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

by Cassandra Clare

Uncle Will frequently gave dramatic readings from the book he was writing on the demon pox, which were very droll.

“Bless you, my Herondales,” said Matthew grandly, scrambling up from the floor and making Lucie his bow. “I come upon an urgent errand. Tell me—be honest!—what do you think of my waistcoat?” Lucie dimpled. “Devastating.” “What Lucie said,” James agreed peacefully.

“Not fantastic?” Matthew asked. “Not positively stunning?” “I suppose I am stunned,” said James. “But am I positively stunned?” “Refrain from playing cruel word games with your one and only parabatai,” Matthew requested.

He looked up at Matthew with wide gold eyes from his position on the floor. His pitch-black hair was askew, his linen shirt rumpled, and he was not even wearing a waistcoat. Matthew nobly repressed a convulsive shudder.

“You are, as always, perfect,” said Matthew. He wished he could fix the ribbon in her hair, but that would be taking a liberty.

but she was Alastair Loathly Worm Carstairs’s sister, so it would be strange if she was entirely amiable.

“All I know is,” Matthew continued, “you have every other girl in London beat to flinders.”

James still had his book tucked under his arm, but Matthew knew better than to fight doomed battles. He told Matthew about the book as they walked the London streets.

He could not find himself in them, but he saw James in them, and that was enough.

A young lady, arrested by Jamie’s bone structure, stopped in the path of an omnibus. Matthew seized her waist and whirled her to safety, giving her a tip of his hat and a smile.

“The Bore War?” asked Matthew. “That cannot be right.”

“I do hope affairs go right for the children,” he called.

Matthew knew James wished Shadowhunters could solve problems like mundane war,

In order to cheer Jamie up, he stole his hat. Jamie burst into startled laughter and pursued Matthew, both of them racing and jumping high enough to amaze the mundanes, under the shadow of St. Stephen’s Tower.

Later Matthew would look back and remember it as his last happy day.

“Do I sleep, do I dream, or are these visions I see?” demanded Matthew. “Why are Aunt Sophie and both of Thomas’s sisters taking tea in the same establishment as our private and exclusive club room?”

“Did you sleep in those clothes, Christopher? I know Aunt Cecily, Uncle Gabriel, and Cousin Anna would never let you inflict these horrors on the populace. What are those peculiar lavender stains upon your shirtfront? Did you set your sleeves on fire?”

Professor Fell had threatened to leave the Academy forever if Christopher remained.

Thomas had stayed out the full year, but found no reason to return with his friends gone and Alastair God-Help-Us Carstairs graduated.

“that notorious bunch of hooligan boys.” Matthew and James had called themselves Shadowhooligans for some time after that remark.

There was, of course, a window seat for Jamie, and Jamie was already installed with his book upon his lap.

Jamie fiddled with his shirt cuff again, which he always did upon certain occasions, and pretended not to hear. Matthew suspected he had a secret love.

Matthew laughed. “Come now. Any deadly hatreds you harbor in your bosom? Any ladies of your heart?” Thomas flushed a deep red, and dropped his knife. “No.”

“Is there a lady you find yourself thinking of more often than other ladies?” asked Matthew. “Or a fellow,” he added tentatively.

“Christopher!” Matthew exclaimed, delighted. “You sly dog! Do I know her?” “No, I cannot think so,” said Christopher. “She is a mundane.” “Christopher, you dark horse,” said Matthew. “What is her name?” “Mrs.—” “A married lady!” Matthew said, overwhelmed. “No, no. I beg your pardon. Please go on.” “Mrs. Marie Curie,” said Christopher. “I believe her to be one of the preeminent scientists of the age.

“There is a hole in the floor at the Academy that Professor Fell calls the Christopher Lightwood Chasm.”

“This is why we are chosen warrior partners, because we share such a perfect bond of sympathy. Come to me, Jamie, that we might share a manly embrace.” He made incursions upon Jamie’s person. James thwacked him over the head with his book. It was a large book. “Betrayed,” said Matthew, writhing prone upon the floor. “Is that why you insist on carrying about enormous tomes everywhere you go, that you might visit violence upon innocent persons? Done to death by my best friend—my heart’s brother—my own dear parabatai—” He snagged James around the waist and brought him crashing to the floor for the second time that day. James hit Matthew with the book again, then subsided, leaning his shoulder against Matthew’s. They were both thoroughly rumpled, but Matthew did not mind being rumpled for a good cause.

“Alastair is not so bad,” said Thomas unexpectedly from the sofa.

“Had I such an insufferable toad of a son, and were he blessedly to be sent away to school, I am not sure I could bring myself to blast my sight with his visage until the accursed holidays carried him back to me again.”

“Oh well,” said Tom. “I like his nonsense.” He looked wistful. “I think Alastair masks his pain with cleverly turned phrases.”

world, so Matthew had no opportunity to be cruelly oppressed or sadly neglected. Perhaps Matthew should spend his time brooding over a forbidden passion like James was currently doing.

Matthew decided to give unrequited love a try. He stared out the window with all the pensive force he could muster. He was preparing to pass a hand across his fevered brow and murmur “Alas, my lost love” or some other such rot when he was abruptly rapped upon the head with a book. Honestly, Jamie was lethal with that thing.

Matthew nodded, but he ducked his head down against Jamie’s coat and stayed there for a moment.

He could not imagine being jealous of anybody’s papa. Having the best papa in the world, Matthew would be perfectly satisfied with him.

“You are the best boy in London,” said Cook, giving Matthew a kiss. “I am entirely selfish,” declared Matthew. “For I love you, Cook. When shall we be married?”

When Jamie was a little boy, he had his own beloved special spoon. The family always reminisced about this. It embarrassed Jamie to death, especially when Uncle Gabriel presented him with a spoon at family gatherings.

Jamie kept the spoons Uncle Gabriel gave him. When asked why, he said it was because he loved his Uncle Gabriel. James was able to say such things with a sincerity that would shame anyone else.

After James said that, Uncle Will loudly asked what was the point in even having a son, but Uncle Gabriel looked touched.

Uncle Gabriel was especially fond of James. Of course, who would not be?

“If you would simply make an effort to be sensible,” said Charles. “I shan’t,” said Matthew. “I might sustain a strain from which I would never recover.”

Not that it mattered. He simply launched himself from the chair in his haste to get to Charlotte, and fell heavily on the ground. He hardly seemed to notice he had fallen. Instead he crawled on his elbows toward the inert heap that was Mama, dragging his body painfully across the carpet as Matthew watched, frozen in horror.