it tonight—there’s a gathering at the Institute.”

Sona smiled in delight, the smile like a weight on Cordelia’s heart. The dresses were so very extravagant: her mother would surely believe now that James’s imaginary romantic intentions toward Cordelia were serious indeed. It was a sort of irony, she thought, that for once both she and her mother wanted the same thing. And that neither of them was going to get it.

* * *

Anna fetched Cordelia at precisely nine o’clock that night, in a black carriage that resembled dark leather. Cordelia hurried out the door, bundled in her coat despite the warmness of the evening. She clambered into the carriage, ignoring her mother calling after her that she should bring gloves, too, or possibly a muff.

The interior of the carriage shone with brass fittings and red velvet bench seats. Anna had her long legs carelessly crossed before her. She was dressed in elegant black menswear, her shirtfront starched and white. There was an amethyst pin, the color of her brother’s eyes, winking in her cravat, and her coat fit sleekly along her