♕

Dahlia was forced to help Anna set up for her tea party with Cordelia the next day. 

According to the rumors Dahlia had overheard;  James had been discovered wandering about Tatiana Blackthorn's gardens, having merrily smashed in all her windows and terrified her and her daughter by racing drunkenly about her lawn.

Dahlia had nearly died of laughter, when she heard it. She would have protested, but who was she to say that it didn't happen? It wasn't like she was there, but if she knew James like she thought she did, he would have been leading a swarm of ducks behind him. 

Will had discovered Dahlia behind Matthew and made sure to yell at the boys in Welsh for breaking his window and letting James go, but he had softly told Dahlia to go to Lucie's room and as her if she knew where her brother had gone. Dahlia had kept her secret fo Lucie sneaking out, for she had not found Lucie but pretended that Lucie was in the middle of changing so WIll had not knocked for her.

Dahlia and the Merry Theives were sent home in carriages while the Enclave searched for the lost Herondale. Dahlia wasn't aware of what had happened until today morning.

Christopher had sent her a letter that James had been found but Matthew had nearly torn the institute apart brick by brick in search of him.

Anna was in the process of kicking out a girl named Evangeline. Dahlia had thought she was a bit clingy compared to Anna's other affairs, she wasn't in the slightest bit disappointed when Anna decided she was done with Evangeline, it made sense by now to Dahlia. She had learned not to get too close to Anna's ladies, usually they leave in the span of three months if they are lucky. 

Dahlia was always portrayed as Anna's closest cousin, to avoid any confusion with people.

Dahlia was boiling the water, and rummaging the cupboards for tea flakes, when Anna walked downstairs. The kitchen had brightly painted walls and a small window that looked out onto the brick facade of the building opposite.

"Dahlia, darling, is the tea ready?" she called. Dahlia rolled her eyes. "Anna, for the love of the Angel, just attend to Daisy I have the tea under control." 

Anna made a noise of amusement, "Last time you nearly burned aunt Charlotte's kitchen down." 

"It was mindless stirring Anna, now leave me be or I will burn down your kitchen." Dahlia threatened.

Anna seemed mildly alarmed.

After a few moments someone walked in. "I see that you're examining Percival," said Anna. "Spectacular, isn't he?"

Percival was a vibrantly colored stuffed snake with two heads that Anna adored.

"He's certainly brightly colored," said Cordelia.

"He was a love gift. I never do court dull girls." Anna said. Dahlia came out of the kitchen with a flourish. Cordelia made a sound of surprise.

"Dahlia! You're here! Oh-" she started. Dahlia waved her hand airly, placing the tray on the table. "Yes, yes. Now I would like to join the conversation. What have I missed?"

"We were just admiring Percival, my dear." Anna said, Dahlia smiled.

"Did that woman call you 'sir'?" said Cordelia curiously. "Did she think you were a man?"

"Possibly." Anna flicked her cigar into the fireplace. "Best to let people believe what they want to believe, in my experience."

She threw herself onto the sofa. No braces held up her trousers, but unlike the men for whom they were tailored, she had hips, and the trousers hung from them, clinging close to her slight curves.

"Poor Evangeline," said Cordelia, undoing the strap that held Cortana and leaning her sword against the wall. Settling her skirts about her, she sat down in one of the armchairs.

Anna sighed. "This is not the first time I have tried to break it off with her," she said. "The last few times I was gentler, but as her wedding day drew near, I felt one must be cruel to be kind. I had never wanted her life ruined." She leaned forward, her focus on Cordelia. "Now, Cordelia Carstairs—tell me all your secrets."

"I think I'd better not," said Cordelia. "I don't know you very well."

Anna laughed. "Are you always so straightforward? Why did you come to tea if you didn't want to gossip?"

"I didn't say I didn't want to gossip. Just not about myself."

Dahlia settled on the floor. "Wise choice, Cordelia." she said, smiling softly at the red haired girl.

Anna's smiled deepened. "You're a vexing little thing," she said, though she didn't sound vexed.

