" 𝑨 𝒕𝒐𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒆𝒗𝒊𝒍."

♛

The ballroom had become a forest of fairy-tale winter, of garlands of holly and ivy, red berries against dark green, and white mistletoe hanging above every doorway. Apparently, Tessa had talked Magnus into creating a tree-shaped sculpture out of a variety of weapons before he left for Paris. The trunk of the tree was made of swords: hook swords and falchions, longswords and katanas, all held together by demon wire. At the top of the tree was a golden starburst, from which dangled smaller blades: daggers and zafar takieh, bagh nakh and cinquedeas, jambiyas and belawas and jeweled stilettos.

The refreshment tables with their silver bowls of punch and mulled wine, dishes of gooseberry and bread sauces next to plum puddings and roast goose stuffed with apples and chestnuts. Candles glowed from every alcove, illuminating the room with soft light; gold ribbons and paper chains hung from hooks in the walls.

Eugenia was there, looking furious and wearing a yellow velvet cap over what seemed to be slightly charred hair. Esme Hardcastle was lecturing the Townsends about the difference between mundane and Shadowhunter Christmases, and the Pouncebys were admiring the weapons tree, along with Charlotte, Henry, and Charles. Thoby Baybrook and Rosamund Wentworth arrived together, wearing matching outfits in rose-colored velvet, which oddly suited Thoby better than Rosamund.

Matthew had noticed James clearly trying to pull Jesse away from the conversation with  Rosamund Wentworth. Dahlia and Matthew had decided to approach them and help James in his valiant efforts.

"When my parents returned to England, they settled in Basingstoke," said Jesse as they approached. "I lived there until I found out I was a Shadowhunter, and decided to rejoin the ranks."

"A tragic backstory indeed," said Matthew. Dahlia poked is ribcage with her elbow. He smiled down at her with an impish grin.

"It isn't tragic at all," said Rosamund.

"Being from Basingstoke is a tragedy in itself," said Matthew. James grinned. They had chosen Basingstoke because it was a dull enough place not to inspire much questioning.

"Rosamund," Matthew said, "Thoby has been looking all over for you." This was a clear and blatant lie; Thoby was poking at the weapons tree, a mug of cider in hand, and chatting with Esme and Eugenia. Rosamund frowned suspiciously at Matthew but took herself off to join her fiancé.

"Are people always like that at parties?" Jesse asked as soon as she'd gone.

"Rude and peculiar?" said Dahlia. "In my experience, about half the time."

"Then there are those who are charming and spectacular," said Matthew, "though I'll admit there are fewer of us than the other kind." He winced, then, and touched his head as if it hurt. Dahlia glanced at James and Jesse.

"So," said James, trying to keep his voice light, "I suppose the question is, who do you wish to meet first: the more pleasant people or the unpleasant people or a mixture of both?"

"Is there a need to meet unpleasant people?" Jesse asked.

"Unfortunately, yes," Matthew said. He was no longer holding his head, but he looked pale. "So you can be better prepared to guard yourself against their wiles."

Jesse did not reply; he was looking out at the crowd. No, Dahlia realized, he was looking at someone making their way through the crowd: Lucie, looking elfin in a pale lavender dress. The gold locket around her throat shone like a beacon. She smiled at Jesse, and Matthew, Dahlia and James exchanged a look.

A moment later they had made themselves scarce, and Lucie and Jesse were whispering together in the alcove. Dahlia had every confidence that Lucie could easily show Jesse around and fend off the Rosamund Wentworths of the world.

She was less confident that Matthew was all right. Dahlia led him toward one of the tinsel-encircled pillars at the edge of the room, trying to peer into his face. He looked pinched, and there was a greenish cast to his skin; his eyes were bloodshot.

"I assume you are not staring at me because you are riveted by my beauty or my haute couture," Matthew said, leaning back against the pillar.

Dahlia reached up and plucked one of the leaves from Matthew's hair. It was pale green, edged with gold: not a real leaf, but enamel. Painted beauty taking the place of a living thing. "Math. Are you all right? Have you got the stuff Christopher gave you?"

Matthew tapped his breast pocket. "Yes. I've been doling it out as instructed." He looked out across the room. "I know what I'd be doing at an ordinary party," he said. "Floating about, being entertaining. Scandalizing Rosamund and Catherine. Joking with Anna. Being witty and charming. Or at least, I thought I was witty and charming. Without the alcohol, I..." His voice sank. "It's like I'm watching clockwork dolls in a child's dollhouse, acting out their parts. Nothing seems real. Or perhaps I am the one who is not real."

Dahlia was aware that Thomas and Alastair had arrived—together—and that Alastair was looking over at them, his eyes narrowed.

