Chain of Gold (The Last Hours, #1)

by Cassandra Clare

Of course, due to Will’s prejudice toward all things Carstairs, he probably thought Alastair was perfect and also pretty.

“Cordelia was a great help to Barbara,” he said. “She was the one who had the idea to cut her corset away.” Sona looked slightly horrified. “Cordelia has a tendency to throw herself into every situation headlong,” she said to Tessa and Will. “I’m sure you understand.” “Oh, we do,” said Will. “We’re always speaking very sternly to our children about that very thing. ‘If you don’t throw yourself into situations headlong, James and Lucie, you can expect bread and water for supper again.’” Alastair choked on a laugh. Sona stared at Will as if he were a lizard with feathers.

“I’ve seen you use your stele to part your hair,” said James dryly, as he began to examine the window locks. “The Angel gave me this hair,” replied Matthew. “It’s one of the Shadowhunters’ gifts. Like the Mortal Sword.” “Now that is blasphemy,” said Thomas.

“James, why are we locking all the windows? Are we afraid of overcurious pigeons?”

“The last time I saw you shocked was when that Iblis demon was sending Christopher love letters.” “I have a dark charm,” said Christopher sadly.

He stopped, realizing that he had become entirely crazed sometime in the past ten seconds.

“‘Demons in unusual places’ was Benedict’s motto,” said Matthew,

Thomas was frowning. “My aunt Tatiana is mad. My father has often said so, that his sister was driven to madness by what happened to her father and her husband. She blames our parents for their deaths.” “But James has never done anything to her,” said Christopher, his eyebrows knitting together. “He’s a Herondale,” said Thomas. “That’s enough.” “That’s ridiculous,” Christopher said. “It is as if one was bitten by a duck and years later one shot a completely different duck and ate it for dinner, and called that revenge.” “Please do not use metaphors, Christopher,” said Matthew. “It gives me the pip.” “This is bad enough without mentioning ducks,” said James. He had never fancied ducks since one had bitten him in Hyde Park as a small child.

“I am always going to the devil,” said Matthew, a glint in his eye.

“You know the stories of my grandfather, I am sure?” Lucie raised an eyebrow. “The one who turned into a great worm because of demon pox, and was slain by my father and uncles?” “I feared your parents would not have considered it the kind of tale suitable for a young lady’s ears,” said Jesse. “I see that was an idle concern.” “They tell it every Christmas,” said Lucie smugly. Jesse stood up.

Matthew had procured another drink, possibly from a potted plant.

Thomas hadn’t decided yet whether to acknowledge Alastair, but he wasn’t given much choice. Alastair was staring directly at him. As Thomas watched, Alastair’s face went through a series of expressions: mild recognition, confusion, shock, exasperation, long-suffering forbearance. Thomas gave him a little wave. Alastair pushed his way through the people between them. “By the Angel, Lightwood,” he said. “You’ve become gigantic.”

“Ah, Magnus Bane,” said Matthew. “My personal hero.” “Indeed, you once described him as ‘Oscar Wilde if he had magic powers,’” said James.

“As I have known Charles since he was born, I have a difficult time taking him seriously as an authority figure,” said Will thoughtfully. “I suppose if he says anything I don’t like, I can request that he be spanked.” “Oh, yes, please,” said Matthew. “It would do him a world of good.”

“Yes, yes,” Cordelia said, starting back up the stairs. “I really do like tea!” James shouted from the bottom of the steps. “In fact, I love it! I LOVE TEA!” “Good for you, mate!” yelled the driver of a passing hansom cab.

James was studying the books on the walls—a very typically Herondale thing to do.

The words “If it hadn’t been for Alastair Carstairs, everything would have been ruined,” had actually passed Thomas’s lips, causing James to wonder if he’d wandered back into the demon realm.