♕

"Dahlia?" Matthew called from outside the bedroom. 

Dahlia had pushed him out, threatening with her slipper. Matthew had learned to fear Dahlia's slipper the hard way.

"Coming! Ugh I hate buttons!" Dahlia cried in frustration. Matthew's muffled laugh seeped through the door, Dahlia glared at the door while she angrily buttoned her dress. The door opened after a few minutes, Matthew coming in as if he was sure she was done, which she was. She was just putting on the anklets. Matthew knelt down in front of her, as he had two weeks ago, only this time to put them on for her. She sat back, sighing. "I can do it you know?"

Matthew shook his head stubbornly, "I insist on doing it for you. Besides I wanted to give you something."

Dahlia had started wearing the anklets more often when they danced, she even danced the hundreds of dances of India she had learned with Ariadne from books and Arya, in front of him. Matthew's favorite was the kathak claiming he liked when the dress spread out like a blooming flower.

She started wearing them more often around the house for fun and put mehendi on her hands and legs more. It faded in around three to four days because she extracted the paste from the plants, but she didn't mind making more every week. It was fun, Matthew had once put it on for her while she read out Alice in Wonderland.

He had also noticed how little she ate, and made her eat more. She had started eating double the amount she used to eat, and she told Matthew that was how far she was willing to go because that was how much a person normally ate.

Things had changed drastically between them in a course of two weeks, she didn't know Matthew could be so....charismatic.

"I have-" he broke off, fumbling in his pocket for something. "Our two-week anniversary," he said, in answer to her quizzical expression. He handed her a black velvet box.

 "But—I didn't get you anything." She took the box, the velvet nap soft against her fingers. "I didn't know I was supposed to."

"You weren't." Matthew sad simply. Dahlia shook her head opening the box. It was a pendant necklace, with stars engraved onto it. It glittered like the night sky in the shining rays of light. She looked at Matthew, her face set in a wide smile. "Thank you." she whispered.

"It's perfect." Dahlia felt as if her heart might flutter out of her chest. 

"Here—let me put it on—""Hold on, hold on." Matthew laughed, coming up behind her, he knelt down once more. "The clasp is small. I'll help you."

Deftly, he found the clasp at the back of her neck. She froze. His fingers slid lightly across the delicate skin at the top of her spine, where her dress dipped down. He smelled like Matthew; brandy and wheat. 

 There was a click as the necklace fastened; he breathed in deeply as he reached around to straighten the pendant and she felt it, felt his chest expand as he breathed, the linen of his shirt against her back, making the hairs rise all along the back of her neck.

Then he stepped back. Dahlia evened out her breathing and faced him,  "Shall we?" she asked, her voice surprisingly leveled.

Matthew smiled evenly, "Of course." he said, taking her hand in his and leading them to the carriage.

"How many people do you suspect will be there?" Dahlia inquired, getting into the carriage, Matthew following her a few minutes later.

"Around fifty? Rosamund isn't that famous around London seeing....her peculiar habits." Matthew said winking at her. Dahlia giggled.

"I wonder, do you presume our engagement party was that crowded?" she asked. Matthew's face darkened for a moment.

"I suppose." he said, his voice was closed off, like clouds hiding away the sun.

Dahlia sighed, sinking back in her seat looking out the window. There was a hand in her in a mere few minutes. Matthew wasn't facing her, but his hands were in hers. A small smile crept on her lips looking out the window.

She felt unusually  giddy. She shook down the warm feeling swelling in her heart; it was nothing.

 The house was a ridiculously ornate mansion with towers and turrets, like a castle, but plastered in pale ivory, so that it resembled a cross between the Taj Mahal and a wedding cake. With lights blazing from its windows and the grounds surrounding it covered in snow, the effect was blinding.

The carriage stopped in front of a green carpet, which led like a forest path up gleaming white steps to a massive faux-medieval door. The steps were lined with footmen in ivory livery, all standing stiffly to attention as Matthew and Dahlia passed them. She couldn't help but giggle as they arrived in a very grand foyer with an elaborately tiled pink-and-white marble floor. It really did look like a cake. 

Matthew winked at her and they walked. In the center of the ballroom Martin Wentworth and his wife, Gladys, were admiring a large ice sculpture of Rosamund and Thoby, both in flowing robes. There was a small dove on Rosamund's shoulder. 

"Well the theme is quiet clear, is it not Dahlia?" Matthew whispered. Dahlia stifled a laugh, "It seems so."

