Cast Long Shadows (Ghosts of the Shadow Market, #2)

by Cassandra Clare

There was a Shadowhunter boy dancing a cancan with three faeries. He was Charlotte and Henry Fairchild’s younger son, Matthew Fairchild. His head was thrown back, his fair hair bright by firelight, and he was laughing.

He ran up to Brother Zachariah, threw an exuberant arm about his neck, and ducked his head under the hood of the Silent Brother to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Uncle Jem!” Matthew exclaimed joyfully.

Matthew had not even had the chance to ask James if he wanted to be parabatai yet. He had been planning to ask him to be sworn warrior partners in a very elaborate and stylish fashion so Jamie would be too impressed to decline.

Besides which, getting into fights was not precisely Matthew’s style. He could fight, but he did not think violence solved many problems.

Papa could not get on without Matthew, which was why it was absurd that Matthew had been sent to the Academy in the first place.

Matthew liked to take care of people, and he was good at it.

only Matthew was impeded because he felt he should contribute to parties being a success and James tended to be in a corner, reading.

Friends who were easy to get might be easy to lose, and Matthew wanted to keep people.

Thomas was so quiet and small they were always losing him, rather like a human marble, and if left to his own devices he would inevitably roll toward Alastair Carstairs.

was a simple matter to locate Thomas when he was lost. Matthew only had to follow the sound of Alastair’s irritating voice. Unfortunately this meant being forced to behold Alastair’s irritating face.

The only things Matthew could find to like about Alastair were his extraordinarily expressive eyebrows, and eyebrows did not make the man.

“Ah, Mother Hen Fairchild,” sneered Alastair. “What a lovely wife you will make for somebody one of these fine days.”

“Has no kind soul thought to inform you that your hairstyle is, to use the gentlest words available to me, ill-advised? A friend? Your papa? Does nobody care enough to prevent you from making a spectacle of yourself? Or are you simply too busy perpetrating acts of evil upon the innocent to bother about your unfortunate appearance?”

“Are you unfamiliar with the concept of friendship, Carstairs? How tragic for you, though understandable on the part of everyone else in the universe.”

In a white and blinding rage, Matthew struck him in the face. Then he went to find Christopher, cleared the area, and gave him matches.

“Am I being too familiar?” he asked anxiously. “I only supposed since I was James’s parabatai and that is what he calls you, I might do so as well.”

Zachariah considered that they were the three sweetest children in the world.

“They all talk about you all the time in the London Institute,” Matthew confided. “James and Lucie and Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa too. I feel as if I know you a great deal better than I actually do, so I beg pardon if I trespass on your kindness.”

would like to hear all about your and Uncle Will’s and Aunt Tessa’s adventures from your point of view,” Matthew proposed. “You must have had a very exciting time! Nothing exciting ever happens to us. The way everyone talks about it, one might think you had a dramatic star-crossed passion with Aunt Tessa before you became a Silent Brother.”

am certain you could have had a torrid affair with any person you wanted, of course,” said Matthew. “Anyone can see that.

“Does Uncle Will know you are in London?” asked Matthew. “Are you going to see him? If Uncle Will finds out you were in London and did not come to call, and I knew about it, that will be curtains for me! Young life cut off in its prime. A bright flower of manhood withered untimely.

Matthew smiled, the lovely expression turning wicked. “I mean mischief frequently myself.”

“Who can blame them?” said Matthew airily. “Stuffy lot. Present company excepted, Uncle Jem! My papa has a warlock friend he talks of frequently. They invented Portals together, did you know? I would like to have an intimate Downworlder friend too.”

Will had made it clear his Institute was there to help Downworlders who sought aid, as surely as it was for mundanes and Shadowhunters.

Matthew stopped and laughed for sheer joy at a warlock woman with blue skin who was juggling toy unicorns, mermaids’ shells, and small wheels on fire, and he flirted until she told him her name was Catarina.

“Hello, pretty,” she said, her voice rasping like bark. “Which one of us are you talking to?” asked Matthew, laughing and leaning his elbow against Brother Zachariah’s shoulder.

fairest child of the Nephilim.

“You come of a brutal people, sweet child.” “Not me,” said Matthew. “I believe in art and beauty.”

“Look, Uncle Jem! That werewolf is running a book stall. Werewolves are surprisingly ardent readers, you know.” He dashed over and began to ask artless questions of a lady werewolf in a prim dress, who was soon patting her hair and laughing at his nonsense.

As the fire leaped, it birthed green sparks that matched the clever face of the warlock and lit his snowy white hair, curling around the sterner curl of his horns.

Sometimes it seemed like her face was all the heart he had left. He could not do much for her, but he had once promised to spend his life guarding her from the very wind from heaven. He intended to keep his word in that at least.

The look of alarm on Ragnor’s face deepened. “Why is he coming over? Why would you do this to me? I had always considered you one of the more sensible Shadowhunters, not that this is saying much!”

“Oh, certainly,” said Ragnor. “And I have a long and cherished history of not getting blown up.”

“Is your friend with you?” asked Ragnor Fell, and twitched. “Is Christopher Lightwood upon the premises? Is our Market shortly to be engulfed in flames?”

“In the Lightwoods’ London home, but it is far away.” “Not far enough!” decided Ragnor Fell. “I shall decamp to Paris forthwith.”

Will has always been my favorite too, Jem agreed solemnly.

“Would you care to accept a wager, Uncle Jem, that I can clear that fire with a foot to spare?”

Matthew charged at the flames sparkling with jade light, and leaped. He twisted in midair, slim black-clad body like a dagger thrown by an expert hand, and landed on his feet in the shadow of the church spire. After a moment, several members of the Shadow Market began to clap. Matthew mimed taking off an imaginary hat, and bowed with a flourish.

but Cook did not wish to retire and nobody had to know if Matthew lent a hand in the early morning.

Besides, Matthew liked to see his papa and mama and even Charles eating breakfast he had prepared.

She liked scones with cranberries baked in, so he tried to make them for her whenever he might.

Matthew loved his father beyond reason,

“I must see James at once upon urgent business!”

Matthew had left Pounceby in James’s sole company for less than half an hour. When Matthew returned, he found Jamie had thrown Pounceby into the Thames.

“Do I look dapper?” he asked Mr. Oscar Wilde. “Do I look dashing and debonair?” Mr. Oscar Wilde gave him a lick on the nose, because Mr. Oscar Wilde was a puppy Jamie had given Matthew on his birthday. Matthew took this as approval.

“You may be a waste of space in a waistcoat,” he told Matthew Fairchild, “but at least your waistcoat is fantastic.”

First Matthew had to breeze into the London Institute to collect a parcel known as James Herondale.

James was in the window seat, his black head bent over—what a surprise!—a book. He looked up at the tap, and smiled.

James had been so shy, and Matthew had wanted to take care of him,

Even when Jamie was shy, he never seemed to doubt or wish to alter himself.