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Dahlia was in a foul mood all evening, her parents had an argument with Ariadne about Charles. The mere mention of his name aggravated Dahlia to no end. It wasn't just Charles, it was his obnoxious brother too. Matthew Fairchild's existence made Dahlia want to burn the idiotic bastard and use his ashes to make amusing sand structures. Though it couldn't be called sand structures, more like ash structures.

Speaking of Matthew, where was he?  Dahlia wondered absently.

Tessa Herondale, Dahlia's not-so-aunt, and Will Herondale - Dahlia's not-so-uncle, were greeting guests at the ballroom doors.Uncle Will was over the moon with excitement for the Carstairs. It was something about the Carstairs that made uncle Will giddy. Dahlia was convinced he thought even Alistair Carstairs, a smug bastard, had some hidden depths.

The ballroom was something else, everything was airy and bright, the walls lined with pale wooden benches padded with gold-and-white-striped cushions. A frieze of golden birds darting among trees ran above the curtains—if you looked closely, you could see that they were herons. Hung on the walls was an assortment of ornamental weapons—swords in jeweled scabbards, bows carved of ivory and jade, daggers with pommels in the shapes of sunbursts and angel wings.

Most of the floor had been cleared for dancing, but there was a sideboard laden with glasses and pitchers of iced lemonade. A few tables draped in white were scattered around the room. Older married ladies and some younger ones who didn't have dancing partners clustered at the walls, busying themselves with gossip.

Cordelia Carstairs entered the room, aunt Tessa hosting them and the rest of the Carstairs family in the behind Cordelia.

She seemed to be looking for someone, her eyes landed on Lucie for a bit then she scanned the room once more, looking disappointed.

Lucie was dancing with Thomas Lightwood, it was a miracle he wasn't tripping over his own feet.

Alistair Carstairs who had been dwelling at the edge of the group, suddenly walked away over to Charles who was talking to everyone. Ariadne, Dahlia's sister, was at the refreshment table. 

Dahlia decided to approach the table just as Lucie and Cordelia were.  A group of girls in colorful dresses had gathered there; Catherine Townsend, Rosamund Wentworth, and Ariadne Bridgestock. 

Dahlia didn't like Rosamund much, but she could tolerate Catherine. "Dahlia!" Ariande exclaimed when she noticed Dahlia. Dahlia smiled softly at her sister and turned to the others at the table. "What a pretty dress," Ariadne said to Cordelia, her voice warm. Her own gown was of flattering wine-colored silk. "I believe that's the shade they call 'ashes of roses.' Very popular in Paris."

Oh, yes," Cordelia said eagerly. Dahlia was suddenly growing panicked, Rosamund Wentworth was a jealous twat; she would most definitely insult Cordelia if she spoke one wrong word. ANd exactly what Dahlia feared, happened. "I did get this dress in Paris, as a matter of fact. On Rue de la Paix. Jeanne Paquin made it herself."

 Lucie's eyes widened in concern. Rosamund's lips tightened. "How fortunate you are," she said coolly. "Most of us here in the poky little London Enclave rarely get to travel abroad. You must think us so dull."

"My mother has always said Shadowhunters aren't meant to have much of an interest in fashion," said Catherine. "She says it's mundane."

"Since you've spoken of Matthew's clothes admiringly so often," said Ariadne tartly, "should we assume that rule is only for girls?"

"Ariadne, really—" Rosamund began, and broke off with a laugh. "Speak of the devils," she said. "Look who's just come in."

Dahlia blinked twice, then furious rage settled over her just as it did every time Matthew entered room with his aggravating confidence and swagger. 

 At the far doors of the ballroom, two boys had just spilled. Dahlia saw James first, because he was the one dragging a very sad Matthew behind him. He was tall, beautiful, smiling: a painter's vision in black and white with tousled ebony hair.

 Lucie groaned as the girls whispered among themselves: she caught James's name in the whispers, and then a second name in the same breath: Matthew Fairchild.

Dahlia felt angry again, she wasn't sure the cause why this time. She only felt blind rage, They have no right to gossip about Matthew! she thought fiercely. Then she blinked at what she had just thought. Dahlia shook her head, it didn't matter to her who spoke of Matthew in which manner, he could go and stuff himself into a sewer.

"They are so handsome," said Catherine, sounding almost pained. "Don't you think so, Ariadne?"

"Oh—yes," Ariadne said hastily. "I suppose."

"She only has eyes for Charles," said Rosamund. Ariadne turned red, and the girls went off into gales of laughter. Dahlia sighed deeply, she didn't see the point. Ariadne and Charles acted like strangers at home and occasionally talked with each other outside. 

Dahlia was never interested in marraige, it was rather.....bland to her.

"They're just boys," Lucie said.  

"James is your brother," said Catherine. "You cannot be objective, Lucie! He is gorgeous."