Matthew gazed innocently at the cherubs on the ceiling as the real Rosamund and Thoby swept up to welcome them. "Oh, you both look lovely, such a beautiful couple I was saying, wasn't I just saying that, Thoby?" Rosamund exclaimed. 

Thoby looked startled. "Were you?"

Rosamund looked at Matthew in a way that made Dahlia feel the need to edge closer to him. Matthew, as if grateful, placed his arm around her waist holding her close to him. "Let us go talk with Jamie and Daisy, Matthew. It seems almost everyone is here." she said.

"Not everyone," said Rosamund, with a heavy sigh. "Amos Gladstone had to go and get himself killed, and quite a few people felt attending was in poor taste, which is very unfair, because we obviously planned this event before he died. And we would have canceled it, but we'd already ordered the ice sculpture."

 "That was an extraordinary speech, Rosamund," said Matthew. 

"Thank you," said Rosamund, seeming pleased. "I mean, how were we to know he'd get topped on patrol?" 

"When did this happen?" said Dahlia. She glanced at Matthew, who shrugged. "We hadn't heard—?"

 "Oh, it was just the night before last," said Thoby, a tall, weak-chinned young man with pale blond hair. 

"Was it a demon attack?" asked Matthew.  

"Well, clearly," said Rosamund. "What else would it have been? Now, Thoby, do show James the billiards room. It's new." She giggled and clasped Dahlia's arm. "We ladies have somewhere to be."

Dahlia's faced morphed into horror. "Matthew save me." she mouthed. Matthew smiled at her, "If you survive I shall set up cake." he mouthed back. She glared at him.

As Thoby led Matthew away, Rosamund steered Cordelia toward a group of women in pastel dresses stationed near the refreshments table. Among them was Thomas's sister Eugenia, wearing a pale yellow dress and matching gloves.

 "Here you go," Rosamund said with some satisfaction. Her hair had been dressed very high and studded all over with flowers. Petals rained down as she tossed her head. "This is where the married ladies are," she added in a stage whisper

Dahlia shook her head, rolling her eyes.

"Dahlia Fairchild?" said a voice behind her. She spun around, it was Evan Darkwood. She looked around her, all the ladies were busy talking among themselves.

"Evan! What are you-" she started. "I wanted to congratulate you, on your wedding. Happy marriage." he said, quietly. Evan was a handsomely built man with soft chestnut hair and light green eyes. He had always spoken in quiet tones, almost never raising his voice. Dahlia and Evan had been friends for a while, writing to each other in letters and Evan visiting from New York. Eventually Evan had told her he loved her, Dahlia couldn't bear to break his heart but she couldn't lie either.

So she had told him if she was unwed when she was twenty she would marry him and try to love him. He had agreed somberly.

But now Dahlia was married, her heart shattered for the green eyed boy.

"Thank you, Evan." she said softly. Evan looked at her sadly. "I truly wish you the best...I shall leave you now." he said, turning on his heel and away from her.

Dahlia nearly called out for him when she saw Matthew approaching her, for the first time in public without a scathing look on his face. Only mild serenity.

"If the first dance is still available, Mrs. Fairchild?" he asked, holding out his hand for her. Dahlia placed her hand in his, glaring at him.

He twirled them away, Dahlia nearly falling on him at the speed he spun.

"You do know husbands do not dance with their wives?" Dahlia asked as he slowed. Matthew smiled, "I am quiet aware."

Dahlia rolled her eyes.

"What if I told you I could lip-read?" said Matthew. "That I knew every word James and his parents were exchanging? And that the news they share is shocking?" 

Dahlia laughed, a little breathless. They had spun toward the outer edge of the dance floor. 

"I would tell you to stop eavesdropping. Also, I wouldn't believe you. It takes ages to learn lipreading. In fact, what I would say is that you are telling frightful bouncers to make yourself seem more interesting, when the truth is that if there is shocking news, you probably heard it from your mother." 

Matthew mimed being stabbed in the heart. "Doubted! Unmanned! Cruelty, thy name is woman." He peered at her out of a narrowed eye. "Does that mean you don't want to know what they're talking about?"

 "Of course I do, you oaf." She hit him lightly on the shoulder. The polonaise was not as intimate a dance as the waltz, but she was still close enough to Matthew to note the faint lines around his eyes when he really smiled. She didn't see them that often. He smelled of brandy, frangipani, and cigars. "Well," he said, lowering his voice. "You know Charles has been in Paris, working at the Institute." 

"Well I know that Charles has only been a bastard to the poor institute. May Raziel help those poor souls."

