"𝑫𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒆𝒆 𝒎𝒆? 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝑰'𝒎 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝑰'𝒎 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖"

♛

Dahlia didn't know what to do. On one hand, she was so blinded by rage that her hands had started shaking, on the other hand she wanted to press Matthew's head against hers and whisper that it would be alright.

But currently, she could neither, as it seemed that her husband was missing.

He had slinked out of the pew when no one was watching and da dreadful feeling was curling in Dahlia's stomach. She glanced at Thomas, then at James. Thomas looked ready to run, and that was all the indication she needed. She rushed out of the pew, raced through the Institute to the foyer. She pushed her way out into the cold, only to see their borrowed carriage already rolling out the Institute gates. Bloody hell.

"MATTHEW!" Dahlia yelled, though it seemed without avail considering the windows were up.

"We could take my parent's carriage but I do honestly think they would mind-" Thomas was saying, startling her. "Oh, Thomas, you scared me."

He blushed a little rosy color, "My apologies-"

"We can take my carriage." Dahlia spun in surprise to see Alastair standing behind them, calmly holding Thomas's coat and Dahlia's shawl. "Don't look at me like that," he said. "Clearly I was going to follow you. There's nothing I can do in there, and Cordelia's already gone."

Thomas took his coat from Alastair and shrugged it on. "I'm going after Matthew," he said, and Alastair gave him a dark look that clearly said, Yes, I knew that. "And you don't like Matthew."

"After what Charles has just done, your Matthew will be desperate for a drink," Alastair said. There was nothing accusing or contemptuous in his tone; it was matter-of-fact. "And I have much more experience looking after drunks than you do. Even talking them out of drinking, sometimes. Shall we go?"

Dahlia began to object but stopped quickly realizing more of her reasoning involved her pregnancy which Thomas had no clue of. The Carstairs carriage had already rolled into the courtyard, the driver swaddled against the cold in a thick blanket. Alastair had hold of Thomas's sleeve and they were marching down the steps; a moment later, they were in the carriage as it began to lurch across the ice-slippery courtyard.

The carriage bounced over a rut in the road; Thomas steadied himself and said, "He's stopped drinking, you know."

Alastair looked out the window. He blinked against the wintery light and said, "He's still a drunk. He'll always be a drunk, even if he never drinks again." He sounded weary.

Thomas stiffened. "If you're going to say that sort of thing to him—"

"My father stopped drinking a dozen times," said Alastair. "He would go weeks, months, without a drink. Then something would happen—a disappointment, a minor setback—and he would begin again. Have you ever wanted something," he said, looking at Thomas with a sudden directness, "something you knew you should not have, but that you could not keep away from? Something that occupied all your waking and dreaming thoughts with reminders of how much you wanted it?"

Thomas turned an odd shade of red. "Matthew needs hope."

"I didn't say there was no hope," Alastair said quietly. "Only that it is a difficult journey. It's best for him to know that, so he can be prepared for it." He rubbed at his eyes with a gesture that made him seem younger than he was. "He needs a plan."

"He has one." Dahlia said. She found herself explaining Christopher's treatment plan, weaning Matthew off alcohol gradually and deliberately. Alastair took this in with a thoughtful look.

"It could work," he said. "If Matthew abides by it. Though I gather you fear he won't, or we wouldn't be following him with such urgency." Dahlia could hardly argue that point; besides, they'd arrived at Matthew's address. Leaving the carriage, they headed upstairs, where Thomas used his key to let them into Matthew's room, and Dahlia kept praying to the Angel as he did so that Matthew had not yet done anything dangerous, self-destructive, or embarrassing.

Matthew was sitting in an armchair by the fire, one hand on Oscar's head, his legs crossed, reading a letter. He looked mildly over at Thomas and Alastair as they spilt into his flat. Dahlia followed in after, sighing a deep breath she hadn't known she was holding.

"Thomas," Matthew said. "I see you've come to discover whether I have or have not plunged myself into a hogshead of brandy. And you've brought Alastair, noted handler of drunks. And what, pray tell, is my wife doing here?"

