Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,72

Christopher wondered aloud. “Nothing interesting happens there.”

“It has now,” said Matthew cheerfully.

Before the conversation could degenerate further, James explained how he had gone into the world of shadows, how he had followed a light and found himself in the greenhouse. He described the warped Cerberus demon and how he had killed it. When he got to the part about Lucie and Cordelia, Matthew began to look less cheerful.

“What on earth were they doing there?” he said.

“They’d gone to check on Miss Blackthorn and see if she was all right,” said James, who wasn’t sure he believed this particular story himself. Lucie had had her bright-eyed storytelling face on. As for Cordelia—he realized with a slight jolt that he doubted he’d be able to tell if she was lying to him or not. He didn’t know her that well, though he felt as if he ought to.

“Seems dangerous to be out and about at night after those attacks,” said Matthew. “Lucie—the girls shouldn’t be taking such risks.”

“As if you’re going to stop going out at night,” Thomas pointed out. He and Christopher had sprawled on the grass while James was talking. Matthew was leaning against the plane tree, absently stroking Oscar’s head. “Here’s my question: Why Lightwood—I mean, Chiswick House? Why the greenhouse?”

“No idea,” said James, keeping his thoughts about Cortana to himself; they were too vague and would only confuse things. “Perhaps because the demon was there?”

“Demons do like to take up residence in ruins, especially those where there are remnants of black magic,” said Christopher. “And we all know what Grandfather Benedict was up to in that house. It’s why he turned into a worm.”

“Ah,” said Matthew, “fond family memories.”

“Well, the Clave agrees with you,” said James. “They believe the demon has been there since Benedict’s time. And while it seems entirely unconnected to the attacks, I do feel we have been seeing an unusual number of demons lately in rather unusual places.”

“ ‘Demons in unusual places’ was Benedict’s motto,” said Matthew, tossing a stick for Oscar. “How do we know what the Clave thinks? Charles has been remarkably tight-lipped.”

“Not to me,” said James. “He came to see me this morning.”

Thomas’s expression darkened. “Don’t tell me he believes all that poppycock about you going to see Miss Blackthorn and being refused—?”

“He does believe it,” said James, not wanting to hear the story again. He was already annoyed at himself for having let Charles get to him where Grace was concerned; of course Charles knew nothing significant about her. “Or at least, I was unable to give him another, better explanation. I cannot say I was wandering about the shadow realm. Better, I suppose, that they think I am a lunatic in love.”

“But you barely know Miss Blackthorn,” said Christopher, nibbling a piece of grass.

James’s eyes met Matthew’s. Matthew was looking at him with sympathy, but there was a clear statement in his green eyes. It’s time.

“I do know Grace,” said James. “And I do love her.” He explained about the summers in Idris, Blackthorn Manor next door, and the hours he’d spent with Grace in Brocelind, painting pictures in words for her of London, the great city she had never seen. He explained that Tatiana Blackthorn loathed him, and spoke of Charles’s admonition that he stay away from the Blackthorns. By the time he was done, the first stars were beginning to come out in the darkening sky.

Christopher was the first to speak. “I didn’t know that you were in love with someone, James. I’m sorry. I should have been paying attention.”

“I didn’t know either,” said Thomas, “and I have been paying attention.”

James said, “I am sorry I didn’t tell you before. Grace has always worried that her mother would find out and be furious. Even Lucie does not know.”

Though, he realized, Cordelia did. It had not even seemed strange to tell her.

Thomas was frowning. “My aunt Tatiana is mad. My father has often said so, that his sister was driven to madness by what happened to her father and her husband. She blames our parents for their deaths.”

“But James has never done anything to her,” said Christopher, his eyebrows knitting together.

“He’s a Herondale,” said Thomas. “That’s enough.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Christopher said. “It is as if one was bitten by a duck and years later one shot a completely different duck and ate it for dinner, and called that revenge.”

“Please do not use metaphors, Christopher,” said Matthew. “It gives me the pip.”

“This is bad enough without mentioning ducks,” said James. He