Every Exquisite Thing (Ghosts of the Shadow Market Book 3)

by Cassandra Clare

  Anna put her head down on the pillow. Her boots were gone. Her hair had come down, and she pushed it back impatiently.

  “I would like to kiss you,” Ariadne said. Her voice shook with a fear Anna understood all too well. Ariadne was afraid Anna was going to push her away, reject her, run screaming. But how could Ariadne not know how she felt? “Please, Anna, may I kiss you?”

  Unable to speak, Anna nodded.

  Ariadne leaned forward and pressed her lips to Anna’s.

  Anna had lived this moment in her mind a hundred times or more. She did not know her body would grow so warm, that Ariadne would taste so sweet. She returned the kiss, then kissed Ariadne along her cheek, her chin, down her neck. Ariadne made a low sound of delight. She brought her lips up to Anna’s again, and they fell back against the pillows. They were tangled together, laughing and warm, intent only on each other. The pain was gone, replaced by rapture.

  During the day, the streets and alleys of Soho could be hard to navigate. At night, they became a dangerous and confusing warren. Jem kept his staff aloft. At this late hour, the only people about were drunkards and ladies of the night. The alleys smelled of refuse, and there was broken glass and the assorted detritus of a London day.

  Jem made his way to a storefront on Wardour Street. He knocked, and the door was opened by two young werewolves, neither of whom seemed surprised to see him.

  Woolsey Scott is expecting me.

  They nodded and guided him through a dark and empty shop that sold buttons and ribbons and through a door. On the other side was a dimly lit but tastefully furnished room. Woolsey Scott was stretched out on a low divan. Sitting opposite him was Leopolda Stain, surrounded by a half a dozen more werewolves. She seemed calm and composed, and was even sipping from a cup of tea.

  “Ah, Carstairs,” Scott said. “Finally. I thought we’d be here all night.”

  Thank you, said Jem, for looking after her for me.

  “It was no trouble,” said Scott. He tipped his chin at Leopolda. “As you know, this one arrived a few weeks ago. We’ve been keeping an eye on her ever since. I didn’t think she would go as far as she did tonight. Can’t have her egging on idiot mundanes to raise demons. It’s the sort of thing that inspires anti-Downworlder sentiment.”

  Leopolda seemed to take no offense at the way he spoke.

  Woolsey rose to his feet. “You had said you wanted to speak with her,” he said. “Shall I leave the matter with you?”

  Yes, Jem said.

  “Good. I have an appointment with a rather staggering bottle of red. I’m sure she won’t cause any further fuss, will you, Leopolda?”

  “Of course not,” Leopolda said.

  Scott nodded, and the werewolves left the room as one. Leopolda looked up at Jem and smiled.

  “It is good to see you again,” she said. “We were so rudely interrupted earlier.”

  You will tell me what you know of Tessa.

  Leopolda reached over to a teapot on a low table and refilled her cup.

  “These terrible beasts,” she said, nodding at the door. “They handled me quite roughly. I would like to leave this place now.”

  You will not be leaving until you tell me what I want to know.

  “Oh, I will. Your Tessa . . . and she was yours, wasn’t she? I may not be able to see your eyes, but I can see it in your face.”

  Jem stiffened. He was no longer that boy, the young man who had planned a wedding to Tessa, who had loved her as much as his heart could bear. He loved her still, but he survived it by having put that young man away, by putting away his human loves as he had put away the violin. Instruments for another time, another life.

  Still, there was no joy in being so cruelly reminded.

  “I imagine her powers are great,” Leopolda said, stirring her tea. “I envy her. Axel was . . . so very proud.”

  There was nothing but the sound of the spoon hitting the sides of the china cup. In the depths of his mind, Jem heard the murmuring of the other Silent Brothers. He ignored it. This was his mission alone.

  Tell me of Tessa’s father.

  “The blood,” she said. “You will give me the blood first. It is a very small amount.”

  That will never happen.

  “No?” she said. “You know, I am merely the humble daughter of a Vetis demon, but your Tessa . . .”