"She," Dahlia spoke for herself." Had enough of her brother-in-law being a spiteful little bastard and was worried he might have driven her husband to drink."

"It is very odd how you speak of yourself in the third person, my love, " Matthew informed her. Dahlia rolled her eyes.

"Well?" said Thomas, who saw no point bluffing. "Have you been drinking?"

"Only what Christopher has given me," Matthew said. "I suppose you will have to take my word for it. Or decide if I seem drunk to you."

"It isn't really about seeming drunk, though, is it?" said Alastair, unbuttoning his coat. "My father had to drink, in the end, simply to seem normal."

"I am not your father," said Matthew frostily.

"And he's not drunk," Dahlia told them, sitting down on the floor beside Matthew, facing Thomas and Alastair. She beckoned Oscar towards her and the golden dog happily trotted into her lap. She slowly ran her hands through his fur, leaning her head against the armchair on which Matthew was sitting.

"You are much younger. You have been drinking a much shorter time. Your chances are much better," said Alastair, rolling up his sleeves, ignoring what Dahlia had said. Alastair was striding across the room to the shelves where Matthew's bottles of spirits were kept.

"Dahlia says you have given up drinking for good," Alastair said. "Yet you still have all this booze here, I see." He selected a bottle of whiskey and uncorked it thoughtfully.

"I haven't touched it since I came back from Paris," said Matthew. "But I do still have visitors. For instance, the two of you, although I'm not sure if this is a visit or a rescue mission. I would have had it all moved to Dahlia and I's house on Curzon Street so I would be under constant supervision if that is your issue."

"Visitors don't matter," Alastair said bluntly. "You need to get rid of this stuff. All of it." Without warning, he strode to the open window and began emptying the bottle out of it. "Free liquor for the mundanes," he added. "You'll be popular."

Matthew rolled his eyes. "Yes, I hear mundanes prefer their drinks poured on their heads from four stories up. What exactly do you think you're doing? Thomas, make him stop."

Alastair was shaking his head. "You can't have this stuff around you all the time. It will just make every moment a battle, where you could have a drink but must, over and over, choose not to."

"You think I have no willpower at all?" Matthew said. "That I cannot withstand a little temptation?"

"You will withstand it," said Alastair grimly, "until you don't." He went back to the shelf to collect a second bottle. At the window, he turned to look at Matthew. "Having all this here is like asking an addict to live in an opium den," he said. "You are never going to be able to drink casually. Alcohol will always mean something to you that it does not mean to other people. Getting rid of this stuff will make it easier. Why not have it be easier?"

Matthew hesitated a moment, and Dahlia knew him well enough to read the look in his eyes: Because I do not deserve to have it be easy, because the suffering is part of the punishment. But Matthew would not say such things in front of Alastair, and perhaps it was better that he did not.

"Math." Thomas sat down in the chair opposite Matthew's. Oscar thumped his tail on the ground. "Look, I understand wanting to flee that foul meeting—after Charles said the things he said, I—"

"I think the Inquisitor is blackmailing Charles," Dahlia said.

Alastair (who had made it through the whiskey and was on to pouring out gin) and Thomas exchanged a look of surprise.

"I just assumed Charles was being his usual lickspittle self today," Alastair said. "You don't need to make excuses for him. We all know what he's like."

Matthew waved the paper he'd been reading. "The Inquisitor is blackmailing someone. Ari found this in his fireplace. Read it, Tom."

Thomas took the letter from him. He looked up after a quick skim to find Alastair peering at him. "Well, all right," Thomas said. "So the Inquisitor is blackmailing someone. But Charles isn't named."

"I've been trying to figure out who the letter was for," Matthew said. "Well, Anna and Ari and I. The wording of it has led us to a few possibilities: Augustus, Thoby..." He sighed. "I didn't want to think it was Charles. But now I'm sure of it." He looked over at Alastair. "I ought to have gotten up in the middle of the meeting. Denounced him. But—he is my brother."