"Matthew isn't bad-looking either," said Rosamund. "But so scandalous."

"Indeed," Catherine added, eyes sparkling. "You must be careful of him, Miss Carstairs. He has a reputation."

Lucie began to turn an angry shade of pink.

"We should guess who James will ask to dance first," said a fair-haired girl in a pink dress. "Surely you, Rosamund; you are looking so lovely tonight. Who could resist you?"

"Ah, yes, who will be graced by my brother's attentions?" drawled Lucie. "When he was six, he threw up in his own shoe."

Dahlia giggled, and wiggled her fingers at Lucie. "When he was ten he tripped over his own feet." Lucie continued, Dahlia smiled. "When he was fourteen he and Matthew fell into the Thames." 

Lucie's eyes widened, "Oh I remember that!" 

Dahlia laughed softly.

The others girls pointedly ignored them as the music began once more. Someone who appeared to be Rosamund's brother came to claim the fair-haired girl for a dance; Charles left Alastair and came across the room to take Ariadne's hand and whisk her onto the floor. Will and Tessa were in each other's arms, as were both sets of Lucie's aunts and uncles.

A moment later Matthew Fairchild approached the table. He was suddenly startlingly close to Dahlia. She could see that his eyes were a deep shade of green like forest moss. He bowed slightly to her. "Might I have this dance?"

Dahlia blinked, Matthew Fairchild had never asked her for a dance; they were to busy being at each other's throats. She slowly, cautiously placed her hand in his, turning her head in an angered  manner to the table. A smile curved on Dahlia's lips, sweet but bitter at the same time; She was not concerned about Matthew's reputation. She would slap him into tomorrow either way, his reputation did not have an effect on her decisions.

Head held high, Dahlia sailed out onto the dance floor with the Consul's second son.

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-NOTE- [Before you read this part I would love it if you could listen to the music I have put in the comments! It will enhance the never part for you <3  the song is called: we could form an attachment. I've linked in the comments too!!]

Matthew looked at her with a sort of amusement. "What was about, Dahlia?" he asked her. She gave him a cold smile, "Nothing for you to worry about, Fairchild. Why did you ask me to dance?" Dahlia asked. She had always associated Matthew with fair hair, spicy cologne, a blur of a smile, and arrogance, swagger and immense confidence.

"I would like to strike a deal with you Dahlia Bridgestock." said Matthew, spinning them around to the waltz. Dahlia raised an eyebrow, obviously curious but masking it with a mature kind of amusement.

"Mother has been asking me over and over again if I wished to marry. I, of course, do not. But after Charles got engaged...." Matthew trailed, his voice bitter. Dahlia started at him blankly.

"Fairchild, I hope you know your brother is disgusting and I would throw him out of the window and into the Thames, right? The only thing stopping me is the fact he is the Consul's first son." Dahlia said, annoyance lacing her voice.

Matthew's emerald eye twinkled as if there really were emeralds in his eyes. 

"I certainly wouldn't mind that. See, Bridgestock, we do have somethings in common." said Matthew. Dahlia simply glared at him, her eyes blazing like Seraph blades, her eyes were nearly the same fierce shade of blue, only her eyes were more crystalline. 

"And what, exactly, is your point, Fairchild?" she asked. "I suggest we form an....arrangement." he said. 

Dahlia half closed her eyes in utter annoyance.

"Speak sense, Fairchild." she hissed. "My mother is bugging me to marry, once your sister marries so will your parents, I have a cause to know your father is a very politically advantageous man. To save us both from the atrocity of them arranging something, I suggest we be one step ahead of them." said Matthew, his eyes gleaming like green flamed candles.

"Are you suggesting....." Dahlia trailed, her eyes wide.

"That we get married, as much as the thought displeases me, yes Bridgestock. I am." Matthew said, twirling her around once more.

Dahlia glared at him. "Why would I do that? Tied to you? Forever? Oh Matthew I would rather die." she said.

Matthew laughed, "You're not a delight to be around either, Dahlia. It is simply for a year you dim light bulb. I have my affections for someone else." he said.

The waltz was nearing an end, only ten more minutes left Dahlia noted.

"I see, then why not ask her? I'm sure she would be over the moon to have Matthew Fairchild ask to marry her. In fact many female Shadowhunters would." said Dahlia spitefully.

"It seems to me, Bridgestock, you are jealous." he said, pleased. Dahlia had the urge to slap him.

"I am not jealous Matthew, now shut up and listen you scandalous bastard. I will agree to marry you, but only for a year." Dahlia said harshly. Matthew smiled, it wasn't his normal smile, it was a smile of cruel humor and of cold amusement.

"Of course." he said. Dahlia glared at him, Dahlia didn't remember a time when her glares weren't wasted on Matthew.