 "Oh! The kettle." Dahlia said suddenly. Anna leaped up in a swirl of glimmering brocade and busied herself in the small kitchen. 

"Well, then, if you want to gossip but you don't want to tell me about yourself, why don't you tell me about your brother? Is he as awful as he used to be at school?"

"Did you go to school with Alastair?" Cordelia was surprised; surely Alastair would have mentioned it.

"No, James and Matthew and the rest of the Merry Thieves did, and 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."

Dahlia thought about Alistair Carstairs, he was a swirl of dark hair and snarky comments. Dahlia had never taken a liking to him, but there was a sort of vulnerability in Alistair now a days that wasn't there in the academy. It had worried Dahlia slightly.

"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."

Dahlia shook her head in amusement. 

"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."

Dahlia made a choking noise, Cordelia  sputtered. Anna laughed.

"Oh that's right, Matthew made it clear in the picnic he was marrying Dahlia. Well it's not official yet I am sure the Enclave has forgotten already. I suppose we must see what Matthew will plan for extravagance." Anna said. Dahlia shook her head. "I'd rather be chased by a swarm of ducks than be married to Matthew, you know that Anna. It's simply a.....I actually don't know what it is but to Matthew it seemed logical." Dahlia protested.

Anna laughed again. "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. Dahlia, she's never been interested in marriage and would rather die than marry the boys."

"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."

"What do you mean?" Cordelia asked.

"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."

Dahlia's heart suddenly started aching again. She and Anna shared a fondness for Ariadne, even if Anna refused to believe it. Dahlia loved her sister, Anna loved Ariadne as a lover. Anna would never admit to it, Dahlia never understood why until her sister had broken down one day in her room and told her everything. 

"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 a voice Dahlia knew very well.

It was soon joined by the tread of running feet, and Matthew Fairchild burst into Anna's parlor.

♕

Matthew wore a brocade waistcoat, and a new silk hat was clutched in his hand, though his head was bare, his curls tousled. Shimmering stones glittered in his tiepin and at his cuffs, and his signet ring gleamed on his hand. "Anna, you won't believe—" He broke off as he saw Dahlia and Cordelia. "What are you doing here?"

Dahlia rolled her eyes and looked at the window. Cordelia replied in a short and clipped tone. "Having tea."

His gaze scanned the room. His eyes were a most peculiar color, clear green in some lights, darker in others. "I don't see Anna," he said, sounding astonished and a little suspicious, as if he suspected Dahlia of having hidden Anna in the teapot.

"She's in her bedroom," said Dahlia, as coolly as she could manage.

"Alone?" Matthew inquired.

"Matthew!" called Anna from the bedroom. "Don't be awful."

Dahlia shook her head and shared a look with Cordelia who seemed a little abashed and slightly angered.

Matthew went to lean against Anna's bedroom door, turning his head to speak to her through the crack. It was clear he didn't care whether Dahlia and Cordelia overheard him. "I have already had a maddening day," he said. "James has been slandered by Tatiana Blackthorn and my rotten older brother is backing her up to the hilt; James has gone off to rendezvous with Grace. I am here to get squiffy and try to forget what a foolish thing my parabatai is doing." He glanced at his watch. "Also, I have to be at Fleet Street by midnight."

"How dreadful." Dahlia said, she didn't seemed saddened at all. 

Anna reemerged, looking spectacular in a black velvet coat, matching trousers, and a white silk shirt tied at the collar. A monocle dangled around her neck and her boots were shimmering black. Between her and Matthew it was hard to say who looked the more as if they had wandered out of an illustration in Punch  regarding the glamorous youth of today.

"A dreadful tale," Anna said. "Shall we go?"

"Certainly," said Matthew. "Cordelia, it was lovely, if surprising, to see you." he finished, completely ignoring Dahlia's existence.

"There is no need to say farewell," Anna said, drawing on a pair of white gloves. "Cordelia will be coming with us, Dahlia too. That was why I invited her here in the first place."

