“As will I,” said Thomas.
Christopher closed his doctor’s bag with a snap. “We’ll all stay,” he said.
Which was how they ended up sleeping curled on the eiderdown before the fire, like a litter of puppies. Matthew fell asleep almost immediately, and the others shortly after; James, back-to-back with Matthew, had not thought he would sleep, but the crackle of the logs in the fire and the soft breathing of the other Merry Thieves quieted him into an exhausted slumber. Only Oscar did not sleep: he padded a slight distance away and sat down, watching over them throughout the night.
* * *
Cordelia lay awake, tossing and turning on her bed. She missed Curzon Street; she missed her bed there, missed knowing James was only a room away. Here, she had Alastair and her mother, but it was not the same. Returning to Cornwall Gardens felt like trying to turn a key in a lock it no longer fit.
Over and over she heard Hypatia saying, You truly could become the greatest, most effective Shadowhunter that has ever been known. But at what a price! The price of embracing darkness, of accepting Lilith as her master. And had it not been a desire for greatness that had led her down this path? But then, how could it be wrong to want to be an excellent Shadowhunter? How could it be wrong to want to protect the world from Belial?
And not just the world, she knew. Lucie and James. They were targets; their vulnerability pierced her heart. Perhaps Lucie hated her now, and perhaps she had lost James, but everything inside her wanted to protect them.
She wondered what James had thought when he had gotten her message asking him to go to Matthew’s. She hoped he had done it. He and Matthew needed each other desperately, however stubborn they both might be.
She flopped over, knocking her pillow to the floor. Her hair was tangled, her eyes aching with tiredness. Hypatia had told her to fight in Lilith’s service. But that she would never do. Still—the memory of the Gamigin demon in Chiswick returned to her. She was sure that if she’d been able to question it longer, she would have learned more about Belial’s plans.
She sat up, staring sightlessly into the dark. Surely questioning a demon didn’t require lifting a weapon. And as long as she was Lilith’s paladin, she could take advantage of the demons’ fear of her. It would be a way to wrest something good out of her horrible binding to Lilith. A way to help Lucie, James, and the others.
Simply find a place of death or horror, scarred by tragedy, Hypatia had said. And Cordelia knew just the location.
* * *
Thomas was woken at dawn, by Oscar.
The other boys were still asleep, sprawled in a pile on the rug before the now-cold fireplace. Fingers of dawn light crept through the windowpanes, illuminating the curve of James’s shoulder, the glint off Christopher’s glasses, and Matthew’s bright hair.
Oscar was whimpering and fussing, darting between the door and Matthew, his nails clicking on the wood floor. Thomas bent over Matthew; he was fast asleep but breathing regularly, his hand clamped over James’s wrist. If he had not been so exhausted, he would certainly have been awakened by Oscar, which didn’t seem ideal.
Leaving Matthew to rest, Thomas rose to his feet. He glared down at Oscar—who looked up at him with wide brown eyes—said, “Why me?” under his breath, and went to get his coat.
Oscar happily snapped to his leash, they headed downstairs, passing the empty porter’s desk. Outside, Thomas gazed industriously into the distance while Oscar did what he needed to do under a plane tree.
Dawn was just beginning to illuminate the sky. It was a dusky-pink sort of dawn, with streaks of darker red cutting lengthwise through the lower clouds. Marylebone had not yet begun to awaken; there was not even the sound of a distant milk cart rattling along the streets to disturb the quiet.
In the reddish dawn, Whitby Mansions looked even pinker. Around its corner, Thomas noted, quite out of place, a dark shadow lurked.
“Alastair?” Thomas called, and the dark shadow started and turned toward him. Alastair was leaning against the building and appeared to have partially fallen asleep; he rubbed at his eyes, stared at Thomas and Oscar, and muttered something under his breath.
“Alastair.” Thomas approached him, Oscar trotting happily at his side. “What on earth are you doing?”
“I don’t think that dog likes me,” Alastair said, eyeing Oscar suspiciously.
“That doesn’t really answer the question, does it?”
Alastair sighed. He was wearing his dark blue paletot and a gray scarf. His thick black hair touched his collar, and his dark eyes were tired, the lids hanging heavy in a way that was almost seductive, though Thomas knew perfectly well it was only exhaustion. “All right,” he said. “Cordelia told me what happened. And believe it or not, I was worried.”
“About Matthew?” Oscar bounced at his owner’s name. “I’m not sure I do believe you.”
“Thomas,” Alastair said, with exaggerated patience, “I have a great deal of experience with drunks. I know what it means when they stop drinking suddenly. How ill they get. My father nearly killed himself a few times.”
“Oh,” Thomas said. “Well, why didn’t you ring the bell, then? Come up?”
“I arrived,” Alastair said, “and realized my presence might not be entirely welcome. I had been rather impulsive.” He looked surprised as Oscar sat on his feet. “Why is he doing that?”
“Because he does like you. He likes everybody. He’s a dog. So you decided you didn’t want to come in, and you’d just stand out here all night?”
“I thought I’d stand out here until one of you came out, and I’d ask how Matthew was. I could at least bring the information back to Cordelia. She’s sick with worry.” He patted Oscar’s head tentatively. “I admit I hoped it would be you. There’s something I’ve been meaning—needing—to tell you.”
Thomas’s heart gave a treacherous thump. He looked around, and then reminded himself they were both glamoured. No mundane could see them, and Shadowhunter patrols had ended with the sunrise. He moved a step closer to Alastair, and then another step, until he, Oscar, and Alastair were crowded together under the arch of a false doorway.
“All right,” Thomas said. “What is it?”
Alastair looked at him, his eyes sleepy, sensual. His licked his lips, and Thomas thought of their kiss in the library, the delicious friction of their mouths sliding together, and Alastair said, “I’m leaving London soon. I’m moving to Tehran.”
Thomas took a step back, accidentally putting a foot on Oscar’s paw. Oscar yelped resentfully, and Thomas bent to lay a hand on the dog’s head. It provided a blessed opportunity to hide his expression.
“My mother is going to move to Tehran with the baby,” Alastair said, “and I cannot let her go alone. If I don’t accompany her, Cordelia will volunteer, but Cordelia needs to stay here. She is the one with friends, a future parabatai, and a husband here. All I have is you.”
Thomas straightened up. His heart felt as if it had frozen in his chest. “And I am not enough?”
“You can’t be my only reason to stay,” Alastair whispered. “I can’t expect you to carry that weight. It isn’t fair to you.”