Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,76

Matthew says he was a miserable blighter and gave them all the pip. No offense meant. I admit, Thomas never says a bad word about him. Sugar? I haven’t any milk.”

“No sugar,” said Cordelia, and Anna whirled back into the parlor with tea in a chipped cup and saucer. She handed it to Cordelia, who balanced it awkwardly on her knees.

“Alastair is rather awful,” she admitted, “but I don’t think he means to be.”

“Do you think he’s in love?” Anna said. “People can be awful when they’re in love.”

“I don’t know who he’d be in love with,” Cordelia said. “He’s hardly had time to fall in love with anyone, since we’ve just arrived in London, and I doubt everything that’s happened has put anyone in a falling-in-love mood—”

“What did your father do, exactly?” Anna said.

“What?” Cordelia nearly spilled her tea.

“Well, we all know he did something dreadful,” said Anna. “And that your mother’s come here to try to ingratiate herself back into Shadowhunter society. I hope everyone won’t be too stiff-necked about it. I quite like your mother. She reminds me of a queen out of a fairy tale, or a peri from Lalla Rookh. You’re half-Persian, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Cordelia said, a little warily.

“Then why is your brother so blond?” Anna asked. “And you so redheaded—I thought Persians were darker-haired.”

Cordelia set her cup down. “There are all sorts of Persians, and we all look different,” she said. “You wouldn’t expect everyone in England to look alike, would you? Why should it be different for us? My father is British and very fair, and my mother’s hair was red when she was a little girl. Then it darkened, and as for Alastair—he dyes his hair.”

“He does?” Anna’s eyebrows, graceful swooping curves, went up. “Why?”

“Because he hates that his hair and skin and eyes are dark,” said Cordelia. “He always has. We have a country house in Devon, and people used to stare when we went into the village.”

Anna’s eyebrows had ceased swooping and taken on a decidedly menacing look. “People are—” She broke off with a sigh and a word Cordelia didn’t know. “Now I rather feel sympathy toward your brother, and that was the last thing I wanted. Quick, ask me a question.”

“Why did you want to get to know me?” Cordelia said. “I’m younger than you, and you must know loads more interesting people.”

Anna rose, and her silk robe fluttered. “I must get changed,” she said, vanishing into the bedroom. She closed the door, but the walls were thin: Cordelia could hear her perfectly well when she spoke again. “Well, at first, it was because you’re a new girl in our set, and I was wondering if you were good enough for our Jamie or our Matthew.”

“Good enough for them in what sense?”

“Well, marriage of course,” said Anna. “Anything else would be scandalous.”

Cordelia sputtered. She heard Anna laugh. She had a soft, rich laugh, like melting butter.

“You are too much fun to tease,” she said. “I meant good enough to know their secrets—and Christopher’s and Tom’s as well. They are my special favorites, those four, you must have noticed. And, well, the current crop of girls in London is rather dire—of course, Lucie’s a delight, but she’ll never look at any of the boys as anything but brothers.”

“Seems sensible,” Cordelia murmured, “especially in James’s case.”

“They need a muse,” said Anna. “Someone to be inspired by. Someone to know their secrets. Would you like to be a muse?”

“No,” said Cordelia. “I would like to be a hero.”

Anna poked her head out of the door and looked at Cordelia for a long time from under her dark lashes. Then she smiled. “I suspected as much,” she said, vanishing back into the bedroom. The door banged shut. “That’s really why I asked you here.”

Cordelia’s head was spinning. “What do you mean?”

“We are in danger,” called Anna. “All of us, and the Clave will not see it. I am afraid if steps are not taken, it will be too late for Barbara and Piers and—and Ariadne.” There was a slight tremor in her voice. “I need your help.”

“But what can I—” Cordelia began, and broke off as she heard the downstairs front door bang open.

“Anna!” A deep male voice echoed up the stairwell. It was soon joined by the tread of running feet, and Matthew Fairchild burst into Anna’s parlor.

8 NO STRANGE LAND

But (when so sad thou canst not sadder)

Cry;—and upon thy so sore loss

Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder

Pitched betwixt Heaven