"I've known you a long time, Matthew," said James, beside Dahlia. She stratled, having not realized he had been there the whole time. "You were witty and charming long before you began drinking. You will be witty and charming again. It's too much to ask it of yourself at this very moment."

Matthew looked at him. "James," he said. "Do you know when I started drinking?"

James clearly did not. Dahlia shot Matthew a look.

"Never mind," Matthew said. "It was a gradual process; it's unfair to ask." He winced. "I feel as if there's a gnome inside my head, banging away at my skull with an axe. I ought to give him a name. Something nice and gnomish. Snorgoth the Skullcrusher."

"Now," said James, "that was witty and charming. Think of Snorgoth. Think of him taking an axe to people you don't like. The Inquisitor, for instance. Perhaps that can help you get through the party. Or—"

"Who is Snortgoth?" It was Eugenia, who had come up to them, her yellow cap askew on her dark hair. "Never mind. I am not interested in your dull friends. Matthew, will you dance with me?"

"Eugenia." Matthew looked at her with a weary affection. "I am not in a dancing mood."

"Matthew." Eugenia looked woebegone. "Piers keeps stepping on my feet, and Augustus is lurking about as if he wants a waltz, which I just can't manage. One dance," she wheedled. "You're an excellent dancer, and I'd like to have a bit of fun."

Matthew looked to Dahlia, she waved her hand dismissing him. Matthew looked long-suffering but allowed Eugenia to lead him out onto the floor.

Dahlia let her eyes wander around the ballroom towards where James' parents were greeting Anna and Ari, who had just arrived, Anna in a fine blue frock coat with frogged gold clasps. With them was Cordelia.

Dahlia bumped Jams' shoulder, and cut her eyes towards them. James crossed the room in a few strides after giving Dahlia a grateful smile.

Dahlia wished she could drink alcohol. She was terribly bored and horribly nervous. She needed to talk to Matthew before this party ended. She owed it to him, but she was scared of his reaction.

After a while, Matthew came back to her looking a bit less pale than earlier. Dahlia smiled at him and traced his cheekbone with her hands. "Math, I am terribly sorry for bringing this up once more, but I simply must tell you. It is of the utmost importance."

Matthew's eyes darkened with worry. "Come, I know where we can talk without interruption."

Dahlia followed him into the drawing room and closed the pocket doors behind them. She had to admit she rarely gave much thought to the drawing room; it tended to be used at the end of parties, when the ladies who were too tired to dance but not tired enough to go home sought a place to talk and gossip and play cards while the men retired to the games room. It was old-fashioned, with heavy cream-colored curtains, and delicate, spindly gilt chairs surrounding small tables set up for whist and bridge. Cut-glass decanters gleamed on the mantelpiece.

Dahlia turned to Matthew.

He leaned against the table waiting for her to speak.

"After you left for Paris with Cordelia," Dahlia started. Matthew winced. "I was with Ari and Anna for the first few days before I got my own flat. While I was with them, I tend to get quite a few dizzy spells and have a lot more nausea than usual."

"We called in a Silent Brother, and-" Dahlia broke off. She took a deep breath looking at Matthew in the eyes. "I am with child."

Time seemed to freeze and fear seized Dahlia's heart. Matthew looked at her with such an intense emotion, Dahlia couldn't place her finger on what to call it.

He strode towards her in quick strides and wrapped his arms around her and spun her around. "Dahlia, how am I to express my gratitude to you?" he whispered. Dahlia wrapped her arms around his neck, completely confused.

"Matthew-"

"I have waited my whole life to be worthy of someone's love. You have shown me that I was always worthy, Dahlia, and you have given me a reason to keep going even when I was at my lowest. And now, you have given me the greatest gift of all. You keep giving me a reason to better myself, to-to love myself. There aren't words that express how much you mean to me." he said, looking at her with such adoration, Dahlia was sure she was a tomato.

"We have to tell the others, James, Christopher, Thomas, even Alastair." he said and for the first time in what seemed like eternity, Matthew was glowing. He was glowing with such happiness Dahlia almost kissed him. "Everyone must know, we are to be parents!"

Dahlia hesitated. "Meri jaan, while you were gone, I had to tell Alastair, Christopher, Ariadne and Anna. Tessa and your mother know as well but they have not told anyone else."

Guilt knawed at Matthews's eyes and Dahlia instantly felt horrible. "I am so sorry I wasn't there, Dahlia-"

Dahlia patted his eyes. "It's alright Math, you didn't know, you can not apologize. I should have waited until I told you."

"I do not mind, Dahlia, as long as you had the support and love you needed, I do not mind."