"It's all right," Thomas said. "If Bridgestock's blackmailing him into voicing support, that means Charles doesn't actually believe what he's saying in the first place. It's Bridgestock and a few cronies who are trying to lay blame on Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa. Denouncing Charles wouldn't fix the root of the problem."

Alastair, standing by the window, said, "I just—"

Thomas looked up. "What is it?"

"Should I assume," Alastair said, "that Charles is being blackmailed about... me?"

"Not specifically," Matthew said, and Dahlia saw Alastair relax minutely. "But it would be, more generally, because he loves men, rather than women."

"Bridgestock is foul," said Thomas furiously. "And Charles—is his shame so all-consuming as that? He couldn't possibly believe that your parents would care, or that the Enclave who have known him all his life would shun him."

"Thom, you ought to know, it's not always that easy. Your parents, they are kind and loving, and they would accept you for who you are. My father has been giving Ari hell for being who she is, it is a cruel world we live in Thomas, and you've been given the long end of the stick. Take advantage of it, but do not assume there aren't those of us who were given he short end and have to work through our issues on our own."

Thomas became very quiet and Dahlia felt guilty.

"He thinks it would ruin his political career," said Alastair. "He is meant to be the next Consul. I don't know if you knew that."

"I, for one, hadn't heard," said Dahlia dryly.

"It was his dream," Alastair said, "and I suppose it is hard to give up on one's dreams." Dahlia sensed that Alastair was doing his best to be fair. "He thinks that without his career, he would be purposeless. He believes he cannot be a family man, cannot have children, that his only legacy will be as Consul. He fears to lose that. I believe a blend of shame and fear drives him." He sighed. "I'd honestly like to believe Charles was being blackmailed. Rather than that he would turn on his own family for Bridgestock's approval. He can be an insufferable weasel, but I never believed him a monster."

"I have to believe he can be reasoned with," Matthew said. "It is why I came here. To get the letter. To be sure." He sighed. "I'll talk to Charles as soon as I can."

Alastair folded his arms. "If you like, when you do, we'll come with you."

Matthew looked over at Thomas, surprised. Thomas nodded his agreement: of course they would go with Matthew. "That might be best," Matthew said, pushing past a clear reluctance. "It is unlikely Charles will listen just to me. But you, Alastair—you have insight into him that we do not."

"You know," Thomas said, feeling bold, "you two think you have nothing in common, but here, we've found something. You're both experts on the same pompous git."

Matthew chuckled quietly. Alastair gave Thomas a wry look, but Thomas thought he seemed a little pleased.

It was a bad situation, surely, she thought, and she didn't think Charles would respond well to the three of them confronting him. But if it could bring Matthew and Alastair together, then perhaps another miracle was also possible.

♛

The next morning, Dahlia woke up with a need to hurl. She regretfully wrenched herself from Matthew's grip around her waist and tumbled to the floor with a thud. It did not help her situation. Matthew groggily groaned, "Dahlia?"

She found it awful that she couldn't respond for fear of retching all over their expensive rugs.

She ran to the bathroom and vomited so hard she felt tears burn her eyes. She hated this feeling.

Matthew had come at a point in time and had gathered her hair in his hand and used the other hand in what seemed to be an attempt to soothe her by rubbing her back.

She stopped after what felt like an eternity and she washed her face and her mouth.

Matthew picked her up and placed her on the bed next to him where Dahlia broke down into tears.

"I hate it." Dahlia said against Matthew's chest. He laid his chin on top of her head, "I know love." he whispered softly.

"I know it's for our baby, but I hate it. Why can't it actually like the food I eat?" she whined. "Everything's making my nausea, almost everything and its so irritating.I want to rip my hair out from my scalp, Matthew."

He only rocked her gently in his arms. "Only for seven more months, love, if your estimation is right."

"Well, I refuse to let it be the first time we did it, which in that case it would be four months in. I think I would have noticed."

"Alright, two months in you feel awful," he said. Dahlia nodded. "Yes, awful."

He chuckled against her hair and Dahlia smiled. "How long can we stay like this?" Matthew whispered. "I would say until they found us dead, but we ought get to the Institute."