"I thought you wanted to have tea!" objected Cordelia. Dahlia stood up her mint green gown swirling under her, "No one ever simply wants to have tea, Daisy." Then she placed a hand over the mouth as if realizing what she had said. "Oh I am so sorry, I suppose your-" she started. Cordelia cut her off, "It's fine really." she said earnestly. Dahlia breathed a sigh.

"Dahlia Bridgestock, messing up as usual. Must we really drag her along Anna?" Matthew enquired sadly. Anna sighed, "Yes Matthew." 

Cordelia still seemed abashed at the invite of not tea. "Tea is always an excuse for a clandestine agenda." Anna said, noticing her look.

"Anna, Cordelia is a proper young lady," said Matthew. "She may not wish to risk her reputation by sallying out with Downworlders and reprobates. Unlike Dahlia, who would do anything." 

Dahlia sighed a sigh angrily, "I do have dignity Fairchild, honestly!" 

"Cordelia wants to be a hero," Anna interjected. "One cannot do that by staying at home stitching samplers." Her eyes gleamed. "I was at the Enclave meeting today; you were not. I know how the Enclave has decided to handle our current situation, and I do not think it will help those who are stricken, or prevent the attack at the lake from happening again."

When Matthew spoke, the brashness had gone out of his voice. "I thought Barbara was getting better. Thomas said—"

"I went to visit my sister earlier Matthew, the Silent Brothers have put them in an enchanted sleep, they simply can only hope they will heal." Dahlia said bitterly. Matthew stared as if just realizing Dahlia could loose her sister. His face softened for a second.

"Hope is not a solution," said Anna. "The Clave insists this was a random demon attack, which took place not in daylight but under cloud cover. They have set patrols in Regent's Park."

"It was not random," said Cordelia. "There were mundanes in the park, too—none were attacked."

"And the demons came before the cloud cover did," said Matthew. "When Piers fell screaming, the sun was still visible."

"You begin to see the problem," said Anna. "Several Enclave members made those points, among them my parents, but the majority prefer to think of this as the sort of problem they have faced before. Not something new."

"And you think it's something new," said Cordelia.

"I'm sure it is." Dahlia pitched in. "And when a new supernatural threat enters London, who are the first to know of it? Downworlders. We should be asking questions in Downworld. There was a time when the Clave had connections with High Warlocks, with the leaders of the vampire and werewolf clans. With the Queen of the Seelie Court." She shook her head in frustration. "I know Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa have done all they can, but these alliances have been left to fray and now Shadowhunters can only imagine relying on themselves."

"I see," said Matthew, whose eyes had begun to sparkle. "We shall be going to the Hell Ruelle, then."

"Matthew, Dahlia and I occasionally attend an artistic salon in a building owned by the High Warlock of London," said Anna. "Malcolm Fade."

"Malcolm Fade?" Cordelia asked.

"Every Downworlder who is anyone will be there," said Anna. "It is time for us to do what we do best."

"Drink?" said Matthew.

"Be charming," said Dahlia. "Ask questions. See what we can learn." 

Anna held out a gloved hand. "Come, come. Get up. Is the carriage downstairs, Matthew?"

"At your service," said Matthew. "Are you quite sure you want to come, Cordelia? It will be scandalous."

Cordelia didn't bother to reply, just retrieved Cortana as they left the flat.

 It was dark outside; the air was chilly and dank. A carriage with the Consul's coat of arms painted across the door waited for them at the curb. Someone had left a pile of roses with the heads snipped off on the front steps. Evangeline, or a different girl?

"So what kind of salon is this, exactly?" Cordelia inquired, as the carriage door swung open and Matthew helped her inside. One of the Consul's servants, a middle-aged man with brown hair, sat impassively up front in the box seat.

Anna and Matthew scrambled up after her, Anna disdaining Matthew's helping hand. "An exclusive one," said Anna, settling back on the velvet bench seat. "Some of the most famous Downworlders in the world attend."

Dahlia sighed and clambered in with Matthew's absent hand. She was frozen in shock for a second, but eventually pulled herself up into the carriage.