Dahlia started crying then, burying her face into Matthew's shoulder. He held her tighter, "Do not cry, my love. Though this certainly means we will have to move in together at once."

Dahlia slapped his arm, wiping her tears. "Matthew!"

Matthew smiled at her widely, carefree. "I should have known at my flat when you got sick. And Oscar was acting strangely. He barked at James, he has rare reason to do so."

Dahlia cried a little more as she laughed. "You can be quite dense."

Matthew kissed the base of her neck. "Take that back."

Dahlia shook her head, "No."

He kissed her tracing up the colon of her neck. "Take it back, angel."

Dahlia shivered but shook her head.

They were interrupted by the door opening and Cordelia and James filtering in. "Oh! My apologies, did we interrupt something-"

Dahlia stepped away from Matthew, fixing her hair. Matthew bit down on his lips before letting go, his eyes darkening to match her emerald drops.

James looked between Matthew and Dahlia, suspicion brewing beneath his gaze.

"No, please we were just leaving," Dahlia said, smiling brightly.

She trailed out of the room Matthew behind her. He placed his hands around her waist and trapped her behind a column separating them from the rest of the room.

"I love you." He murmured, his lips inches away from hers. Dahlia turned her head away. "Math, it doesn't change anything."

"I know, angel, but for tonight, just for tonight can we pretend everything is okay?"

Dahlia wanted that too, so bloody badly. "Matthew, we can pretend, or we can really make everything okay."

"I want to make everything okay." he said.

"Then, we shall talk after the party. At our house, on Curzon Street."

Matthew's whole face lit up like a Christmas Tree. "You're coming home?"

She shot him a look. He only kept smiling.

They found Thomas and Alastair moments later with a baby Alexander. Alastair smiled at as they approached, "Azizam, fancy seeing you here."

Dahlia gave him a dark look. "Might I be able to hold, Alex, Alastair?"

Alastair handed him to her. She smiled down at the child. He was wearing a sailor's suit with a hat that matched it. It did not seem like Alexander liked it very much. She blew at his cheeks, earning her a laugh. SO pure, so innocent it warmed her heart.

She pushed the hair away from his eyes and set him on the ground where he toddled away to his mother on his chubby toddles legs, pulling at her skirt.

Matthew wrapped an arm around her waist, his fingers tracing her stomach. "This little one is going be as grown up as him one day."

Dahlia smiled wistfully. "I can not wait to meet them."

She bid farewell to Thomas and Alastair and trailed away to the refreshments table.

Dahlia was getting a glass of water at Matthew's insistence.

And then came the scream. An awful, heartrending scream.

A flash of movements. The crash of instruments as the musicians fled their small stage; the twang of a violin string breaking. A scramble as Shadowhunters retreated from the dance floor, some reaching for weapons, though most would have come unarmed.

The blade of a sharp, familiar voice, cutting through the noise and motion like a knife.

"STOP," Tatiana Blackthorn cried. She stood atop the stage, wearing a faded, bloodstained dress, her hair wild, a bundle cradled against her chest. Her voice carried as if supernaturally amplified. "You will stop this instant—stop moving, stop speaking, and drop every weapon—or the child dies."

By the Angel. The bundle was a child, a child Dahlia had just held in her arms. The scream had been Cecily's. Gripped in Tatiana's arms was tiny Alexander, his blue velvet suit crumpled, a sharp silver blade at his throat.

Horror seeped into Dahlia and she stumbled back right into Matthew's chest, he pulled her close to him, his hand around her waist—covering her stomach she realized.

Utter silence descended. Cecily shuddered silently in Gabriel's arms, her hand clamped over her mouth, her body shaking violently with the effort not to scream. Anna stood white-faced on the dance floor, Ari's hand on her arm, holding her back.

Christopher, Dahlia thought immediately. Where was her parabatai?

Then she remembered that he had gone to the Silent City, to visit Grace. He was safe, as long as Tatiana did not go to the Silent City next, but going there would be like turning herself in. It would be foolish.

Her mind was racing. Hadn't Tatiana been found, bleeding and injured, in Cornwall only a few days ago? Hadn't the Silent Brothers said she was too weak to risk moving her? And yet here she was, not just healed but looking as though she had never been hurt at all; there wasn't so much as a scratch on her face. And the bloody dress, while torn, was her old costume; it was what she preferred to wear.

James, Thomas, Alastair. The Lightwoods, the Fairchilds, the Herondales. Her parents. All stood staring, helpless. She still could not see Lucie or Jesse anywhere. Good, she thought. Better that Tatiana not lay eyes on Jesse.