  She waited to see the effect on Jem.

  “Yes,” she said. “I know all. You will put out your arm. I will take the blood, I will tell you what you so wish to know, and I will leave. We will both be satisfied. I assure you, what I give you is so much more than I ask. It is a bargain of the highest order.”

  You do not have the advantages you think you have, Leopolda Stain, he said. I have known you were here since you set foot on these shores. I knew you were a friend of Mortmain’s. I know you want this blood to continue his works, and I will never allow that.

  Her lip curled. “But you are kind,” she said. “You are famous for it. You will not hurt me.”

  Jem took his staff, spinning it between his hands, and held it balanced lightly between himself and Leopolda. He knew a hundred different ways to kill her with it. He could break her neck.

  That was my Shadowhunter self, he said. I have killed with this staff, though I prefer not to. Either you tell me what I wish to know, or you die. It is your choice.

  He saw, from the look in her eyes, that she believed him.

  Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go with your life.

  Leopolda swallowed. “First, swear upon your Angel that you will allow me to leave tonight.”

  I swear upon the Angel.

  Leopolda smiled a long, vulpine smile.

  “The ritual that created your Tessa was magnificent,” she said. “Such glory. I never thought such a thing could be done, mating a Shadowhunter with a demon . . .”

  Do not delay. Tell me.

  “Your Tessa’s father was the greatest of Eidolon demons. The most beautiful creature in any hell, for he has a thousand shapes.”

  A Greater Demon? Jem had feared it. No wonder James could turn himself to smoke and Tessa herself could take any form, even that of an angel. A line of Nephilim and Greater Demons. There was no history of such impossible beings. Even now, he could not think of them as new and strange creations with incredible powers. They were simply Tessa and James. People he loved beyond measure. You are saying Tessa’s father was a Greater Demon?

  The Clave could never know. He could not tell them. His heart lurched. Could he tell Tessa? Would it be better for her to know, or not?

  “I am saying,” Leopolda said, “that he was a Prince of Hell. What an honor to be born of him. Sooner or later, Jem Carstairs, blood will out, and such a beautiful power will blaze through this city.”

  She rose to her feet.

  The greatest of Eidolons? I need more than that. What was his name?

  She shook her head. “The price for the name is blood, James Carstairs, and if you will not pay it, another will.”

  She brought her hand out from behind her back and flung a handful of powder at Jem. Had his eyes not been protected by magic, it would likely have blinded him. As it was, he staggered back long enough for her to run past him to the door. She reached it in seconds and threw it open.

  On the other side of it were two huge werewolves, flanking Woolsey Scott.

  “As expected,” Woolsey said, looking at Leopolda with contempt. “Kill her, boys. Let her be an example to others who would freely spill blood in our city.”

  Leopolda screamed and whirled on Jem, wide-eyed. “You said you would let me leave! You swore!”

  Jem felt very weary. I am not the one who is stopping you.

  She cried out as the werewolves, already half-transformed, flung themselves on her. Jem turned away while the sound of ripping flesh an
d shrieks tore through the room.

  The summer dawn came early. Ariadne was sleeping gently, and Anna heard the maid stirring downstairs. She had not slept yet, even after Ariadne had dropped off. Anna did not want to move from this warm spot. She played with the lace edges of the pillow and watched Ariadne’s eyelashes flicker as if she were in the depths of a dream.

  But the sky was turning from black to the soft peach color of sunrise. Soon there would be a maid at the door with a tray. Soon, life would intrude.

  It would only hurt Ariadne if she were found here. It was her duty to leave this place.

  She kissed Ariadne softly, so as to not wake her. Then she dressed and slipped out the sash window. The dark did not quite obscure her now as she walked through the misty London morning in her men’s clothes. A few people turned their heads to get a second look at her, and she was fairly sure that some of those looks were admiring, even if she was mostly missing one of her sleeves and had lost her hat. She decided to take the longer way home, through Hyde Park. The colors were soft in the sunrise, the waters of the Serpentine still. She felt friendship toward the ducks and the pigeons. She smiled at strangers.

