♕

Dahlia nearly impaled herself stumbling over Caliburn.

"Oh for the love of the Angel! Who put my sword in the middle of the room?" Dahlia yelled. Christopher looked sheepish over a cup of tea.

Dahlia sighed picking up the sword. Lucie had fallen a sleep curled up near Thomas who was playing cards with Anna. Matthew was staring out the window seriously and Christopher was carefully writing down ideas on a notebook with a cup of tea near him.

Dahlia had been wandering around the kitchen and the house looking for something, anything to do. She had made her way back into the Drawing Room only to be nearly impaled by her own sword.

"Betrayal, by my own sword. How fitting." Dahlia muttered, setting it up against a wall.

She ruffled Christopher's hair as she wandered away out of the room. She was followed by Matthew. It could only be Matthew, with the smell of brandy and wheat and soft footsteps.

She would know him blind, dead or alive. He was a part of her as she was a part of him.

"You seemed a little upset earlier." Matthew said, sipping from his flask as she turned around. Dahlia smiled, shaking her head. "No Math, I wasn't."

Matthew raised an eyebrow, "I do not believe you."

"Well you will have to take my word for it." Dahlia said.

Matthew held his hand out, "Would dancing help?"

Dahlia laughed. "I hate you. You know that right?"

Matthew grinned, "You love me."

"I would love to dance, jann, but I do not think I can. Not right now."

Matthew furrowed his eyebrows. "Why?"

"My stomach hurts." Dahlia said. It wasn't exactly a lie, her stomach did hurt. She couldn't exactly tell him she was bleeding.

Matthew's eyes widened in worry. "Do you need water? A hug? Sleep?" he fretted.

Dahlia smiled shaking her head, "No, no, it's fine. You go do something else."

Matthew cast one last worried glance at her and disappeared into the Drawing Room.

Dahlia made her way outside the house. Thomas came out a few moments later, seeming proud of himself.

Dahlia sighed, "Close the door behind you." she said.

Thomas did as requested, silently cursing.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"That you'd be sneaking out?" Dahlia asked, crossing her arms. "Honestly, Thomas, I've been waiting for you so long out here I was afraid my dress would go out of style."

"I just wanted some air—"

"No, you didn't," she said sighing deeply. "You had that look in your eye. You're going to go out and patrol alone again. Tom, don't be foolish."

"I have to do what I can, and I'm of better use out there than I am in the drawing room," Thomas said. "James doesn't need six of us to make sure he doesn't leave the house."

"Thomas, look at me," she said, and he did. Her blue gaze was steady.

She laid a gloved hand on his cheek. "We are special, unusual, unique people. That means that we must be bold and proud, but also careful. Don't think you have so much to prove that it makes you foolish. If you must patrol, go to the Institute and ask to be assigned a partner. If I discover that you are out on your own, I will be very angry."

"All right." Thomas kissed the palm of Dahlia's gloved hand and returned it to her gently.

She watched him with troubled eyes as he scrambled over the back garden wall.

She sighed into the darkness, "He isn't going to get a partner, is he?" she asked the stars above her quietly. The stars seemed to twinkle in agreement and Dahlia went back inside, a cold pit of dread forming in her stomach.

♕

Cordelia's voice swam down the stairs alarmed and urgent. Dahlia dashed up the staircase Matthew a few steps behind her.

 James was at the window, Matthew caught hold of him by the shoulders, spinning him around. James's eyes were wide, staring, blind. 

Dahlia locked the windows once more, exchanging a glance with Cordelia.

"Let—her—go," James gasped, struggling

"Wake up!" Matthew demanded, forcing James's body back against the wall.

James was still pushing against him, stiff-armed, but his movements wereslower now, his chest no longer heaving. "Matthew," he whispered. "Matthew, is that you?"

"Jamie bach." Matthew dug his fingers into James's shoulders. "It's me. Look at me. Wake up." 

James's eyes focused slowly. "Perhaps there is no forgiveness," he whispered, his voice oddly hollow.

