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Vampires and werewolves, warlocks and the fey, met under the stars and under glamour that human eyes could not pierce.
Silent City, where there was no acknowledgment of time passing save that the ashes of more warriors were laid down.
Zachariah was here on a mission, but he took a brief time to be glad he was in London, in the Shadow Market, to breathe air clear of the dust of the departed. It felt something like freedom, like being young again.
The denizens of the Downworld considered this Market time as space snatched away from angels.
sworn to seclusion with hearts dedicated to the dust of their city and their dead.
Matthew did not appear to notice. 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.
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Matthew Fairchild hardly ever lost his temper. When he did, he tried to make the occasion memorable.
simply because James happened to have a tiny, insignificant amount of demon blood and the—Matthew thought prodigiously lucky—ability to transform into a shadow.
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“I heard he was mad,” said Alastair, and let out a bark of laughter. “You’d have to be mad, to marry a creature with infernal blood and have children who were—”
Papa was a genius and what most people considered an invalid, because he could not walk.
When they were eight, Christopher Lightwood had been discovered in Papa’s laboratory performing what Papa described as a very intriguing experiment. Matthew had noticed that there was now a wall missing in the laboratory, and he took Christopher under his wing.
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Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel, and Aunt Sophie and Uncle Gideon, respectively,
James was Christopher’s blood cousin. Aunt Cecily was Mr. Herondale’s sister. Mr. Herondale ran the London Institute, and the Herondales tended to keep to themselves.
She told Matthew the Herondales tended to keep to themselves as they had experienced unkindness due to Mrs. Herondale being a warlock.
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.
but James had recently referred to himself, Matthew, Christopher, and Thomas as the three Musketeers and d’Artagnan, from a book he liked.
“Everyone talks about your mama and her unwomanly pursuits,” said awful, unthinkable worm Alastair Carstairs.
“Certainly our families are friends,” said Matthew. “Are you unfamiliar with the concept of friendship, Carstairs? How tragic for you, though understandable on the part of everyone else in the universe.”
“Henry Branwell is not your father,” spat Alastair. “You are Gideon Lightwood’s bastard. Everybody knows it but you.”
A short but eventful time passed before Matthew left school, never to return. In that interval, a wing of the Academy blew up.
Matthew realized it had been rather a shocking thing to do, but while he was deranged he also demanded James be his parabatai and by some miracle James agreed. Matthew and his papa arranged to spend more time at the Fairchilds’ London home so that Matthew could be with both his papa and his parabatai. It had all, Matthew considered, worked out rather well. If only he could forget.
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They were a quiet chorus, a silent, ever-present song.
“I only supposed since I was James’s parabatai and that is what he calls you, I might do so as well.”
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Zachariah considered that they were the three sweetest children in the world. He knew he might be a little partial, but faith created truth.
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Matthew glowed. Zachariah was reminded of Matthew’s mother, and the kindness that had taken in three orphans when she was hardly more than a child herself.
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His warmth was closer to the surface than Charlotte’s, Jem thought. He had never been taught to close himself off, to do anything but delight and trust in the world.
might think you had a dramatic star-crossed passion with Aunt Tessa before you became a Silent Brother.” Matthew stopped himself. “Sorry! My tongue ran away with me. I am heedless and excited to talk to you properly. I’m sure it is strange to think of your past life. I hope I did not upset or offend you. I cry peace.”
Silent Brothers are terrible gossips as a rule, said Brother Zachariah. For you, though, Matthew, I will make an exception.
Brother Zachariah felt he had to warn: Your friends may mean mischief. Faeries often do. Matthew smiled, the lovely expression turning wicked. “I mean mischief frequently myself.”
Magnus Bane would be a good friend for anyone to have, Brother Zachariah agreed.
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The Shadow Market as a whole seemed rather bemused by Matthew.
“Ah, fifteen summers, and by the look of you it has been all summer. Some would say only a shallow river could flash so bright,”
“Ah, well. ‘He has nothing, but he looks everything. What more can one desire?’”
“I do not think my mama the Consul would like that at all, no.”
Zachariah was sure Henry’s boy had been regaled with tales of the elements over dinner time and time again.
“You come of a brutal people, sweet child.” “Not me,” said Matthew. “I believe in art and beauty.”
“You might be pitiless one day, for all that.” “No, never,” Matthew insisted. “I don’t care for Shadowhunter customs at all. I like Downworlder ways much more.”
You must be careful at the Market. They sell heartbreak as well as dreams.
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.
Will has always been my favorite too, Jem agreed solemnly.
Matthew mimed taking off an imaginary hat, and bowed with a flourish.
His hair was gold even by strange flames, his face bright even in shadow. Brother Zachariah watched him laugh, and foreboding crept into his heart.
Some of them might be broken. Pray disaster never came.
“And Matthew, well, he is . . . charming.”
Matthew loved his father beyond reason, but he knew him.
