“As far as the Enclave goes, the news has started to leak out that it’s Thomas who’s suspected. About half of those who know think he did it, and the other half still think it’s a warlock, or a Downworlder who’s hired a warlock,” said Anna.
“Perhaps it would help if we figured out what this does,” Christopher said, indicating the adamas object. “Then we might know if it was Miss Highsmith’s, or the killer’s, or something else entirely. Oh—I’ve decided to call it a pithos. It’s a sort of container in Greek mythology.”
“But we can’t be sure there’s anything inside it, Kit,” said Matthew. “It could be one of Miss Highsmith’s paperweights. She might have had a tremendous collection.”
“I don’t believe it was hers. I think the killer dropped it at the murder scene. It certainly isn’t a Shadowhunter object—not with runes like this on it.” Christopher sighed, his lilac eyes mournful. “I just don’t like it when I don’t know what things do.”
“I don’t like it that Bridgestock seems to have it in for Thomas,” Matthew said. “He seems desperate to see him convicted.”
“I’ve always had the sense,” said James, “that Bridgestock was none too fond of any of us—our parents, really. I don’t know why. He’s older; perhaps he finds them irresponsible. He probably thinks that if he’s the one to catch the killer, he might get promoted, or win the next Consul term.”
“Over Charles?” said Matthew. “I will enjoy watching that punching match.”
“Enough about politics,” said Cordelia. “Thomas is languishing in jail—I know it’s the Sanctuary, but it’s still jail—and so is my brother. I know you don’t care particularly what happens to Alastair, but I do.”
She hadn’t meant the words to come out quite so pugnaciously. After a moment, James said, “Daisy, what Alastair did was quite brave. Not in the least because he did it for someone he knows dislikes him.”
“It was rather selfless,” said Lucie. “Honestly, we do care what happens to Alastair.”
“We do?” Christopher sighed. “I feel as if I can never quite keep up. Why was he following Thomas again?”
“For me,” Cordelia said firmly. “So I wouldn’t worry.”
Christopher looked as if he had another question. Quickly, Anna interrupted, “One thing I feel has not been mentioned is that these killings have all happened near dawn. As if for some reason, the murderer is waiting for the night to near its end.”
“Thinner patrols, perhaps,” James suggested. “Shadowhunters starting to head home.”
“Truly, our knife-faced demon is a clever fiend,” Christopher said, causing Matthew to gaze at his flask.
James looked thoughtfully at the pithos. “One of these runes resembles a rune for ‘dawn,’？” he observed.
Cordelia picked the box up, turning it over in her hand. Like all adamas, it was smooth and cool to the touch, humming with a sense of potential power. At first glance, the etched designs on the object resembled a matted tangle of yarn, individual runes indistinguishable from each other. But as she gazed at them, she began to detect a pattern of jagged, branching designs, as if additions and modifications had been made to familiar runes. It was like nothing else she had quite seen before.
“There must be someone who can tell us what this is,” she said. “I agree with Christopher. It feels quite unlikely to be anything a Shadowhunter would have owned.”
“It is very odd that it’s adamas,” said Matthew. “Only the Iron Sisters mine it, and only Shadowhunters can use it.”
“Technically, but there is quite an underground trade in the stuff,” said Anna. “Old steles and the like fetch a price at the Shadow Market. Not many can work the material, but it has potency as a catalyst for magic.”
“Well, there it is,” James said. “We must go to the Shadow Market. It’s in Southwark, isn’t it? Near St. Saviour’s?”
Lucie winked at Cordelia across the table. Cordelia had always wanted to go to a Shadow Market—transitory bazaars where Downworlders gathered to hawk enchanted wares, conduct business, and gossip. Many different cities had Shadow Markets, but Cordelia had never had the opportunity to visit one.
Matthew took a long drink from his flask. “I despise the Shadow Market.”
James looked puzzled. Of course, Cordelia recalled with a jolt. The potion Matthew had bought, which had nearly killed his mother—it had come from the Shadow Market. But James didn’t know that. No one else knew but her.