"Probably not," said Matthew, "and we'll all go to Hell, but what matters now is that you are all right."

"James," Cordelia said. "Please." 

James shuddered and went limp against the wall. Looking exhausted, he nodded. "I'm all right." He sounded breathless, but the hollow edge was gone from his voice. "It's over."

Matthew relaxed, lowering his hands. He was in his vest and trousers, Dahlia realized, and blushed slightly. She could see an enkeli rune on Matthew's bicep, part of it disappearing under his sleeve. Matthew had very nice arms, she realized. She'd never noticed before. 

Oh, dear. If her mother knew Dahlia was in a bedroom with two such scantily clad men, she would faint.

She could imagine Laurina fainting. Ariadne would probably throw a flower pot at Dahlia.

"So you dreamed," said Matthew. He was looking at James, and there was such affection in his voice that it broke Dahlia's heart cleanly in half. "A nightmare, we assume?"

"You assume correctly," James said, his fingers going to the knot of rope still around his wrist. "And if my dream was accurate, someone else is dead." His tone was bleak.

"Even if that's true, you didn't do it," Cordelia said fiercely. "You've been here all night long, James. Lashed to the bed."

"That's true," said Dahlia. "Cordelia has been with you, she never left your side, and we've all been downstairs—well, except Thomas, he buggered off on patrol again, but the rest of us. No one came in or out the door." 

James untied the rope still trailing from his wrist. It fell away, revealing a circle of bloody skin. He flexed his hand and looked from Matthew to Dahlia to Cordelia.

"And I tried to get the window open," he mused. "But it was after my dream, not before. I don't know—" He looked frustrated. "It's like I can't think," he said. "Like there's a fog in my brain. But if it isn't me doing this—who is it?"

Before either of them could answer, a noise echoed from downstairs. Someone was pounding on the door. Cordelia was up in a flash, racing down the steps in her stockinged feet. 

Matthew James and Dahlia glanced at each other. Dahlia tore downstairs to the Drawing Room, glimpsing a parchment-colored cloak.

She burst into the room waking up Christopher and Lucie, Anna dropped a book.

James and Matthew burst in after her.

"A Silent Brother, at the door." Dahlia said, barely managing to get the words out.

Matthew clutched her hand, clearly knowing something was wrong.

Silent Brothers didn't do too well with Dahlia. When they were healing people, or in groups that was fine. But when a Silent Brother came alone, it, even though she would never admit it, scared her. 

After a few moments of James and Matthew explaining what had happened with Dahlia worrying anxiously, James, Matthew, Christopher, Lucie, Dahlia and Anna piled out of the Drawing Room.

 Six pairs of eyes made the same demand, asked the same question: Has anyone else died?

Enoch's answer flowed calmly, without sentiment or bitterness. If another Shadowhunter has been struck down, I do not know about it.

Cordelia exchanged an uneasy look with James, Dahlia and Matthew. 

I have come here to speak to Cordelia, Enoch went on, on a subject related to the murders and their investigation. 

Cordelia stood up straighter. "Anything you want to say to me privately, you can say to all of my friends." 

As you wish. In the Ossuarium you asked me a question about Filomena di Angelo's Strength rune. 

Everyone looked at Cordelia in confusion. "I had asked," Cordelia explained, "whether she had one." 

She did, Enoch said. She wore a permanent Strength rune on her wrist, according to her family, but that rune is missing now.

"Missing?" Christopher sounded baffled. "How's that possible? Scarred over, you mean?"

There is no scar. A rune can be used up, leaving only a phantom of itself behind, but it cannot vanish from one's skin entirely once it has been drawn. Enoch's focus shifted to Cordelia. How did you know?

"I saw my father's Voyance rune was missing," Cordelia said, "and in the courtyard, when Filomena's body was there, I thought I noticed her Strength rune missing from her wrist. It could have been nothing, my own memory playing tricks—but after I noticed my father's rune, I had to ask...."

He took my strength. The words Filomena had told Dahlia echoed through her mind.

