Thomas supposed this line of reason had merit, but he’d rather thought something serious had already happened between them. He had been a bit crushed, but thought he had hidden it well.
Now he rushed to smooth down his clothes, throw on his jacket, and kick his feet back into his shoes. Alastair did the same, and by the time the door swung open, they were both standing on opposite sides of the room, fully dressed.
Which was a good thing, because into the room strode Thomas’s uncle Will and aunt Tessa. Tessa wore a sea-green French silk dress, her long brown hair bound up in a chignon. Will had clearly discarded his coat somewhere and was carrying a long, heavily ornamented scabbard balanced jauntily on his shoulder. A hilt whose cross guard had been carved in the shape of an angel with outspread wings protruded from the scabbard.
“This thing,” Will said cheerily to Thomas, “is bloody heavy.”
“Is that the Mortal Sword?” said Alastair, looking incredulous.
“We had the Mortal Sword with us in Paris—we brought it as a show of good faith, to demonstrate that we would be nothing but truthful to the vampires of Marseilles. We hurried home as soon as we finished our business with them. Good to see you, young Alastair. I heard what you did for Thomas. Very thoughtful.”
“Just reporting what I saw,” said Alastair, who seemed in danger of retreating into his usual sulk.
“Oh, indeed,” said Will, a gleam in his eye. “Now, for the bad news—”
“We asked if we could do this privately,” said Tessa. “Just the four of us. But the Inquisitor wouldn’t hear of it. He insists on being present.”
“Technically, darling, being present during interrogations is his job,” said Will.
Tessa sighed. “I’m sure at one point in history there’s been a pleasant, grandfatherly sort of Inquisitor, and we’ve just never met them,” she said. “Will, dear, I’m going to check in with Gabriel and Cecily. Lucie’s off at James and Cordelia’s—the minx ducked out last night and left a note. We’ll have to remind her about showing proper respect to one’s aunt and uncle and asking permission before disappearing in the middle of the night to pay social calls.”
She smiled affectionately at Will and gave Thomas an encouraging look before letting herself out of the Sanctuary.
“Thanks for coming here straight from Paris,” Thomas said, feeling grim.
“I thought, better to get it over with,” said Will. “Bit of trial by the Sword before breakfast, what?”
Alastair looked dismayed; Thomas, who was used to his uncle’s ways, shrugged. “You’ll get used to it,” he said to Alastair. “The more alarming the situation, the more frivolous my uncle’s demeanor becomes.”
“Is that right?” said Alastair bleakly.
“It is right,” said Will. “I do not believe my nephew is a murderer; therefore, he has nothing to fear from the Mortal Sword.”
“He might have something to fear from the Inquisitor,” said Alastair. “Bridgestock desperately wants it to be a Shadowhunter. He needs it to be, so he can have been right about the whole situation. If you let him run the interrogation—”
“I won’t,” Will said quietly.
The door of the Sanctuary pushed open a bit, and Matthew poked his head through. Thomas could see that behind him there was a press of people: he thought he saw Christopher, and Eugenia behind him, stretching for a glimpse through the doors. He wondered what time it was—morning, he thought, but beyond that it was anyone’s guess.
“Hullo, Thomas,” Matthew said with a smile, then looked over at Alastair and added in an icy voice, “Carstairs.”
“Fairchild,” said Alastair in an equally cold tone. Thomas thought perhaps Alastair was relieved to have some normalcy in this situation, even if it was just his and Matthew’s mutual contempt.
“Certainly not.” Inquisitor Bridgestock stalked into the Sanctuary, followed by Charlotte. It was a jolt to see Charlotte in her formal Consul robes. Beside her, Bridgestock was wrapped in the official black and gray of the Inquisitor—a long black cloak, figured with gray runes, a silver brooch at his chest, black boots with metal buckles. Thomas’s stomach swooped and fell; Bridgestock meant business. “Get out, Fairchild.”
Charlotte shot a glare at Bridgestock and turned to Matthew. “You’d better go, darling,” she said gently. “It’ll be all right. Charles Portaled back home this morning too, if you want to see him.”