  This was what love was. It was total. It brought her together with everything. Anna barely cared if she made it home before someone would notice her missing. She wanted to feel like this forever—exactly this, this soft and fragrant and friendly morning, with the feel of Ariadne still on her skin. Her future, so confused before, was clear. She would be with Ariadne forever. They would travel the world, fight side by side.

  Eventually, she had to walk toward her home, where she climbed up to her window with ease. She removed her brother’s clothing and slipped into bed. Within seconds, she dropped into the easy embrace of sleep and felt herself back in Ariadne’s arms.

  She woke just before noon. Someone had brought her a tea tray and left it next to her bed. She drank the now-cold tea. She took a cool bath and examined the wound on her arm. The healing runes Ariadne had drawn had done their work. The area was still red and angry, but she could cover it with a shawl. She dressed in her plainest, most severely cut gown—so funny now, to be dressed as a girl—and put a silk shawl over her shoulders, winding it carefully over the damaged arm. She went downstairs. Her mother sat in a sunny corner of the sitting room, little Alexander on her lap.

  “There you are,” her mother said. “Are you ill?”

  “No,” Anna said. “I was foolish. I stayed up quite late reading a book.”

  “Now I know you are ill,” her mother said with a smile, which Anna returned.

  “I need to take a walk in the sunshine. It is such a lovely day. I shall go see Lucie and James, I think, and discuss my book with them.”

  Her mother gave her a curious look, but agreed.

  Anna did not walk to the Herondale house. She turned instead toward Belgravia, stopping to buy a bunch of violets from an old woman selling them in the street. Her steps were light. The world was perfectly arranged, and all things and beings in it were worthy of love. Anna could have done anything in that moment—fought off a hundred demons at once, lifted a carriage over her head, danced on a wire. She passed along the pavements she had been on only hours before, back to her love.

  At the house off of Cavendish Square, Anna knocked once, then stood nervously on the step, looking up. Was Ariadne in her room? Would she look down?

  The door was opened by the Bridgestocks’ unsmiling servant.

  “The family is receiving guests at the moment, Miss Lightwood. Perhaps you would like to wait in the—”

  At that moment, the reception-room door opened, and the Inquisitor walked out with a young man who had familiar features and red hair—Charles Fairchild, Matthew’s brother. Anna rarely saw Charles. He was always somewhere, usually Idris. He and the Inquisitor were mid-conversation.

  “Oh.” Inquisitor Bridgestock said, seeing Anna. “Miss Lightwood. How fortuitous. Do you know Charles Fairchild?”

  “Anna!” Charles said with a warm smile. “Yes, of course.”

  “Charles will be the interim head of the Paris Institute,” the Inquisitor said.

  “Oh,” Anna said. “Congratulations. Matthew didn’t tell me.”

  Charles rolled his eyes. “I imagine he thinks of such things as political aspirations as crass and bourgeois. What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Anna and Ariadne have been training together,” the Inquisitor explained.

  “Ah,” Charles said. “Excellent. You must visit us in Paris sometime, Anna.”

  “Oh,” Anna said, not knowing what we Charles was talking about. “Yes. Thank you. I shall.”

  Ariadne stepped out of the morning room. She wore a dress of fresh peony pink, and her hair was coiled on her head. On seeing Anna, her cheeks flushed. Charles Fairchild stepped ahead with Inquisitor Bridgestock, and Ariadne stepped up to her.

  “I did not expect to see you so soon,” she said to Anna in a low voice.

  “How could I keep away?” Anna replied. Ariadne was wearing her perfume again, and it wafted lightly through the air. Orange blossom was Anna’s favorite scent now.

  “Perhaps we can meet later,” Ariadne said. “We are—”

  “I will be back again in a year’s time,” Charles said, concluding whatever conversation he was having with Inquisitor Bridgestock. He returned to them, bowed, took Ariadne’s hand, and kissed it formally.

  “I hope to see more of you when I next return,” he said. “It should not be more than a year.”