 "But what could it mean?" James said, the sharpness in his tone cutting the tension like a knife. "The fact that two of the victims are missing runes? It's not possible to steal runes, and even if one did, what use would they be?"

"As some sort of trophy, maybe?" Lucie said, with a grateful look in Cordelia's direction.

Christopher looked slightly ill. "Jack the Ripper took ... parts ... of the people he killed." 

Dahlia squeezed his hand.

Lucie said, "Or as proof the person is dead? If the killer was acting at the behest of someone else—if he had hired himself out, perhaps, and had to prove he'd done the deed—" 

That could not be. It is not that the skin where the rune is inked has been cut away, said Enoch. The rune itself has been taken. Its spirit. Its soul, if you will. 

Dahlia was shaking her head. "But what could one do with a rune that's been removed? It's bizarre—"

She broke off as Enoch went suddenly, perfectly still. He held his hands up, as if to stop all noise. He was speaking with the other Silent Brothers in his head, Dahlia realized. She knew they were all connected, a strange and silent chorus bound together across the globe. 

After a long moment, Enoch lowered his hand. His blind gaze swept over the group. I have received a message from my brothers. Lilian Highsmith has been murdered, and an arrest made. The Inquisitor believes he has found the murderer.

Dahlia's eyes widened. Her father was one to make rash decisions, but perhaps he had found the murderer.

"Who have they arrested?" Anna demanded. "Who did this?"

 I believe it is someone you know, said Enoch, his silent voice grim. Thomas Lightwood. 

♕

The carriage hurtled through the streets of London, whipping in and out of traffic: thank Raziel it was a Sunday, and the roads were not crowded. It had barely come to a stop in the Institute courtyard before Dahlia had flung open the door and leaped down onto the flagstones. 

There was already a crowd in the courtyard: Shadowhunters milling about, murmuring among themselves and stamping their feet in the cold of the morning. Some were in gear, others in their normal day dress. Cordelia and Lucie were scrambling down after Dahlia; the second carriage pulled in after them, disgorging Anna, Matthew, James and Christopher. Everyone looked as stunned as Dahlia felt. It was some kind of thundering, bitter irony, like an awful revenge of the angels, she thought, giving the crowd a wide berth a she headed to the front door of the Institute. No sooner had it been proven that James was not guilty of the murders than Thomas was falsely accused. 

And Dahlia knew it was false. Someone was playing a trick, a horrible trick, and when Dahlia got ahold of them, she would slice off their hands with a ragged seraph blade. 

As she careened up the steps, the others quick on her heels, someone in the crowd shouted out, "You! Lightwoods!"

Christopher and Anna both turned, Christopher with an inquisitive look on his face. It was Augustus Pounceby, who had been muttering with the Townsends, who had called out. Anna gazed at him as if he were an insect she planned to feed to Percy.

"What?" she demanded.

"Get your parents to open up the Institute!" Augustus yelled. "We've heard they caught the murderer—we deserve to know who it is!" 

"Oh screw off, Pounceby!" Dahlia yelled back, flipping him off. The crowd was silent for a moment, Anna looked at Dahlia proudly.

"The Institute's locked?" Lucie whispered. Usually anyone with Shadowhunter blood could open the front doors of the cathedral. Institutes were locked only in times of emergency. 

Dahlia took the remaining steps two at a time and seized the heavy door knocker. 

The sound echoed through the Institute. Anna continued to look at Augustus as if he were a bug. A few moments later the front door of the cathedral opened a crack, and Gabriel Lightwood ushered them all inside.

"Thank the Angel it's you. I thought I might have to chase off more nosy Enclave members." Gabriel looked haggard, his brown hair sticking up in spikes. He hugged Anna and Christopher before turning to the rest of the group. "Well, this is a fine mess, isn't it? How'd you find out?"

"Brother Enoch told us," Matthew said shortly. "We know they found Thomas with Lilian Highsmith's body, and they've arrested him." 

"Brother Enoch?" Gabriel looked puzzled. 

