Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,35

in her black, delicious eyes. And when her cheek the moon revealed, a thousand hearts were won: no pride, no shield, could check her power. Layla, she was called.’  ”

“Layla,” he murmured to himself, but he didn’t think Cordelia had heard. He closed his eyes.

* * *

Only once—that he knew of—did he tumble into the shadow realm. He was awake, shaking with fever, his hair matted to his head with cold sweat, agitated. He saw Cordelia’s eyes widen in alarm as the change came over him. She leaped to her feet and he thought, She means to go for help; she is frightened, frightened of me.

He reached for her, and the shadow that was his hand caught hers, darkness against flesh. He wondered how his touch felt to her. His whole body was tensed, like a horse shying from thunder. The room smelled of lightning.

“James, you must hold on. You must. Don’t go anywhere,” Cordelia said. “Stay with me.”

“So cold,” he managed to add, shaking. “Can’t get warm. Can’t ever get warm.”

In his body, he would have squinted his eyes shut, trying to still his trembling. As a shadow, it was as though his eyes were open wide and he could do nothing to close them. He saw Cordelia cast about the room for something, anything to help. It was no use, he knew; the fire was already roaring, he was already wrapped in blankets, there was a hot-water bottle at his feet. Nevertheless, a bitter, raw wind tore through him.

Cordelia made a noise of frustration, then furrowed her brow in determination. The thought drifted through James’s mind, far behind the endless howling wind, that she looked beautiful. It was not the thought he might have chosen, and he did not have time to think about it now.

But then Cordelia carefully laid herself down on the bed next to him. He was under mountains of blankets and she was atop them, of course. But her presence began to force back the cold. Instead of feeling the agony of being whipped raw by ice, his awareness turned to the length of her body, warm and solid, all along his own. Through the many layers between them he could still feel her pressed against his side: her leg shifting into a comfortable position, her hip against his. He was looking up at the ceiling and she was on her side, but her face was very close. Her hair smelled like jasmine and woodsmoke. She put her arm over his chest and pulled herself as close as she could.

It took a strenuous effort, but he turned his head to the side, to look at her. He found her eyes open, luminous and deep, gazing at him. Her breathing was very steady.

“ ‘ I sought not fire, yet is my heart all flame. Layla, this love is not of earth.’   ”

He shuddered and felt himself come back to this world fully, felt his body return to the space he occupied. Cordelia didn’t take her eyes off him, but she released her lower lip from between her teeth, her body slackening in relief.

James was still cold, but not nearly as cold as he had been. Cordelia reached up and pushed a lock of his hair out of his eyes. He shuddered again, but not because of cold, and let his eyes close, and when he awoke again it was morning, and she was gone.

It was only another day or so before James’s fever broke for good. And only another day after that, Brother Enoch deemed him no longer contagious and his parents arrived with Lucie. And then he was well enough to get up, and then he was leaving Cirenworth for Idris and the familiar comforts of Herondale Manor. The weather there, his father reported, was fine.

Once he was out of bed, James and Cordelia returned to their ordinary, cordial way. Neither of them mentioned the time they had shared during James’s illness. No doubt, James thought, Cordelia had simply cared for him with the kindness and generosity she showed to everyone she liked. They did not embrace when they said goodbye. (Lucie clung to Cordelia like a limpet, despite Cordelia’s reassurances that she and her family would be at Herondale Manor themselves later that same summer.) As he stepped into the Portal, James waved to Cordelia, and she, amicably, waved back.

In the night, for a long time to come, James thought of jasmine and woodsmoke, the press of her arm, fathomless dark eyes gazing into his.

“ ‘ The secret path