"There was a meeting with all the vampire clans of France, and Charles neglected to invite the clan from Marseilles. Probably just forgetfulness, but they took mortal offense." said Matthew.

Dahlia snorted. "Of course they did, so Will and Tessa are going to smoothen things out aren't they?"

Matthew nodded, a gleam in his green eyes.

They raised their hands up and placed them palm to palm. Dahlia could see the black Voyance rune shimmer against the back of her hand as her fingers twined lightly with Matthew's. 

"Well, I say they sent the wrong Fairchild brother there in the first place," she said. They began to turn in a slow circle, keeping their hands clasped. "What do you mean?"

 "You're the one who loves France. You're always talking about Paris," she said. "And you're devilishly charming—you know you are. You would have made a much better ambassador than Charles."

Matthew looked—well, "stunned" might be the best description. She had the feeling he was rarely compared favorably to his brother when it came to professional matters. They made one more turn in silence. Without the bulwark of light conversation, the dance seemed suddenly far more intimate. She could feel his movements beside her, feel the warmth of his hand, the cool press of his wedding ring.

He was worth a hundred of Charles. No he was worth so much more than Charles. He was Matthew, who smiled like gold and acted like a drunk monkey.

He leaned forward, his warm breath at her ear. "Would you go to Paris with me?" he asked.

Dahlia's heart slammed in her chest. Quiet, she told herself.

"If there will be pastries, and I get to dance in the moonlight then of course I will." she said.

Matthew seemed ecstatic.

The music stopped. Amid the bustle of dancers leaving the floor, they lowered their hands.

"Would you do me the honor of another? or shall I ask Cordelia?" he asked, looking at her. Focusing on her. 

It was moments like this, then Matthew looked at her with his startling green eyes, that made her forget why she even hated him for years, the way her looked at her made her feel special.

 She smiled, "If it spares you a few minutes of my boring chatter the ask Cordelia, if you want to listen to me speaking of Rosamund's atrocity of a hairdo then dance with me." she teased. Matthew groaned. 

"Then I shall leave you. All alone. Without company." he said. She laughed. 

"Oh how romantic! I have been abandoned by my husband on the dance floor, what will I ever do?" she said, dramatically falling back. Matthew swiftly caught her, his shoulders shaking in silent amusements.

"I must ask dear Thomas who would be absolutely horrified at my discovery of the assortment of flowers I have found in Rosamund's hair do! I must find him at once! Matthew you are quiet useless, Thomas makes a better husband than you."

Matthew rolled his eyes, "And you Dahlia make a horrible wife, imagine what everyone would think if they knew how scandalous you were?"

Dahlia sighed, smiling slightly. "I suppose, no one would care." she said. Matthew looked at her softly.

"People care Dahlia, I-Christopher cares for you, Thomas, James, Lucie, Cordelia. I on the other hand-"

Dahlia shook her head in amusement. "You would better me dead, yes I quiet know. I would love to torture you. I have found the best way is to force you to listen to me reading Oscar Wilde in mocking tones."

Matthew looked horrified. 

"I shall do so the moment we get home." she said, smirking.

He sighed mournfully. "I bid you farewell, my dear sanity."

Dahlia slapped his shoulder.

Just then Grace walked in with Charles, Matthew and Dahlia glowered. 

Matthew's gaze landed on James and Cordelia, Dahlia's gaze followed Charles walking to Alastair.

Her eyes flared, she turned to Matthew. "One second, love." The word slipped out before she could stop it. Matthew seemed to not notice, his gaze intent on  Cordelia and James.

Dahlia walked to Alastair Charles was already speaking with him. Cordelia joined them in a few moments.

Dahlia knew by his slumped posture—he was nearly sliding down the pillar—and the tightly fisted hands in his pockets that he was quite upset. 

"I know you read mundane newspapers too," Charles was saying, as Dahlia approached. "I wondered if you noticed the recent murder in the East End. It's the sort of thing that seems as if it shouldn't interest us, but on closer examination—" 

"Charles," Cordelia said, smiling with too many teeth, "I believe that you agreed to stay away from my brother."

Charles raised a superior-looking eyebrow. "Cordelia, dear. Men have disagreements among themselves sometimes. It's best to leave them be to sort it out."

Dahlia looked at Alastair. "Do you wish to converse with Charles?" 

Alastair shuffled upright. "No," he said.

Charles flushed. It made his freckles stand out like angry dots. "Alastair," he said. "Only a coward needs to be rescued by his little sister and lady friend." 