"He'd dropped by with a recipe for mince pies," said James. "How are Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon? And Eugenia?"

 "They raced here as soon as they found out," said Gabriel as they reached the second floor. "Just ahead of the crowd, thankfully. They're frantic, of course—Thomas wasn't just found with the body; he was covered in blood and holding a knife. And of all people to find him, it had to be Bridgestock."

"My father is an absolute nut job." Dahlia said angrily. "When I see him I will give him an earful, I never cared for him anyway. Him and his stupid ego, men and their stupid ego." Dahlia grumbled. 

"He happened to be on patrol in the area," said Gabriel. They had reached the library; they all spilled inside to find  aunt Sophie pacing back and forth across the polished wood floor. Lucie raced over to her. 

"Where is he?" Dahlia demanded, as Lucie seized her aunt's hands and squeezed them. "Where's Tom?"

"Oh, darling. He's in the Sanctuary," Sophie said, looking as warmly as she could at all of them. Her forehead was furrowed deeply with worry." Bridgestock brought him back here and insisted he be locked up and the Council notified. Gideon went straight off to fetch Charlotte, and as soon as the Inquisitor got wind of that, he hared off to try to get to Mayfair first."

She passed a hand across her forehead. "I don't know how word gets around so fast. We had to lock the doors—we were afraid we'd be mobbed by Enclave members who heard rumors that a suspect had been apprehended."

"Bastard," Dahlia hissed. "He's in for it now." 

 "Will the rest of the Enclave be informed?" Dahlia asked, thinking of the angry crowd in the courtyard. "That Thomas is the suspect?"

"Not yet," Sophie said. "Bridgestock grumbled, but even he saw the sense in keeping quiet until Charl—until the Consul arrived. He swore his patrol partners to secrecy too. There's no reason to raise everyone's ire, since Thomas is obviously innocent."

Gabriel turned away, swearing quietly under his breath. Dahlia knew what he was thinking. Sophie might be convinced of Thomas's innocence, but not everyone would be. 

"We need to see Thomas," James said. "Before everyone else gets here. Especially the Inquisitor. Aunt Sophie," he said. "You know he'll want to see us."

Sophie nodded. "All right, but only you, Dahlia, Christopher, and Matthew. And be quick. I expect Charlotte will be arriving shortly with her entourage, and the Inquisitor won't want to find anyone in the Sanctuary. The rest of you will have to wait here—" 

"Well, I shan't be doing any waiting," Anna said, in a voice like ice crystals. "Were there any witnesses to what happened, Aunt Sophie? Lilian's death, or why Thomas was there?" 

Sophie shook her head. "He says he heard her screaming when he passed by, but she was already dying when he reached her. There were no witnesses."

"That we know of," Anna said. "I have my own ways of discovering information. Aunt Sophie, Father, I'd rather make my own inquiries than remain here and have to see Bridgestock's face." She glanced at Christopher. "And if he is rude to you, let me know. I will cut his sneering nose off."

Dahlia grumbled. "After I'm done with him, there won't be much left to cut."

 Anna turned without waiting for a reply and stalked out of the room. Dahlia could hear her boots clattering away down the hall. A moment later, Dahlia, Matthew and Christopher headed for the door. James held back for a moment but he joined them soon enough.

Together they raced downstairs, hurrying through the sloping hallways of the Institute until they reached the recessed vestibule outside the Sanctuary. The passageway ended here in a high pair of doors made of blessed iron, studded here and there with adamas nails. The keyhole in the left-hand door was carved in the shape of an angel. The key itself was currently in the hand of a dark-haired girl in a green dress, standing beside the doors and scowling. 

It was Eugenia, Thomas's sister. "Took you lot long enough to get here," she said.

"What are you doing down here, Genia?" Dahlia asked. "Surely Maurice wouldn't have asked you to guard the door." 