"Then we will divorce as if nothing had ever happened." said Matthew. Dahlia thought for a moment. "Fairchild, you make a point. I will be fine with this, but how are we ever to make them all believe we didn't have this.....discussion?" asked Dahlia.

Matthew smile his cruel smile once more, "We must appear madly in love. They will believe us then, think about it Dahlia. Me, finally free and no ladies gossiping about me, and you, free from an future expectations once your sister marries. Or even if she doesn't your parents will ask you to marry Charles. Do you think you would like that?" he asked her. Dahlia closed her eyes.

Matthew Fairchild was infuriating, but he was the only person in the world that Dahlia would let speak her into such scandalous ideas.

"I would die at my own hands than marry Charles Fairchild, fine. We shall do it." she sighed.

"Lovely, we shall tell the Merry Theives, and Lucie. Cordelia if Lucie permits." he said. Dahlia nodded absently.

"And our parents?" she asked. "We'll have to be very good actors for them to believe I have been courting you all this while." he said.

Dahlia sighed. "And all this to be one step ahead of their naturally disastrous plans?" 

Matthew nodded.

"You have a deal, Fairchild. One year, we shall pretend to be in love and marry, then after the course of twelve months nothing less nothing more, we shall divorce." Dahlia clarified. Matthew smirked, "Exactly. Seems you aren't all that dim-witted after all Bridgestock." 

Dahlia rolled her eyes. "You're not too bad either, Fairchild." 

Matthew smiled slyly, "Was that a compliment?"

"No you proud idiot. Go do something else with your life, leave me be." I muttered.

He raised his eyebrow, "Would you like to be stranded in the middle of the room?" 

Dahlia almost face palmed but both her hands were in Matthew's. One on his shoulder and the other in his hand near his ear, Matthew's hands were curved around her waist and one hand in her hand.

They were moving forward, backward, side to side, twirl. 

It was how  they waltzed, not that Dahlia would know she never paid attention.

Matthew's gaze snapped away from her. Dahlia looked behind her to see where he was staring; a tall woman, thin as a scarecrow in the black of mundane mourning, with gray-streaked hair dressed in the style of decades ago. Tessa was hurrying toward her, a concerned look on her face. Will was following.

As Tessa reached her, the woman stepped aside, revealing the girl who had been standing behind her. A girl dressed all in ivory, with a soft waterfall of white-gold curls gathered back from her face. The girl moved forward gracefully to greet Tessa and Will, and as she did so, Dahlia noticed James leave Cordelia in the middle of the room and rushed to the doors.

Cordelia stood, frozen in confusion which was written all over her face, as James bent to kiss the hand of the stunningly beautiful girl who had just walked into the room. Titters rose on the dance floor. Dahlia stepped back from Matthew, her eyes wide. Alastair and Thomas both turned to look at Cordelia with expressions of surprise.

"Matthew go dance with Daisy, I'll go see myself away." said Dahlia, prying her hands away from him. Matthew glanced at her once and strode away to Cordelia, and smoothly glided her away as if James hadn't been there merely a few minutes ago.

They were speaking as they waltzed, and for the first time in over three years; Dahlia saw Matthew give a genuine laugh. A pang flared through Dahlia's heart, she quickly pushed it down and hurried across the room to her sister. 

♕

"For pity's sake!" someone called. It was a man's voice, low and baritone. "Someone come help her!"

Dahlia picked up her skirts and rushed to a loose circle that was forming, she noticed Cordelia rush over as well.

Everyone seemed to be looking surprised and chattering to each other. Why didn't people move? They were Shadowhunters. What on earth were they doing standing around like sticks while someone was in distress?

A young man holding Barbara Lightwood's limp body in his arms. Oliver Hayward, Dahlia realized. Barbara's suitor. "We were dancing," he was saying, looking bewildered, "and she just collapsed—"

Dahlia's eyes widened, she looked at Cordelia, she seemed to be thinking. Dahlia bent over to her and whispered, "Her corset." 

Cordelia's eyes flared, "Of course!" she exclaimed her voice hushed.  Cordelia dropped to her knees. Barbara Lightwood was ghastly white, her hair dark with sweat at her temples. She was breathing in short, erratic bursts. In times like this, all shyness deserted Cordelia: she could only think of what to do next. "She needs air," she said. "Her corset is probably tormenting her. Has anyone a knife?"

Anna Lightwood pushed through the crowd and moved forward, kneeling down opposite Cordelia with fluid grace. "I have a dagger," she said, drawing a sheathed blade from her waistcoat. "What needs to be done?"

"We need to cut her corset off," Cordelia said. "She has had a shock, and she needs to breathe.