  “Yes,” Ariadne replied. “I would like that very much.”

  “Anna!” Mrs. Bridgestock said. “We have a parrot. You must see it. Come.”

  Suddenly, Anna found that Mrs. Bridgestock had hooked her by the arm and was gently leading her into one of the other rooms, where there was a large multicolored parrot in a massive gold cage. The bird cawed loudly on their approach.

  “It is a very nice bird,” Anna said, confused, as Mrs. Bridgestock shut the door behind them.

  “I do apologize, Anna,” she said. “I just needed to give the two of them the chance to properly say their farewells. These things can be so delicate. I am sure you understand.”

  Anna did not understand, but there was a creeping numbness coming over her.

  “It is our hope that they might wed in a few years’ time,” Mrs. Bridgestock went on. “Nothing has been settled, but it is such a good match.”

  The parrot screeched and Mrs. Bridgestock went on talking, but Anna heard only a ringing in her ears. She could still taste Ariadne’s kiss on her lips; she saw Ariadne’s dark hair spread out on the pillow. Those things had happened just hours before, and yet it was like a hundred years had passed and the world had grown cold and unfamiliar.

  The door opened again, and a quiet Ariadne joined them.

  “Has mother introduced you to Winston?” she said, looking at the parrot. “She dotes on him. Aren’t you a nasty beast, Winston?”

  She said it warmly, and Winston the parrot danced along his rail and extended a foot to Ariadne.

  “Did you have a fruitful discussion?” her mother asked.

  “Mother!” Ariadne protested. She was a little pale, but her mother seemed not to notice. “Please, may I speak to Anna?”

  “Yes, of course,” Mrs. Bridgestock said. “You girls have a good chat. I’ll have the cook make up some nice strawberry lemonade and some biscuits.”

  When she left, Anna stared blankly at Ariadne.

  “You are to be married?” she said, her voice gone dry. “You cannot marry him.”

  “Charles is quite a good match,” Ariadne said as if she were discussing the quality of a piece of cloth. “Nothing has been settled, but we should reach an agreement soon. But come, Anna, come. Sit.”

  Ariadne took Anna’s hand and led her over to one of the sofas.

  “That won�
�t be for at least another year or more,” Ariadne said. “You heard Charles. It’s a year before I even see him again. All of that time, I will spend with you.”

  She drew a small circle on the back of Anna’s hand with her finger, a gentle motion that took Anna’s breath away. Ariadne was so beautiful, so warm. Anna felt like she was being torn to pieces.

  “Surely you cannot wish to marry Charles,” said Anna. “There is nothing wrong with him, but he is—do you love him?’

  “No,” Ariadne said, clutching Anna’s hand tighter. “I do not love him that way, or any man that way. All my life, I have looked at women and known only they could pierce my heart. As you have pierced it, Anna.”

  “Then why?” Anna said. “Why marry him? Because of your parents?”

  “Because that is the way the world is,” Ariadne said, her voice shaking, the way it had when she had first asked Anna if she might kiss her. “If I were to tell my parents the truth about myself, if I were to reveal who I really am, they would despise me. I would be friendless, cast out, alone.”

  Anna shook her head.

  “They would not,” she said. “They would love you. You are their daughter.”

  Ariadne drew her hand back from Anna’s. “I am adopted, Anna. My father is the Inquisitor. I do not have parents who are as understanding as yours must be.”

  “But love is what matters,” said Anna. “I would have no one but you. You are all to me, Ariadne. I will not marry a man. I only want you.”

  “And I want children,” Ariadne said, lowering her voice in case her mother was returning. “Anna, I have always wanted to be a mother, more than anything else in the world. If I had to bear Charles’s touch, it would be worth it for that.” She shuddered. “I shall never, never love him as I love you. I thought you understood—that this would be a bit of happiness we could snatch for ourselves before the world forced us apart. We can love each other for the next year, before Charles returns—we could have that time and always remember it, hold it close to ourselves—”

  “But when Charles returned, it would be over,” Anna said coldly. “He would claim you. That is what you are saying.”