Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,207

up when they arrived at the tavern, but there was still soot on his collar, and in Matthew’s and Cordelia’s hair, and the kingfisher-blue dress was, Cordelia suspected, utterly ruined.

Matthew was turning a glass in his hand, looking thoughtfully at the pale amber contents.

“Matthew, you should really drink some water,” said Christopher. “Alcohol won’t help with the dehydration after you inhaled all that smoke.”

Matthew raised an eyebrow. Christopher seemed undeterred—Cordelia had noticed when Christopher first came in that he seemed a little different: less shy and owlish, more assured.

“Water is the devil’s brew,” said Matthew.

Cordelia glanced at James, but he only said, “That is why you are always dyspeptic, Math.” His expression was unreadable. The Mask had slipped briefly at Blackthorn Manor, she thought, when he had saved her life. It was back now.

She wondered if he was thinking of Grace. The pain in her chest had gone from a sharp pain to a dull throb that ached with every heartbeat.

Footsteps sounded on the steps and Lucie burst in, nearly staggering under the weight of a pile of clothes: two suits for James and Matthew, and a plain cotton dress for Cordelia.

She was greeted with a round of applause. When Cordelia, James, and Matthew had first stumbled out of the greenhouse in Chiswick, they had realized that not a one of them could return home in their singed state. Even Will would be apoplectic, James had to admit. “We have got to start keeping spare clothes at the Devil for such occurrences as this,” James had said.

“There had better not be any more occurrences such as this,” Matthew had glowered.

They had flagged down a hansom cab to Fleet Street, where they had been the recipients of many curious stares from patrons of the Devil Tavern. Matthew and Cordelia had taken refuge in the upstairs room, while James had tracked down a few of the Irregulars and sent them to Thomas and Christopher with messages saying to come immediately and bring new outfits for all three. Thomas and Christopher, unfortunately, had been unable to lay hands on anything: they had come running, but without any extra clothes. An Irregular had been dispatched immediately to Lucie, which, Cordelia pointed out, was what should have been undertaken in the first place. Lucie knew how to get things done.

Lucie dumped the clothes into her brother’s lap and glared at him. “I cannot believe,” she said, “that you burned down Blackthorn Manor without me!”

“But you weren’t around, Luce,” James protested. “You went to see Uncle Jem.”

“It’s true,” Lucie said. “I just wish I had been with you. I never liked the manor when we were growing up. Besides, I’ve always wanted to burn down a house.”

“I assure you,” said James, “that it is overrated.”

Lucie plucked the dress from James’s lap and gestured for Cordelia to follow her into the adjoining bedroom. She set about helping Cordelia undo the hooks at the back of her blue dress. “I will mourn this one,” said Lucie, as it crumpled to the floor in a charred heap, leaving Cordelia standing in her petticoat and combination. “It was so pretty.”

“Do I smell like burnt toast?” Cordelia inquired.

“A bit, yes,” Lucie said, handing Cordelia the cotton dress. “Try this. I borrowed it from my mother’s wardrobe. A tea gown, so it ought to fit.” She regarded Cordelia thoughtfully. “So. What happened? How did James come to burn down Blackthorn Manor?”

Cordelia told her the story as Lucie deftly helped brush the ash out of her hair and pin it back up in something resembling a passable style. When she was done with the tale, Lucie sighed.

“So it was at Grace’s request,” she said. “I thought—I hoped—well, never mind.” She set the brush down on the vanity table. “Grace is still marrying Charles, so it can only be hoped James will forget her.”

“Yes,” Cordelia said. She, too, had thought and hoped. She, too, had been wrong. The dull ache in her chest increased, as if she were missing a piece of herself, some vital organ she could barely breathe without. She could feel the hard shape of Layla and Majnun still secured under her jacket. Perhaps she should have thrown it into the flames of the manor.

They went back into the main room, where the Merry Thieves appeared to be arguing among themselves. Thomas had joined Matthew in brandy drinking; the other two had not.

“I still cannot believe you burned down a house,” Thomas said, toasting James.

“Most of you never saw inside that