Everyone was silent. The only sound in the room was Alexander's crying, until—

"Tatiana!" cried Will, in a ringing voice. "Please! We will listen to whatever you have to say, only put down the child!"

"None of you have ever listened!" Tatiana shouted, and Alexander began sobbing. "Only by taking something of yours can I even get your attention!"

"Tatiana," said Gideon, loudly but calmly. "We are your brothers. Your friends. We will listen to you now. Whatever it is you need, we can help—"

"Help?" Tatiana shouted. "None of you have ever helped. None of you would ever help me. Here gathered together are Lightwoods, Herondales, Carstairs, none of whom have lifted a hand to help me in my direst times of trouble—"

"That's not true!" came a voice, and Dahlia turned in surprise to see that it was James, his golden eyes flashing like fire. "You think we haven't read your notes? That we don't know how often help was offered to you? How often you scorned it?"

"It was always poison," she hissed. "When my son died, I hoped that in recognition of the loss I had sustained, the terrible tragedy of his loss, my fellow Shadowhunters might support me. Might help. But if it had been up to you all, his body would have been burned in days! Before anything could be done!"

The answer to this—that death did not give back what it had taken— was so obvious that nobody even bothered to speak it.

"I sought help in the places you forbid to me," Tatiana said. "Yes. You cast me out to look among demons for help." She swept her gaze across the whole Enclave assembled before her. "Eventually the Prince Belial heard my pleas, and when I begged for my son's life back, he promised it to me. But still the Nephilim resented that I might have anything—anything but failure in this life. And when you discovered my poor attempts to help my son, you threw me in the Adamant Citadel, to make the very weapons by which you keep me held down.

"And all this time!" Tatiana shot out a finger, pointing it directly at... Tessa. All eyes turned to regard her; she stood unmoving, meeting Tatiana glare for glare. "All this time these Herondales have been the allies of Belial. All along, since long before I ever knew him. Tessa Gray is his daughter," she cried, her voice rising to a triumphant climax, "and while I am punished for merely talking to him, the Herondales prosper!"

There was a terrible silence. Even Alexander had stopped crying; he was only making breathless choking noises that were somehow worse than sobs.

Someone—Eunice Pounceby, Tessa thought—said in a quiet voice, "Mrs. Herondale, is this true?"

Will looked over with exasperation. "Are you truly asking? No, of course the Herondales have never been allied with any demon, the whole notion is—"

"Is it true," interrupted the Inquisitor, in a voice that reminded everyone present that he was the Inquisitor. The same voice that made Dahlia want to rip his throat out, "that Tessa is the daughter of the Prince of Hell Belial?"

Will and Tessa looked at each other; neither spoke. Dahlia felt sick.

Their silence was as damning as any confession could be, and here it was, witnessed by the whole Enclave.

To Dahlia's relief, Charlotte stepped forward. "It has never been a secret," she said, "that Tessa Gray is a warlock, and any warlock must have a demon parent. But neither has it been a secret, or a question, that she is equally a Shadowhunter. Those issues were debated, and resolved, years ago, when Tessa first came to us. We are not about to reconsider them again now just because a madwoman demands it!"

"The spawn of a Prince of Hell," jeered Tatiana, "running the London Institute! The fox in the house of the chicks! The viper in the bosom of the Clave!"

Tessa turned away, her hands over her face.

"This is ridiculous." Gideon spoke up. "Tessa is a warlock. She is no more allied with her demon parent than any other warlock. Most warlocks never know, and do not want to know, what demon is responsible for their birth. Those who do know despise that demon."

Tatiana laughed. "Fools. The Angel Raziel would turn his face in shame."

"He would turn his face in shame," snapped James, "if he saw you. Look at you. A knife to the throat of a baby, and you dare to throw accusations at my mother—my mother, who has only ever been good and kind to everyone she has ever known?" He whirled on the assembled Shadowhunters. "How many of you has she helped? Lent you money, brought medicine when you were sick, listened to your troubles? And you doubt her now?"

"But," said Eunice Pounceby, her eyes troubled, "if she's known all these years that her father was a Prince of Hell, and not said it—then she's lied to us."

