Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,147

wide and black. He groaned as she touched him, running her palms over his hard chest, his rigid arms holding him braced over her. She tangled her fingers in the dark riot of his hair as he bent to kiss the swell of each breast, his breath hot against her skin.

The door to the room opened again. James froze, and a moment later scrambled up and off the desk, seizing his coat. He handed it to Cordelia as she sat up hurriedly.

Matthew stood on the threshold, staring at them both. Cordelia clutched the coat to her, though she was still fully dressed. Still, it felt like something of a shield against Matthew’s stunned gaze.

“James,” he said, and he sounded as if he didn’t quite believe the evidence of his own eyes. His expression was tense and sharp as his eyes flicked from James to Cordelia’s shoes, discarded on the floor.

“We’re not meant to be in here,” Cordelia said hurriedly. “James thought if we pretended—I mean, if someone came in and thought—”

“I understand,” Matthew said, looking not at her, but at James. And James, Cordelia thought, looked composed—so composed, as if nothing had happened. Only his hair was mussed a little, and his tie askew, but his expression was unremarkable: calm, faintly curious.

“Is Charles still here?” he said.

Languidly, Matthew leaned against the doorframe. His hands moved slowly as he spoke, describing pale arcs in the air. “He left. He gave me quite a dressing-down first, I can assure you, for spending my time in such a swamp of debauchery and ruin. He said he thought I would have at least brought you or Anna to look after me.” He grimaced.

“Hard luck, old chap,” said James, turning to Cordelia, and reaching out a hand to help her down from the desk. The heat had gone from his golden eyes; they were cool and unreadable. She handed him his coat and he shrugged it on. “Why was he here?”

“The Enclave is looking into what Downworlders know about the situation,” said Matthew. “Days after we already had the idea, of course.”

“We ought to leave,” said James. “Charles may have gone, but nothing prevents other Clave members from making an unwelcome appearance.”

“We have to warn Anna,” said Cordelia, clearing her throat. She thought she sounded remarkably steady, all things considered.

Matthew’s smile was brittle. “Hypatia won’t like that.”

“Still,” Cordelia said stubbornly, retrieving one shoe, and then the other. “We must.”

She took Cortana back from where James had leaned it against the wall and followed the boys out into the corridor. She bit her lip as they hurried down the damask-papered hallway in silence. The scent of the smoke in the Whispering Room clung to her hair and clothes, sickly sweet.

“Here,” Matthew said, as an ornately carved golden door rose up in front of them, its knob carved in the shape of a dancing nymph. It seemed Hypatia had altered the entrance to her room, just as she had altered the walls in the central chamber. “The bedroom of Hypatia Vex. Cordelia, I assume you wish to knock?”

Cordelia refrained from glaring at Matthew. He stood close to her, nearly shoulder to shoulder, and she could smell alcohol on him—something rich and dark, like brandy or rum. She thought of the too-slow deliberation of his gestures, the way he’d blinked at her and James. Before he had come to fetch them from the Whispering Room, he had gotten drunk, she realized. Probably far more drunk than he was letting on.

Before she could move, the nymph-knob turned, and Anna opened the door in a wash of bronze light and a heavy rush of scent, redolent of white flowers: jasmine and tuberose. Anna’s hair was mussed and the collar of her shirt hung open to display a ruby necklace glimmering red as blood against her throat. She held a wooden box, carved with the ourobouros and dark with the patina of years, in her left hand.

“Shhh,” she whispered, glaring at them. “Hypatia’s asleep, but she won’t stay that way long. Take it!”

And she tossed the Pyxis to James.

“Then we’re done,” said Matthew. “Come along with us.”

“And make Hypatia suspicious? Don’t be ridiculous.” Anna rolled her blue eyes. “Off you go, conspirators. I’ve done my part, and the rest of my evening will not require you.”

“Anna?” Hypatia’s voice sounded from somewhere inside the bronze-lit room. “Anna, darling, where are you?”

“Take my carriage,” Anna whispered. Then she smiled. “And you did very well, Cordelia. They’ll be talking about that dance for ages.”

She