Matthew groaned.

♛

They found the Institute in a state of chaos. The Lightwoods—Gabriel, Cecily, Alexander, Sophie, and Gideon—had already departed for Idris. Thomas, Christopher, Ari, and Anna were milling about, choosing which bedrooms they wanted; as far as Dahlia could tell, all the bedrooms were the same, but people seemed to have preferences anyway. Bridget and the other servants were busy stocking the larder with extra food and rushing about making up the new bedrooms. Bridget was singing a song called, ominously, "The Unquiet Grave," which Dahlia took to mean she was in a good mood.

They were all to gather at the library it seemed, since James had something to say. Dahlia and Matthew went to claim one of the bedrooms, settling in and arranging all their things inside. It seemed Charels was head of the Institute while Will and Tessa were gone, Dahlia found it loathsome.

Then they went to the library, his arm around her waist and talking to her about something he had read earlier. Dahlia listened, leaning her head against his side.

He drew small circles on her stomach, occasionally he would stop them and whisper something to her stomach, before returning to their original position. Dahlia found it endearing.

Everyone was arriving—Anna and Ari, Jesse and Lucie (who looked at James with immense worry, before sitting down at his right hand), Thomas and Christopher, and finally, Alastair, who Thomas clearly had not been expecting. Thomas sat down with a rather sudden thump (he was a bit too big for the library chairs, and his long legs stuck out at all angles) but otherwise restrained himself. Alastair sat beside him with studied nonchalance.

Dahlia decided she ought to sit with her parabatai as she hadn't spoken to him in the longest time. Christopher smiled at her, his violet eyes wide. "Dahlia!"

She smiled and engulfed him in a hug. For some reason, she wanted to keep him safe, from what she didn't understand yet.

"Well, do tell us what this is about, James," said Matthew, once everyone was seated, glanced around to see where Dahlia was. "This feels like one of those scenes in a Wilkie Collins novel where the will gets read out, and then the lights go out and someone turns up dead."

"Oh, I love those," said Lucie. "Not," she added hastily, "that I want anyone to turn up dead. James, what's going on? Has something happened?"

James was very pale. He folded his hands together, intertwining his fingers tightly. "Something did happen," he said, "though—not today. This is something that happened a long time ago. Something I only became aware of recently myself."

And he told them. Speaking in a monotone, he told it all: from his first meeting with Grace at Blackthorn Manor in Idris, to her arrival in London, to the shattering of the bracelet, to the realization that his mind was being altered against his will. His voice was calm and steady, but there was anger beneath it, like a river running beneath city streets.

Dahlia felt sick. Matther grew more and more still as the story progressed, and more white around the mouth. Lucie looked sick. Thomas began to rock his chair back and forth violently until Alastair laid a hand over his. Anna's eyes snapped like blue fire.

When James was done with the story, there was a long silence.

It was Lucie. She had trembled as James spoke, and she burst out now, "Oh—Jamie—I am so sorry I ever worked with her, was kind to her—"

"It's all right, Luce," James said gently. "You didn't know. Nobody knew, not even Jesse."

Lucie looked shocked, as if the idea of Jesse having known had never occurred to her. She turned to him. "The last time you went to the Silent City," she said, "you came back upset. Had she told you then?"

Jesse nodded. "It was the first I ever knew of any of it." He looked as ashen as he had when Belial possessed him, Cordelia thought. The usual calm light had gone out of his eyes. "I have always loved Grace. Always taken care of her. She is my little sister. But when she told me—I walked out of the cell. I have not spoken to her since."

Christopher cleared his throat. "What Grace did was unforgivable. But we must remember she was a child when she was given this task. And she was terrified of what her mother would do if she refused."

Dahlia looked at Christopher curiously.

"That doesn't matter," said Thomas. His hazel eyes blazed with a rare fury. "If I murdered someone, and then said it was because I was afraid, would that make me not a murderer?"

"It isn't murder, Thomas—"

"It's just as bad," said Matthew. He held one of the flasks Christopher had given him, but he was not drinking from it. He was running his fingers over the engravings, again and again. "She took the things about James that we know so well, his loving kindness, and his trust, and his idealism, and she turned them against him like knives. Like a faerie curse."