She snorted. "Hardly. I'm worried for Thomas. I'm here to keep other people out, not keep him in. The whole Enclave has been walking on eggshells since these murders began; it wouldn't surprise me if an angry mob showed up with torches and pitchforks now that there's a suspect." Her eyes flashed. "Go on, tell me I'm being foolish."

"On the contrary," said James. "I'm glad you're here. We all are."

"Indeed," said Christopher. "You're very frightening, Eugenia. I still remember the time you tied me to a tree in Green Park."

"To be fair, we were playing pirates, and I was eight," said Eugenia, but she smiled a little. She held out the angel key to James. "Tell him we'll get him out," she said fiercely, and James nodded and unlocked the doors.

Inside, the large stone room was dim, lit only by the light of a row of burning candelabras. The windowless walls were hung with long tapestries, each featuring the intricately woven image of a Shadowhunter family crest. A mirror nearly the size of one wall made the room seem larger still. In the middle of the room was a massive stone fountain, dry of water, an angel rising from its center. Its eyes were closed, its blind face sorrowful. 

The last time Dahlia had been in this room, it had been at the meeting where Cordelia had stood up to declare that James was innocent of burning down Blackthorn Manor—that she had spent the night with him and would vouch for his whereabouts.

The traces of that meeting were still here, in the family crests on the tapestries, the black velvet chairs scattered about the room, the lectern still in one corner. On one of the chairs, by the dry fountain, sat Thomas. His clothes were creased and spotted with blood, his hands pulled behind the chair, his wrists tied. His eyes were closed, his head hanging.

Christopher gave an indignant gasp. "He's already locked up. They didn't need to tie him up as well—" 

Dahlia cursed her father.

Thomas lifted his head, blinking. Exhaustion showed in his sunken eyes. "Kit? Dahl?"

 "We're here," Dahlia said, racing across the room toward Thomas.

James followed, joining Dahlia in kneeling down before Thomas's chair, while Matthew went behind, sliding a dagger from his belt. With one slash, the rope parted and Thomas pulled his arms free with a gasp of relief. 

"Don't be angry," he said, looking at his friends. "I told them it was all right to tie me up. Bridgestock insisted, and I didn't want my parents to have to keep defending me."

"Bullshit, you shouldn't have to defend yourself." Dahlia hissed. The rest of the Merry Thieves seemed unfazed at Dahlia's cursing.

She had done if before. In fact once Augustus Pounceby had told her that women shouldn't be allowed to curse, and she had replied with a 'Get fucked.'

"They shouldn't have to defend you at all," said James, catching at Thomas's free hands. Dahlia could see the dark shadow of Thomas's compass rose tattoo where it showed through the sleeve of his shirt. It was supposed to lead Thomas to love and safety, she thought bitterly; in this case, it had failed. "This is ridiculous—" 

"Thomas," said Christopher, with uncharacteristic firmness. "Tell us what happened."

Thomas made a sort of dry gasping noise. "You'll think I'm mad. Or a secret killer—"

"I should remind you," said James, "that yesterday, I thought I was a secret killer, and you told me that was ludicrous. And now I'm telling you that you, out of all of us, are least likely to be a secret killer."

"I, on the other hand, am the most likely to be a secret killer," said Matthew, throwing himself into one of the chairs. "I wear peculiar clothes. I come and go as I please and do mysterious, illicit things in the night. None of the rest of you are like that at all. Well, Christopher might kill someone, but he wouldn't mean to. It would be an accident resulting from an experiment gone horribly wrong. And Dahlia will kill someone one of these days with her slippers."

Thomas let out a shuddering breath. "I know," he said, "with crystal clarity, that I did not harm Lilian Highsmith. But Bridgestock and his cronies are acting as though they believe I did—they believed it immediately. Nothing I said made any difference. And these are people I've known my whole life." 

"Bloody bastards. I'm killing my father, no I disown him. He is no longer my father." Dahlia said, angrily. Thomas looked at her wearily.

"Don't disown him because he arrested-"

Dahlia shook her head. "He's messed up more times than you know Tom, this was a last straw if you may."

James chafed Thomas's hands between his. "Tom, what did happen?" 

