Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,139

in her throat, a sharp pulse, as if she had drunk too much of her mother’s strong tea.

“We had better go in,” James said, and Cordelia saw Anna smile sideways, a catlike smile, before she led them into the narrow court.

The faerie at the door recognized Anna and Matthew and let them all pass through into the Hell Ruelle with only a lift of her lavender eyebrows. They found themselves in the Ruelle’s dazzling series of interconnected rooms. As they followed Anna, who strode along with purpose, Cordelia realized what she had not before: that the rooms spread out from a central large chamber like the arms of a starfish. The ceilings in the passages were low, but every room was illuminated by electric light, brilliant and harsher than witchlight.

They found Hypatia Vex holding court in the central chamber. The decor of the octagonal room had been changed. The walls were now hung with paintings of bacchanals: naked dancers encircled with streaming ribbons, demons with eyes painted red and foreheads garlanded with flowers, their bodies lacquered gold like James’s eyes. Behind Hypatia Vex hung a massive triptych of a dark-haired woman holding a black owl with golden eyes.

The stage in the center of the room was empty now, though chairs and couches had been arranged around it. They were full of Downworlders. Cordelia recognized the vampire girl Lily, jeweled combs in her black hair, sipping blood from a crystal glass. She winked at Anna, but Anna was focused on Hypatia, who was seated on an intricately carved oak settee, upholstered in red-and-green jacquard fabric. She was wearing another shimmering gown, this one black silk that made it seem as if the luxurious curves of her body had been dipped into ink.

Nor was she alone. Next to her was a handsome werewolf with green-gold eyes. Cordelia had seen him the last time they had come here. He had been the violin player in the string quartet. Now there was no music and he was focused on Hypatia, his body turned toward hers attentively, his long fingers playing gently with a strap of her gown.

Anna’s blue eyes narrowed.

“Anna,” said James in his low voice. “You may have your work cut out for you.”

“That’s Claude Kellington,” said Matthew. “He’s the master of entertainment here. In charge of the stage.”

Anna turned to them, her eyes bright. “Matthew,” she said. “Distract him.”

Matthew winked and strode over to the settee. Lily glanced over at him as he passed her, possibly sizing him up as a potential snack. He was very handsome, Cordelia thought; she didn’t know why she didn’t respond to him as she did to James. But then, she didn’t respond to anyone as she did to James.

Raising an eyebrow, Kellington rose and followed Matthew back into the crowd. Cordelia and James exchanged a look as Matthew wove toward them, the werewolf in tow.

“Please don’t tell me the three of you have some sort of act,” said Kellington as he drew near, and Cordelia realized with a jolt of surprise that Anna had slipped away, silent as a cat. “No one wants to see singing and dancing Shadowhunters.”

“I was hoping my parabatai and I might recite some poetry,” said Matthew. “Perhaps about the bonds of brotherly love.”

Kellington gave Matthew an amused look. He had a sharply handsome sort of face, and curling chestnut hair. A gold ring stamped with the words Beati Bellicosi flashed on his hand. “I recall the poetry you recited to me once,” he said. “Though not as particularly brotherly. However, we’re looking for new performers tonight.” He glanced at James. “Do you have any talents, besides standing there looking good and saying nothing?”

“I’m quite skilled at throwing knives,” James said calmly. He moved to the side, Kellington’s gaze following him, as Anna slid onto the settee beside Hypatia and lifted the warlock’s hand to her lips for a kiss. Hypatia looked more than a little surprised.

“If a Shadowhunter gets up and starts waving knives around, we’re going to have a riot,” said Kellington. “Hypatia wants to entertain her guests, not kill them.” His gaze slid to Cordelia. It was a gaze like being touched, she thought. Not entirely pleasant, but certainly novel. Kellington seemed to be examining her from head to toe and finding himself not displeased. “What about you?”

Matthew and James both stared at her.

“I suppose I could perform,” Cordelia said breathlessly.

She heard her own voice as if from a distance. Was she mad? What was she offering? What would