Alastair's expressive eyebrows flickered. "And only an ass puts other people into situations in which they need to be rescued at all."

Charles took a deep breath, as if he were about to shout. Dahlia moved swiftly between him and Alastair. "Charles, go away now," she said. "Or I will tell everyone how your aunt and uncle must go rushing off to Paris to rescue the Clave from your blunder. I shall even mention how you broke off your engagement with my sister while she was unconscious"

Charles's lips tightened. And somehow, oddly, in that moment, she saw Matthew in him—she could not imagine why. They could not have been two more different people. If Charles were only kinder, more understanding, perhaps Matthew would not—

Charles had said something, undoubtedly something cutting, and stomped off. As he did, she noticed that they were indeed being watched—by Thomas. He was gazing at them from across the room, seemingly arrested in mid-motion. Behind him, James had rejoined the Merry Thieves and was chatting with them, one hand lightly on Matthew's shoulder. 

Several things happened at once. Thomas, seeing Dahlia looking at him, blushed and turned away. The music ended, and the dancers began to stream off the floor. And Grace left Thoby without a word and came up to James.

Dahlia's eyes widened. "Oh that bitch." she cursed. 

She gave Alastair, though he protested, a quick hug, muttering her gratitude to Cordelia and ran off to save James from whatever spell Grace had him under.

It was quiet obvious to Dahlia that Grace was doing something, she wasn't sure what. James seemed perfectly in love with Cordelia, they set together like pieces of a puzzle but Grace, Grace stood out of that puzzle. Never fitting. 

She felt a odd anger at Grace, for ruining what James and Cordelia could have if she simply took the hint, but there must be a reason for her doing. There always was.

She wondered if Lucie knew.

Matthew and Christopher had been laughing together; Matthew stopped, staring, as Grace said something to James and the two of them stepped a bit apart from the others. James was shaking his head. The silver bracelet glimmered on his wrist as he gestured.

Dahlia neared James, ignoring Grace speaking. "Run away screaming Jamie, before Alastair breaks your legs and I throw you into a dumpster."

James blinked at her alarmed, she shrugged and went over to Matthew and Christopher.

Christopher smiled widely at Dahlia, she ran and threw herself at him. He spun her around.

"Oh you idiot, I missed you! Have you exploded anything lately? I will be very upset if you exploded something without me." 

Christopher shook his head quickly. "No, nothing." he said.

Matthew snorted. Dahlia glared at him.

James walked away to Cordelia, leaving Grace resigned.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow.

"Matthew, I would like to go home. Reading sound amusing." she said, grabbing a champagne glass.

Matthew raised an eyebrow but took her hand and guided them away, Dahlia waved good bye to Christopher as they departed. He waved, smiling sadly.

Once they go into the carriage, Matthew pulled her closer to him.

"I want to tell you things, I haven't even told myself." Matthew whispered in her ear. Chills went down her spin.

She wrapped her arms around him, "Whenever you're ready." she said.

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes and taking a sip from his flask.

Dahlia laid her head in his chest, she could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Everything has changed in a matter of two weeks, Matthew. I used to want to murder you...now I want to simply torture you with my 'horrible' reading of Oscar Wilde." she said, making air quotes around horrible.

Matthew gave a short and clipped laugh. "It's changed so fast, so soon. Maybe I'll even be kind to you." he said winking. Dahlia slapped him lightly.

"Betrayal!" he cried, clutching his cheek dramatically.

Dahlia laughed, not lifting her head. "Oh be quiet, it didn't even hurt." she said, rolling her head.

He peaked at her through his lashes, "What makes you so sure?" he inquired.

She kissed his cheek, "Did that hurt?"

"My heart? yes." Matthew said rolling his eyes. Dahlia rolled her eyes. 

He smiled at her like a child, her heart warmed.

"Matthew, smile more." she said. He blinked. "I don't have much reason, Dahlia."

Dahlia shook her head, "I will give you a reason, if I do will you smile?"

Matthew tilted his head curiously. She crossed her eyes, and tilted her head.

Matthew burst into laughter, "You look horrible."

Dahlia pouted, crossing her arms. "I assure you, you look like a dying frog, Fairchild."

Matthew rolled his eyes, "You can not use 'Fairchild' on me, because technically you are also 'Fairchild'" he said.

Dahlia groaned.

"Shut up before I decide to throw you out of the carriage."

Matthew smiled ruefully. "You wouldn't." he said confidentially.

"I would." she said.