"I—I was walking through Golden Square when I heard someone scream. I ran toward the sound and saw the body lying there, and I turned her over so I could see her face and ... and it was Lilian, barely alive. There was no sign of the murderer. I tried ..." Thomas put his hands over his face. "I tried to heal her but I couldn't; she was too close to death. And then the next thing I knew, I heard shouting and then the Inquisitor and some others were standing over me. I was covered in Lilian's blood by then ..."

"Did you see anything?" said James, sitting back on his heels. "Anyone else, someone running away?" 

Thomas shook his head. 

"Did Lilian see her killer?"

 "I asked her who attacked her." Thomas's hazel eyes burned with frustration. "She said something like 'He did it. He was dead in his prime. His wife wept for him.' None of which makes sense." 

"You think she recognized her killer as someone who was already dead?" echoed Matthew, looking puzzled.

Dahlia tilted back in her heels. Dead in his prime. His wife wept for him.

"I think she was probably delirious," said Thomas. "And there's something else a bit odd. When I reached her, she was clutching her stele. I put it in my pocket without thinking." He reached into his trouser pocket and extracted something that gleamed in the candlelight. "At least, I thought it was her stele. But it isn't, is it?" 

He handed it to James, who turned it over curiously between his fingers. It was a hard square of whitish-silver material, carved all over with runes. "It's certainly adamas," said James. "But you're right, it's not a stele. It's a sort of box, I think." 

"And I don't recognize the runes," said Matthew. "Are those, you know, ours? Good runes, I mean."

"Ah, yes," said Dahlia. "Long ago, the Angel gave unto the Shadowhunters the Book of Good Runes." 

Thomas choked out a laugh. "Glad to know my horrid imprisonment hasn't depressed you all too badly."

"We know it's horrid, Tom," James said. "But it's temporary. No one's going to believe you really did this, and if it comes to that, the Mortal Sword will prove it."

"But if they try me by the Mortal Sword, they might learn about everything we've been doing," Thomas said. "They might learn about your connection with Belial. I'd end up betraying you all, especially you, Jamie."

Dahlia, already kneeling, laid her head on Thomas's knee for a moment. She could hear Christopher and Thomas breathing, sense their worry; she felt Thomas's hand rough against her hair—Thomas was trying to comfort her, Dahlia realized, though Thomas was the one in trouble. 

"Tell them what you need to tell them," said James. "I'd never be angry at you for such a thing, Thomas, and I'll manage—we all will—" 

Dahlia raised her head and caressed his cheek. "We will get you out of this, Tom."

Voices rose outside suddenly, Eugenia saying very loudly, "WELL, HELLO, INQUISITOR BRIDGESTOCK. MADAME CONSUL. LOVELY TO SEE YOU."

"They're here." James stood up, slipping the adamas box into his pocket. Matthew glanced up as Charlotte entered the room with Inquisitor Bridgestock and Gideon Lightwood. The two men were arguing furiously. Dahlia glared at her father.

"This is a travesty," Gideon snapped. "You must release Thomas at once. You've got no real evidence against him—" 

"What is this?" Bridgestock bellowed when he saw the Merry Thieves and Dahlia. "How did you lot get in here?" 

"I live here," said James dryly. "I have all the keys."

 "Actually, you live on Curzon Street—all right, never mind," said Christopher. "It was a jolly good answer."

"Thomas is being held on suspicion," said Charlotte, glancing at Matthew, who half turned away, hunching his shoulders. Dahlia couldn't blame him. There had always seemed to her to be two Charlotte Fairchilds—one, the aunt she loved, and the other, the Consul, dispensing law and justice with a cool, unemotional hand. "He is not forbidden to have visitors. Nor," she added, glancing at Gideon, "can we dismiss the suspicions against him without any investigation. You know what the Enclave will say—that we are showing favoritism, releasing a suspect because he is a family member, not because he has been cleared of any part in the crime."