James tried to catch Matthew's eye—Dahlia could see it—but however horrified Matthew seemed to be on James's behalf, he could not meet his parabatai's gaze. He sat with his hand wrapped around the cheap flask as if it were a talisman.

"She stole his choices," Ari said. She, too, looked sick. "I lived with her in my house and I never guessed that she had something like that on her conscience."

"But James is all right," Christopher said gently. "It's come out all right in the end. Things usually do."

"Because he fought back," Matthew snapped. "Because he loved Cordelia enough to crack that foul bracelet in half." Seeming a little surprised at his own outburst.

Dahlia was focused on her parabatai there was something strange in the way he was defending Grace, something one could only find if they were looking and Dahlia was looking. SHe would ask him later, when they weren't surrounded by people.

"And Grace?" Thomas said softly.

"I hate her," James said. Christopher flinched; Jesse looked away. "At least—she came to me, at the last, when she was fleeing her mother. Tried to seduce me one last time. She didn't realize the bracelet was broken. It was strange to see her try this game that must have worked every time she'd attempted it in the past. It was as if I were standing outside myself, realizing that every time I'd encountered her before, I had lost myself. That my whole life had been a lie, and she had made it so. I told her I despised her, that I would never forgive her, that there was nothing she could do to make up for her crimes. She is in the Silent City now because I demanded she turn herself in." He sounded a little wondering, as if surprised at his own capacity for anger, for revenge. "I put her there." He looked at Jesse. "You knew that."

"Yes." Jesse sounded wearily despairing. "She told me. I do not blame you at all."

Christopher said, "She did plenty of harm, and she knew the harm she was doing. She hates herself for it. I think all she wants is to live somewhere far away and never bother anyone again."

"That power of hers is too dangerous for that," Alastair said. "It is as if she owned a feral, poisonous snake, or an untamed tiger."

"What if the Silent Brothers take that power from her?" said Christopher. "She will be defanged then."

"Why are you defending her, Kit?" Anna said. She did not sound angry, only curious. "Is it because she will return to the Enclave eventually, and we must learn to live with her? Or simply because she likes science?"

"I suppose," Christopher said, "I have always thought everyone deserves a second chance. We are each given only one life. We cannot get another one. We must live with the mistakes we have made." To Dahlia that was such utter bullshit. It was clear as day to her, Christopher had taken a liking to Grace, in the romantic way.

"True enough," Alastair muttered.

"Nevertheless," Thomas said, "we cannot forgive her." Alastair flinched and Thomas added, "What I mean is that we cannot forgive her on James's behalf. Only James can do that."

"I'm still angry—very angry," James said, "but I find I don't want to be. I want to look forward, but my anger draws me backward. And"—he took a deep breath—"I know she will return to the Enclave at some point. I do not know how I am meant to treat her then. How I will stand seeing her."

"You won't have to," said Jesse roughly. "There is Blackthorn money. It will come to her, now that my mother is imprisoned. We will get a house for Grace, somewhere in the countryside. I will only ask that she never go near you or anyone close to you again."

"Just don't abandon her entirely," said Christopher. "Jesse—you are the only thing she lives for. The only one who was kind to her. Do not leave her alone in the dark."

"Kit," Anna said, with a regretful sort of love. "Your heart is too soft."

"I am not saying these things because I am naive or foolish," said Christopher. "Only because I do see things that are not in beakers and test tubes, you know. I see how hatred poisons the person who hates, not the person who is hated. If we treat Grace with the mercy she did not show James, and that was never shown to her, then what she did will have no power over us." He looked at James. "You have been terribly strong," he said, "enduring this, all alone, for so long. Let us help you leave anger and bitterness in the past. For if we don't do that if we are consumed by the need to pay Grace back for what she has done, then how are we any different from Tatiana?"

It was times like this when Dahlia knew she had done at least one thing right, and that was choosing Christopher Lightwood to be her parabatai.

♛