"She hasn't known all these years!" It was Lucie. She was alone—Jesse was nowhere in sight. "She only just found out! She didn't know what to say—"

"More lies from those who have deceived you!" Tatiana retorted. "Ask yourself this! If the Herondales are so innocent, why would they have kept this lineage a secret from all of you? From the whole Clave? If they truly had no relationship with Belial, why would they have feared to speak of him? Only to hide behind closed doors, chortling with Belial and taking orders from him. And the Lightwoods and the Fairchilds are no better," Tatiana went on, apparently relishing her captive audience. "Of course they've known the truth all this time. How could they not? And they have hidden the secret, protected the Herondales—lest they be tainted and their careers and influence harmed by the knowledge of the infernal spawn they have put in charge of all of you. The warlock shape-shifter and her children—who have their own powers, you know! Oh yes! The children too have inherited dark powers from their grandfather. And they roam free, while my own daughter rots in the Silent City, imprisoned though she has done nothing wrong—"

"Nothing wrong?" It was James, there were scarlet spots burning on his cheeks, a deadly intensity to his voice. Dahlia had known there was some dark history to James and Grace, she had not known how bad it was, until now. "Nothing wrong? You know better than that, you monstrous, vicious—"

Tatiana screamed. It was a wordless noise, a long terrible howl, as if perhaps some part of her realized that the person speaking to her had more reason than anyone else alive to know what she truly was. She screamed—

And Piers Wentworth rushed toward Tatiana. "No!" Will shouted, but it was too late, Piers was blustering forward, flinging himself up onto the stage; he reached for Tatiana, whose mouth was open like a terrible black hole, his fingers were inches from Alexander—

Dahlia saw it as if it were happening in slow motion: that fool Wentworth lunging at Tatiana. The explosion of glass as a window blew outward. The terrible sound made by Cecily as Tatiana vanished with Alexander. Anna pushing through the crowd, racing to her mother. The motionless Enclave jerking into movement again.

The adults began to move in a sort of wave. They descended on the weapons tree and began to pull it apart, everyone seizing up a blade— Eugenia claimed a three-pointed fuscina, while Piers took a longsword, Sophie seized a crossbow, and Charles a brutal-looking war hammer. They began to pour out of the ballroom, through the doors, some even through the broken window, into the streets outside, spreading out to search for Tatiana.

Dahlia turned the Matthew, he was as pale as a ghost. His hands, where they lay on her waist, had stared trembling. She took them in her own and kissed them gently. "They are going to find him, Matthew. Do you know of when Christopher might be back?"

That seemed to snap Matthew out of his daze. "Is he not at the lab? He had told Anna he did not wish to come to the party. Maybe it is better that he did not come."

With a calm that brooked no argument, James gathered them all—Alastair and Cordelia, Anna and Ari and Lucie and Matthew, Thomas and Jesse—and even though each one of them objected, herded them out of the (now nearly empty) ballroom and up the stairs. They had reached the second floor when Anna began to protest.

"James," she said, her voice a harsh rasp. "I ought to be with my mother —"

"I understand," James said. "And if you choose to be there, you should be. But I thought you might want the chance to go after Alexander."

Anna sucked in a breath. "James? What do you mean?"

James took a left off the landing and began to lead them down the hall; the others started muttering in puzzlement. James said, "Jesse, tell them what you told me."

"I think I know where my mother will have taken the child," said Jesse.

"Alexander," Anna said, a savage edge to her voice. "His name is Alexander."

"Anna," said Ari gently. "Jesse is trying to help."

"Then why not tell everyone?" Thomas asked Jesse. He did not sound hostile, only puzzled. "Why not tell Will, let him spread the word that you know what your mother would have done?"

"Because nobody knows who Jesse really is," said Alastair as James paused in front of a large iron door. "They think he's Jeremy Blackthorn."

"Indeed," said Matthew. "If Will claims to have knowledge gained from Tatiana's son, it will blow up the whole enterprise."

"It's not only that," Jesse said quickly. "I would sacrifice my identity happily. But I could be wrong. It's a guess, a feeling, not a surety. I cannot send everyone in the Enclave off after a belief I have—what if they all descend on one location, but it's the wrong one? Then who would be looking for Alexander elsewhere?"

It was Cordelia who spoke.

"Jesse is right," she said. "But James—you did swear to your father that we'd stay here, didn't you?"

James's face was set like iron. "I'll have to beg his forgiveness later," he said, and swung the doors open. Beyond it was the weapons room. It had only grown since Will had taken over the Institute, and now spread over

two chambers of axes and longswords, hammers and quoits and shuriken that gleamed like stars, runed bows and arrows, whips and maces and polearms. There was armor: gear and chain mail, gauntlets and greaves. On the wide table in the center of the room, seraph blades were lined up like rows of icicles, ready to be named and used.

"Everyone who wants to come—and there is no shame in remaining here—arm yourselves," James said. "Your preferred weapon might not be available," he added, looking at Thomas, "but we have no time to gather those. Take something you think you'll be able to use, and whatever gear you need. Do it quickly. We have little time to lose."

♛

QUICK NEWS:

I will be travelling next week, so my updates may not be as consistent as they have been. But rest assured, I will update frequently soon after.