"You make it very difficult sometimes, Charlotte," said Gideon in a low, angry voice. "All right. Go ahead, Thomas; tell them what happened."

Thomas repeated his story, leaving out only the curious adamas box. Gideon crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at the Inquisitor. Bridgestock, whose face had gone purple with the effort of not interrupting, objected immediately when Thomas was finished.

"This story is nonsense," he hissed. He turned on Thomas, who had sagged back in his chair. "You're asking us to believe that all this was just a coincidence, when by your own admission you've been breaking the rules every night? Patrolling on your own? Have you any alibi for where you were the night Basil was killed? Or the Italian girl?" 

"Her name was Filomena," Thomas said quietly. 

Bridgestock scowled. "Irrelevant."

"Bastard."  Dahlia muttered.

"That's not the point," Bridgestock roared. "Lightwood, you were not scheduled for patrol and you had no reason to be in Golden Square."

 "Thomas has explained that already." Dahlia whirled around on her father, her face white with fury. "And he cares more to know the name of a dead Shadowhunter than you do, Maurice, because none of this matters to you except what you can get out of it. If you manage to convince the Clave you've caught a killer, you think they'll shower rewards on you. But you will look like a fool if you cast him into prison and the murders continue. Do you ever care about anything other than your position in society? Mother cursed herself marrying you I tell you. Nothing is ever enough for you, rot in hell father." she said, the pure hatred in her voice seemed to reel him back.

"The Mortal Sword," Dahlia said after a moment of trying to even out her breathing. "Thomas isn't afraid of it. Why would you be?" 

"That's enough out of you," Bridgestock snarled, and for a moment, Dahlia was half-sure he was actually going to hit her. It wouldn't be the first time. Charlotte caught Bridgestock by the arm, real alarm on her face, just as the doors slammed open once again.

They all stared in utter surprise. It was Alastair Carstairs, striding into the room like he always did—as if he'd bought the place and sold it at a handsome profit. He wore a black suit, and his weapons belt glittered where it was visible beneath his jacket. Dahlia could see Eugenia in the doorway, looking after Alastair with a thoughtful expression. 

Dahlia breathed a sigh of relief.

"Dear God," said Matthew. "Could this day get worse? What the hell are you doing here, Carstairs?"

"Alastair," said Charlotte, "I'm afraid I must ask you to go. These are private proceedings." She frowned at Gideon. "Has the front door become unlocked?" 

Alastair's chin was up, his expression haughty. A terrible tension knotted Dahlia's stomach. He could see Thomas looking at Alastair with an expression almost of panic. 

Don't mess up Alastair, Dahlia thought to herself.

"No," Alastair said. "The door was not unlocked, at least not when I came in. Which was some time ago. You see, I followed Thomas here and came in with the Inquisitor and his patrol. I witnessed Miss Highsmith's death—the entire incident."

Matthew came to his feet. "Alastair, if you're lying, I swear on the Angel—" 

"Matthew stop it!" Dahlia yelled, dragging him back. "Put your shitty ego aside and listen, you moronic bastard."

"Alastair. Say what you mean. Now."  said Charlotte.

"As I said." Alastair's lip was curled, his head back. "I was in Golden Square when Thomas was passing through. I also heard Lilian Highsmith scream. I saw Thomas run to help her. She was already dying when he got there. He never harmed her. I'll swear to it." 

Matthew sat back down with a thump. Thomas stared at Alastair with a dazed expression. Dahlia felt pleased, if not a little bit baffled by everyone else's stunned expressions. 

Bridgestock sneered. "So it's coincidence on top of coincidence, then. Tell me, Carstairs, what possible reason could you have had to be in Golden Square at the same time as Thomas Lightwood?"

"Because I was following him," Alastair said, raking the Inquisitor with a disdainful gaze. "I've been following Thomas for days. I knew he was going out on these insane night patrols by himself, and I wanted to make sure that he was safe. Cordelia is fond of him."

"You're the one who's been following me?" Thomas said, astonished. 

"You knew someone was following you?" Matthew demanded. "And you didn't say anything? Thomas!" 

