Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,45
FALLEN WITH THE NIGHT
The gas-lamps gleam in a golden line;
The ruby lights of the hansoms shine,
Glance, and flicker like fire-flies bright;
The wind has fallen with the night,
And once again the town seems fair
Thwart the mist that hangs i’ the air.
—Amy Levy, “A March Day in London”
Cordelia leaned close to Lucie as they jolted through the streets in the Institute’s carriage, surrounded by the blurred traffic of omnibuses, motorcars, and pedestrians. Advertisements whirled past. THE HORSESHOE HOTEL. THREE-GUINEA STOUT. NEW PALACE STEAMERS. Signs advertising tailors and fishmongers, hair tonic and cheap printing. A world incredibly distant from the one Cordelia had just left behind in Regent’s Park. A world where small things mattered.
Matthew was sitting across from them on the upholstered carriage seat, gripping the seat cushions with his fists. His hair stuck out madly. Blood and ichor stained his linen jacket and silk tie.
The moment the demons had gone, James had taken off on Balios, one of his father’s horses, hoping to reach the Institute and prepare them for the arrival of the wounded. Charles had bolted off with Ariadne in the Consul’s carriage, leaving Matthew to cadge a ride with Lucie and Cordelia.
Alastair had returned to Kensington to tell Sona what had happened. Cordelia was half-glad for the ichor burns on her hands: she had told him she would need treatment in the Institute infirmary, and besides, she could potentially stay to offer help and assistance. After all, they had to be mindful of the impression they were making on the Enclave.
“Now?” he had demanded, dark eyes snapping. “At this moment, you’re worried about the impression we’re making in London?”
“It’s important, Alastair,” she’d replied. “It’s for Father.”
Alastair hadn’t protested further. Cordelia had been a little surprised; she knew he thought her scheming was pointless. They had argued about it at Cirenworth, and she’d told him she couldn’t comprehend why he wouldn’t stand behind their father with her, why he seemed to feel that there was no hope when they hadn’t yet tried everything. He’d only told her she didn’t understand.
“I still don’t see how it’s possible,” said Lucie. “Demons don’t come out during the day. They simply don’t.”
“I’ve heard of them appearing under thick cloud cover before,” said Cordelia. “If no sunlight could get through—”
Matthew gave a hoarse laugh. “That was no natural storm. Yet I have never heard of demons who could control the weather, either.”
He drew a silver flask from his waistcoat pocket. Lucie shot him a sharp look before glancing away.
“Did you see the wounds?” she asked. “I have never seen anything like it. Barbara’s skin was turning black at the edges where she was bitten—”
“You have never seen anything like it because there never has been anything like this,” said Matthew. “Demons who bring their own night with them? Who attack us when we are vulnerable because we believe we cannot be assailed?”
“Matthew,” said Cordelia sharply. “Stop frightening Lucie when we do not even know what we are dealing with yet.”
He took a swig from the flask as the carriage rattled through Ludgate Circus and onto Fleet Street. Cordelia could smell the sharp, sweet perfume of the alcohol, familiar as childhood. “Lucie doesn’t get frightened, do you, Luce?”
Lucie crossed her arms over her chest. “I am frightened for Barbara and Ariadne, and for Piers,” she said. “Are you not concerned? Barbara is our family, and Ariadne one of the kindest people I know.”
“There is no special protection in this world for kind people,” Matthew began, and broke off as Cordelia glared at him. He took another swig from his flask and bared his teeth. “Yes, I’m being a beast. I know that perfectly well.”
“Then stop doing it,” said Cordelia. “My father always said that to panic before you have all the facts was to fight the enemy’s battle for him.”
“But who is the enemy?” said Lucie. “Demons, I suppose, but demons usually attack without strategy or method. These demons avoided every mundane in the park and went straight for us.”
“Demons aren’t always random in their actions,” Cordelia said. “Perhaps a warlock who has summoned a pack of demons is responsible, or even a Greater Demon amusing themselves. Ordinary demons are like animals, but if I understand it rightly, Greater Demons can be quite like people.”
They had reached the Institute. Matthew shot her a swift, surprised look as the carriage rolled under the gate with its Latin motto: PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS.
We are dust and shadows.
As they came to a sliding stop in the courtyard, Matthew