Chain of Gold (The Last Hours #1) - Cassandra Clare Page 0,97

all right, we’ll get you trained properly—”

“James! Grace!” It was Lucie. She gestured toward the road; a second later James heard jingling, and saw an old-fashioned pony trap emerging from the fog, drawn by two scrawny brown horses. Sitting in the trap was Tatiana Blackthorn.

She pulled up short and leaped down from the carriage. As always, she presented a bizarre appearance: she was wearing a costume with full skirts and fussy lace, a dress from another age made for a much younger and plumper girl. On her head was a hat piled high with false fruit and stuffed birds. It trembled with her rage as she raked the group with her furious gaze, which came to rest on her daughter.

“Grace,” she snapped. “Get into the trap. Now.”

Grace turned to James; her face was white. In a low voice, he said, “You do not need to do as she says. Come back to the Institute with me. I beg of you.”

Grace’s face was still tearstained, but her expression had closed like a bank vault. “James. I cannot. Walk me to the carriage, please.”

James hesitated.

“Please,” she said. “I mean what I say.”

Reluctantly, James held out his arm for Grace to take. He saw Tatiana’s lips tighten into a thin line. James waited for her to snap, but she stayed silent: she had clearly not expected so many Shadowhunters there. And so many from the families she hated—Herondales, Lightwoods, Carstairs… she would wish to be gone as soon as possible, James suspected.

She glared daggers at James as he walked to the carriage, supporting Grace on his arm. He helped her in, and she sank back against the seat, her eyes closing wearily. James wished he could say something to her about the argument they’d had earlier. He and Grace had never argued before. He wanted to beg her not to go back to Chiswick House, but he suspected it would only make things worse for her if he did.

“I will write to you tomorrow,” he began.

“No,” Grace said through white lips. “No. I require some time, James. I will write to you.”

“That’s enough,” hissed Tatiana, shooing James away from the carriage. “Leave my daughter alone, Herondale. I don’t need you luring her into trouble—”

“The only trouble we encountered was your family’s Cerberus demons,” said James in a low, furious tone. “I suggest you cease with your threats, unless you wish me to tell the Clave about them.”

He couldn’t tell anyone, of course, given the demon’s threat, but Tatiana didn’t know that. Not that it mattered. A low chuckle bubbled its way up from her throat. “My demons?” she echoed. “And where are they now, Herondale?”

“Dead,” James said shortly. “We killed them.”

“How impressive,” she said. “Tattle away, boy. I’ll tell the Clave Grace raised the demons herself. I’ll tell them she’s deep in black magic studies up to her pretty little ears. I’ll turn her loose and throw her back on their mercy with her reputation stained forever. I’ll ruin her life, if you want to play that game.” She jabbed a finger toward his chest. “You care, Herondale. That is your weakness.”

James stepped back in revulsion as Tatiana clambered into the trap. A moment later it was rattling off down the road, the ponies snorting and the reins jangling.

* * *

There was a long and awkward silence as the group of Shadowhunters watched the Blackthorn carriage vanish into the fog.

“Well,” said Alastair at last. “I think it’s time for Cordelia and I to be going.”

“I cannot go yet,” said Cordelia. She held out her arm and saw her brother’s eyes widen. A long, bloody cut ran from her elbow to her wrist. She had barely felt it during the battle, but it was beginning to sting. “I need a healing rune. If I return home like this, Mother will faint.”

“Several of us are wounded,” said Christopher. “Unless we want to explain what happened here, and it seems that would be a bad idea, we should probably apply iratzes.” He turned to Thomas. “I will do yours.”

“Please don’t,” said Thomas. Christopher did not always have the best of luck with runes.

“Oh, bloody hell, I’ll do it,” said Alastair, and stomped heavily over to Thomas’s side. Thomas watched in what seemed to be shock as Alastair produced a stele and began to draw on the bare skin of his arm where his shirt had been torn.

Beside Cordelia, Lucie produced her stele with a flourish. “Our first healing rune!” she announced, putting the tip of the