Matthew leaned closer to her, "No you wouldn't."

Dahlia looked at him fiercely. "I would."

"You wouldn't because, you love me too much." Matthew teased. Dahlia's mind froze, he had meant it jokingly. Right?

"Well, honestly I simply hate the sight of you." she said, forcing humor to her tone.

Matthew sighed sadly and sat back.

"You will be widowed then." he said.

"I shall be feared." she grinned. Matthew laughed.

His laughter was like sweet warm sunlight, right into the window panes of Dahlia's heart.

♕

Dahlia couldn't sleep, nightmares had plagued her.

She had decided dancing was the only option instead  of sleeping, it thrilled her.

She didn't want to do anything to special, maybe just a few spins, leaps. Then she would go back to bed.  

She started with soft steps, then turned slowly. Eventually it became intense, her breathing was hard and she was dancing as if it was her last day on earth.

She stopped when she saw a figure at the doorway of the ballroom.

It was Matthew, it was always Matthew.

"You weren't in bed.." he started, Dahlia moved to him in shallow quick steps, he hugged her the moment she next to him.

"Nightmares?" he asked. Dahlia shook her head, "No, I couldn't sleep." 

Matthew smiled softly at her, a smile she hadn't seen him use on anyone, just yet.

He spun her around to the center off the ballroom. "You look beautiful." he whispered.

"You look like a squirrel." Dahlia said.

He laughed. "Why did I hate you?" he muttered. 

"I stole your parabatai's attention." Dahlia giggled. Matthew glared at her, "No, I don't think-"

"Hmm well you were mad that James wouldn't speak with you, and sadly I was the only person there." she said, shaking her head.

He sighed. "No, that's not it...."

Dahlia raised an eyebrow.

"I hated you because.....you were to happy, carefree, without responsibility. When I looked at myself everyday, I simply wasn't enough. It infuriated me." Matthew said solemnly.

Dahlia looked at him, "Oh Matthew," she whispered. "If only you knew."

Matthew looked at her, there were shadows in his eyes. "What are your secrets, Dahlia Fairchild?"

Dahlia slapped his shoulder, "Bridgestock, and I shan't tell you until you tell me all of yours."

Matthew's green eyes were nearly black. "You don't want it."

"Then you don't want my secrets either." she said, giving him a brittle smile.

Matthew sighed. "You do have a point...now we must really go to sleep." he said, carrying her, one arm under her legs and the other supporting her back.

Dahlia laid her head against Matthew's chest, her eyelids fighting to stay open. 

"Good night, Matthew. I hope you have the worst dreams of Hell." she whispered.

Matthew laughed quietly. "Good night Dahlia, I wish no less for you, my dear."

"Not your dear." Dahlia murmured before sleep enveloped her in it's warm embrace.

♕

After waking late the next morning (For the first time in ages),  Dahlia dressed in a warm woolskirt and white high-necked blouse and made her way downstairs and into the dining room, where she found Matthew seated at the table with an open copy of Housman's poems at his left elbow and a breakfast plate at hisright. 

He offered her a tired smile. He didn't look much better than she felt—there were crescent moons of darkness under his eyes. As she sat down across from him, she couldn't help but notice his poetry book was upsidedown.

Arya bustled in with coffee, tea and breakfast.

"Good morning, Ivy." Matthew, greeted. Dahlia raised an eyebrow as she sat down, taking up the cup of coffee gratefully from Arya.

"Ivy?" she questioned.

"It suits you, poisonous, dangerous, and a  cruel sort of beautiful." he responded, drinking the chai Arya had set out for him, before she left with a huff and a bow.

Dahlia had wondered sometimes if Risa and Arya met, would they be the best of friends?

It seemed like a very likely possibility.

"How on earth does that work Matthew?" Dahlia inquired, biting a bit of toast.

"It simply does, Dahlia. Like how your eyes go with everything you wear, miraculously well I might add."

Dahlia blushed. "Shut up."

Matthew smirked.

"Bakaree kee aankhon vaala aadamee aur thopane vaalee aurat yahaan hain." said Arya, rushing in from the front hall.

Matthew raised an eyebrow at her. 

"She said the goat eyed man and the imposing woman are here, she means James and Daisy. She finds James' eyes strange." Dahlia said sighing. Matthew snorted.

James walked in, with Cordelia right next to him, her red hair like rivers of fire.

Dahlia smiled forcedly, accepting the fact Matthew would ignore her now.

James sat down next to Matthew, Cordelia sat next to Dahlia smiling at her with her vibrant brown eyes.