The carriage set off at a clip.

Anna said, "Some you may have heard of; some you may not. Some with reputations they don't deserve—and some with reputations they more than do."

"I never thought of Downworlders as being interested in painting and poetry," said Cordelia. "But I suppose there is no reason they shouldn't be, is there? It's just those aren't things that Shadowhunters do. We don't create like that."

"We can," Matthew said. "We are simply told we shouldn't. Do not confuse conditioning with a native inability."

"Do you create, Matthew?" asked Cordelia, looking at him sharply. "Do you draw, or paint, or pen poetry?"

"Lucie writes," said Matthew, his eyes like dark water. "I thought she wrote for you, sometimes."

"Lucie worries," said Cordelia. "She doesn't say so, but I know she worries, that all her writing will come to nothing, because she is a Shadowhunter and that must come first." Cordelia seemed to hesitate. "What does it mean, 'Hell Ruelle'?"

Dahlia's eyes gleamed. She said, "Official academic gatherings in Paris have always been controlled by men, but salons are a world ruled by women. One famous noble lady seated her artistic guests in her ruelle—the space between her bed, any lady's bed, really, and the wall. A scandalous spot. Informally, an artistic gathering presided over by a woman came to be known as a 'ruelle.'  "

"But you said Malcolm Fade ran this one, I thought."

"He owns the building," said Anna. "As for who runs it, you will see soon enough."

"Where are we going?"

"Berwick Street," said Anna, and dropped a wink. "In Soho."

"Soho," Cordelia breathed, as the carriage rattled down a narrow, dark street on whose pavement the stalls of a public market had been set up. Naphtha beacons illuminated the faces of stall owners chatting and haggling with customers over chipped china plates and mugs and secondhand clothes. Gentlemen—well, they weren't gentlemen, most likely, Dahlia thought—tried on overcoats and jackets in the street, their wives fingering the material and exclaiming on the fit. Boswell's butcher had thrown its doors open and was selling cuts of meat by gaslight, and there were bakers and grocers doing the same. They passed a tea shop and then the Blue Posts pub, its windows alive with light.

"Here," said Anna, and the carriage stopped. They scrambled out and found themselves at the corner of Berwick and a small alley called Tyler's Court, leading away from the main thoroughfare. The air was full of the sound of people laughing and shouting, and the smell of roasting nuts.

After a brief, whispered conference with Matthew, Anna disappeared down the alley, her tall, black-clad form melding almost immediately with the shadows. Cordelia and Dahlia were left alone with Matthew. He had his hat tipped down over one eye and was regarding Cordelia thoughtfully.

Dahlia stared at the roads and twisted her hands. 

Cordelia glanced about at the shop signs. "What are you thinking?" Matthew asked.

"What's a lapidary?" she asked. Dahlia could tell Matthew was making her nervous.

"A lapidary phrase is one that is worth carving into stone," said Matthew, "and preserving forever—a wise saying such as 'we are dust and shadows,' or alternately, any words that come out of my mouth."

Cordelia pointed at the sign. "They sell phrases there?"

"They sell objects with phrases carved into them," Dahlia started. 

"For instance, if you wished words of love to be etched into your wedding band. Or words of regret and sorrow on your grave. For my own headstone, I was hoping for something a bit grand." Matthew clarified.

"You surprise me," said Cordelia. "I am all astonishment."

Matthew threw his arms up in the air, his face glowing in the naphtha beacons. "Perhaps a simple 'O grave, where is thy victory? O Death, where is thy sting?' But does that truly capture the light I brought to the lives of friends and acquaintances, the sorrow they will feel when it is extinguished? Perhaps:

'Shed not for him the bitter tear

Nor give the heart to vain regret;

'Tis but the casket that lies here,

The gem that filled it sparkles yet.' "

Matthew's voice had risen; applause rose from the crowd outside the Blue Posts when he was finished. He lowered his arms just as Anna emerged from the alley.

"Do stop babbling rot, Matthew," she said. "Now come along, the three of you, they're expecting us."

♕