"Everyone be quiet," said Charlotte; she didn't raise her voice, but something in the pitch of it reminded everyone why she'd been elected Consul.

Thomas was still looking as if he might faint. Alastair was studying his nails. It was Bridgestock who broke the ensuing silence first. "This is preposterous, Charlotte. Carstairs is lying to cover up for his friend."

 "They're not friends," said James. "One of us might lie for Thomas. Not Alastair." 

"Then he's probably mad with grief over his father's death. Either way he's not credible," Bridgestock snarled.

"Get fucked." Dahlia muttered. Maurice looked at her with furious eyes, Matthew gave him a cutting glare as if daring him to raise a hand at her.

"And yet we are going to hear him out, and Thomas as well, because that is the task that is appointed to us," Charlotte said icily. "Thomas and Alastair both will be held here in the Sanctuary until they can be tried by the Mortal Sword."

"And yet we are going to hear him out, and Thomas as well, because that is the task that is appointed to us," Charlotte said icily. "Thomas and Alastair both will be held here in the Sanctuary until they can be tried by the Mortal Sword." 

"You cannot make that decision without me," Bridgestock objected. "I would try them right now, if not for the fact that the Mortal Sword is currently in Paris." He said the word "Paris" with surprising loathing. 

 "Fortunately, Will and Tessa will be here tomorrow morning, with the Sword," said Charlotte, exchanging a swift look with Gideon. "Now, Maurice, I fear your eagerness to make your arrest known has only stoked panic. You had best come with me to the courtyard, to communicate that the Enclave has the matter well in hand. The identity of the accused will not be released until after the Mortal Sword is employed tomorrow."

Bridgestock gave Charlotte a long, furious look, but he had no choice. She was the Consul. With an oath, he stalked from the room; he would have slammed the doors behind him, Dahlia was sure, if not for the fact that Cordelia had shoved herself through the gap. She raced past the Inquisitor without a glance and threw her arms around Alastair. "I heard," she said, pressing her forehead to her brother's shoulder. "I was outside with Eugenia. I heard everything." 

"Ghoseh nakhor, hamechi dorost mishe," Alastair said, stroking his sister's back. 

"Listen to me, Layla." Alastair lowered his voice. "I haven't wanted to fret you, but Mâmân has been told by the Silent Brothers to keep to her bed, for the sake of her health and the baby's. I do not think we should worry her more. Tell her I'm spending the night at the Institute to keep Christopher company."

Cordelia blinked back tears. "Yes—I'll send a runner with a message, but—will she believe that? You hardly know Christopher."

Alastair kissed Cordelia's forehead. As he did, he closed his eyes. "She'll just be glad to think I have a friend, I suspect." 

"Alastair—" Dahlia started, Matthew put a firm hand on her stomach, holding her back.

"This room has become entirely too crowded," said Charlotte, looking worriedly after the Inquisitor. "All of you, save Alastair and Thomas, clear out—you, too, Gideon. We must be seen to be cooperating. You do understand that."

"Indeed," said Gideon, in a tone that indicated that he very much didn't. He smiled at Thomas, who was still looking dazed. "But it's ridiculous just leaving them here—they need blankets, food—they're not being tortured, Charlotte." 

Charlotte looked indignant. "Indeed not. They'll have everything they need. Now, Gideon, Christopher, Matthew, Dahlia, James—and you, too, Cordelia—you must go." 

Reluctantly, the Merry Thieves and Dahlia began filing out of the Sanctuary, each of them stopping to lay a hand on Thomas's shoulder and murmur an encouraging word.

"If they don't have the Mortal Sword here by tomorrow morning, I'll break you out with Caliburn."  Dahlia whispered lowly to Thomas.

"I heard that!" Charlotte scolded. She held herself very straight, as befitted a Consul, but Dahlia could have sworn her face wore the faintest trace of a smile as she closed the iron doors of the Sanctuary behind them, locking Thomas in with Alastair Carstairs.

♕