Dahlia couldn't help but grin. "Daisy!" she exclaimed. Cordelia smiled at the blue-eyed girl.

"Please make yourself at home, my delinquent friends," Matthew said. "I'm sure the lady of the house won't mind."

James raised an eyebrow at Matthew and Dahlia.

Dahlia smiled lightly, "Do as you please, I have no intentions of limiting you." 

Matthew leaned forward. "All right. Do you want to hear the news?" 

"Is it good news?" said Cordelia.

"There was news?" Dahlia asked.

"No," said Matthew, and James groaned. 

"But I think it's important. I heard Charles talking to Mother this morning, before he Portaled to France with your parents. He was on patrol late last night, and he came in with the dawn contingent. One of their number was missing—Basil Pounceby. Augustus's father. Charles went with the search party and was there when they found his body. It seems he was killed while on patrol last night." 

"Cruel to name a person Basil, makes them sound like a plant." said Dahlia scrunching her nose.

Matthew sighed. "He died, Dahlia."

"And? Basil is still a horrible name, shame on their cow." Dahlia shaking her head.

"He's dead." Matthew emphasized.

"I can hear, Matthew. I have ears like everyone in this room." Dahlia replied.

"He died Dahlia-" Matthew started.

"Oh how terribly sad, Basil Pounceby has died my fellow companions. I knew him so incredibly well, I will mourn him like I would my own father. Oh wait, everyone despises my foster father and my real father has been dead for eight years." Dahlia said, rolling her eyes. Matthew looked like she had shot him with an arrow.

She raised an eyebrow. 

James and Cordelia exchanged a glance.

Cordelia cleared her throat. "Do they suspect the same demon that killed Amos Gladstone?"

Her voice cut through the silence like a sword. 

"They're thinking it wasn't a demon at all," Matthew said as Arya appeared with coffee. "The wounds were made with a knife—a very sharp blade that was used to poke a lot of holes in the senior Pounceby. Demons tend to slaughter, like animals do. Pounceby was stabbed by a thin metal blade, Gladstone had his throat slit, and there were no traces of demonic presence at either murder site." He tipped his head back to smile at Arya like a Botticelli angel. 

Dahlia shook her head at Matthew.

 "You are as beautiful as all the stars," he told her, "but better, because you have coffee."

Arya threw her hands up and glared at Dahlia. "Tumhaara pati sarkas ke aadamee jaisa dikhata hai." she said, walking out of the room angrily.

Dahlia nearly fell down from laughter, James and Cordelia looked at her questioningly.

Matthew peered at her from the rim of the coffee cup, crossing his eyes. "My attempts to charm her have not been successful," Matthew observed.

Dahlia fell out of her chair.

"I-I am so terribly sorry, do continue. What were we talking about? Ah yes, murders. Continue." Dahlia managed to say between gasps of air.

"Was Pounceby killed someplace near white pillars? And a statue, perhaps of someone on a horse?" asked James.

Matthew set his coffee cup down with a slow deliberation. "Near a statue of the Duke of Wellington, in fact," he said. "Close to the Bank of England."

"Which has a colonnade of white pillars," said Dahlia, looking at James in surprise. "How did you—?" 

James had the look of a man who had suspected a deadly diagnosis and had just had it confirmed by his doctor. "He was near Threadneedle Street, correct?"

"Have you been in touch with Uncle Gabriel, or Aunt Cecily?" said Matthew, clearly puzzled. "You should have stopped me if you knew all this already."

"I didn't." James pushed his chair back from the table and went to standby the window, staring out at the frost-covered hedges. "Or at least, I didn't realize what I knew." 

"James," Cordelia said. "What is going on?" 

He turned back to face them. "This is—more than it seems, I think. It would be best if I spoke to everyone together. We should gather the other Thieves."

"That'll be easy enough," Matthew said casually; Dahlia had the clear sense that he was holding off peppering James with questions.

 "Lucie and Christopher are already at the Devil, reasoning with Thomas." said Dahlia suddenly.

James's black eyebrows lifted. "Why does Thomas need to be reasoned with?"

Dahlia smiled, "I got a message from Thomas earlier today, begging me to side by him. We best get going, poor Tom, whatever he's being reasoned with must be rather tiring." Dahlia said, standing up.

"I've got my carriage waiting; we can be there in a quarter hour. Do you think Arya would mind if I brought a plate of buttered toast with me?" 

Dahlia smacked Matthew's over the head with a napkin.

♕