"You might leave that to me," said Anna. She reached to lift Barbara out of Oliver's lap, then ran the dagger down the back of her dress, delicately separating the fabric and then the thicker material of the corset underneath. As it sagged free of Barbara's body, Anna glanced up and said absently, "Ari—your wrapper—"

Ariadne Bridgestock swiftly drew her silk wrapper from her shoulders and handed it to Anna, who swaddled Barbara in it to keep her decent. Barbara was already beginning to breathe more regularly, the color in her cheeks returning. Anna looked at Cordelia over Barbara's head, a considering look in her blue eyes.

"What on earth?" Sophie Lightwood had made her way through the circle of onlookers, her husband, Gideon, just behind her. "Barbara!" She turned to Oliver, who stood nearby, looking utterly distressed. "Did she fall?"

"She just collapsed," repeated Oliver. "We were dancing, and she fainted—"

Barbara's eyelids fluttered. She sat up in her cousin's arms, blinking up at her mother. Her cheeks flushed bright red. "I'm—I'm all right," she said. "I'm all right now. I had a spell, a silly dizzy spell."

Cordelia rose to her feet as more guests joined the loose circle of bystanders surrounding Barbara. Gideon and Sophie helped their daughter to her feet, and Thomas, appearing from the crowd, offered his sister a worn-looking handkerchief. She took it with a wobbly smile and dabbed at her lip.

It came away stained with blood.

"I bit my lip," Barbara said hastily. "I fell, and bit my lip. That's all."

"We need a stele," Thomas said. "James?"

Dahlia hadn't realized James was there. She turned and saw him standing just behind her.

"James."Lucie had slipped between James and Cordelia and was tugging at her brother's sleeve. "Jamie. Did you—"

He shook his head. "Not now, Luce."

Lucie looked worried. The three of them watched in a silent group as Thomas finished the healing rune on his sister's arm, and Barbara exclaimed again that she was just fine and had only had a dizzy spell. "I forgot to eat today," she said to her mother, as Sophie put her arm around her. "That's all it is."

"Nevertheless, we had better get you home," Sophie said, glancing around. "Will—can you have the carriage brought around?"

The crowd had begun to scatter; clearly there was nothing more of interest to see here. The Lightwood family were headed to the door, Barbara on Thomas's arm, when they paused. Dahlia's father, a pigeon-chested man with a black handlebar mustache, had rushed up to Gideon and was speaking to him excitedly.

"What's the Inquisitor saying to Uncle Gideon?" Lucie asked curiously. James and Matthew only shook their heads. After a few moments, Gideon nodded and followed him to where Charles stood speaking to Grace Blackthorn.

Charles turned reluctantly away from Grace and fell into discussion with Gideon Lightwood. He was moving through the crowd, stopping to speak to several Shadowhunters as he went.

"Looks like the party's over," said Alastair, appearing out of the crowd holding a cigar.  "Apparently there was a Shax demon attack in Seven Dials." 

"A demon attack?" James said, with some surprise. "On mundanes?"

Alastair smirked. "Yes, you know, the sort of thing we're meant to prevent. Angelic mandate and all that."

Matthew's face had turned to stone; Lucie was looking at him anxiously. James's eyes narrowed.

"Charles is going with Gideon Lightwood and Inquisitor Bridgestock to see what's going on," Alastair said. "I offered to go with them, but I don't know the streets of London well enough yet. Charles will get me acquainted with the city and I will soon be a gift to any patrol."

"You, a gift," Matthew said, his eyes glittering. "Imagine."

He walked away. Alastair watched him go with one eyebrow raised. "Moody, isn't he?" he said, to no one in particular.

"No," said James shortly. His jaw was set, as if he was barely tolerating Alastair's presence.

Dahlia couldn't blame him, "Dear Alistair, please do shut up. Cordelia, darling, sorry." she said. Alastair looked as if he was about to speak again, but Sona appeared out of the crowd, arriving like a docking steamship. Her roosari quivered as her gaze fell upon Alastair, and then Cordelia. "Children," she said, as Alastair hastily slid his cigar into his pocket. "I believe we should take our leave."

Rumors of the attack were clearly spreading through the ballroom, breaking up the dance. The musicians had stopped playing, and quite a few of the girls in pastel dresses were being bundled into wrappers and gloves by anxious parents. Will and Tessa were now at the center of a crowd, bidding them good night. Nearby Charles was tucking a wrapper fondly about Ariadne's shoulders as Gideon and the Inquisitor waited for him by the doors. Dahlia realized with a jolt that she ought to go join them.

"Oh dear, I must bid you all farewell." said Dahlia, rushing to reach her father, sister and Charles before Ariadne and Charles reached her father.

Charles turned to looked at her, as Dahlia reached him, "Hello smug bastard, I don't have time to argue with you, but I must say; that was very smooth of you, what you did with Grace." Dahlia said, rushing to her father.

Dahlia dreaded going home, but she had too. So she went with it as she always did with things she didn't like; sarcasm.

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