“It isn’t her birthday,” said Hypatia. “Merely a day of celebration. We believe it to be the time she left the Garden of Eden.”
“The red baubles hanging from the trees,” Cordelia said, realizing. “They’re apples. Forbidden fruit.”
“The Hell Ruelle delights,” said Hypatia, smiling, “at the consumption of that which is forbidden. We believe it is more delicious for being taboo.”
Matthew shrugged. “I can’t see why the Clave would mind. I don’t believe we need to celebrate Lilith, or anything like that. It’s really just decorations.”
Hypatia looked amused. “Of course. Nothing else. Which reminds me…”
She glanced meaningfully at Kellington’s faerie companion, who rose and offered Hypatia her seat. Hypatia took it without a second glance, spreading her skirts out around her. The faerie melted back into the crowd as Hypatia went on, “My Pyxis has been missing since the last night you were here, Miss Carstairs. Matthew was here too, I remember. I’m wondering if I might have inadvertently made a gift of it to you?”
Oh no. Cordelia thought of the Pyxis they had stolen months ago: it had exploded during a battle with a Mandikhor demon. She looked at Matthew. He shrugged and nicked a mug of spiced wine from the tray of a passing faerie waiter. Cordelia cleared her throat. “I believe you did, actually. I believe you wished me the best of luck for my future.”
“Not only was it a thoughtful gift,” Matthew added, “it was very helpful in saving the city of London from destruction.”
“Yes,” Cordelia agreed. “Instrumental. An absolutely necessary aid in preventing complete disaster.”
“Mr. Fairchild, you are a bad influence on Miss Carstairs. She is beginning to develop a worrying amount of cheek.” Hypatia turned to Cordelia, her starry eyes unreadable. “I must say, I’m a bit surprised to see you tonight. I would have thought a Shadowhunter bride would want to spend the evening before her nuptials sharpening her weapons, or beheading stuffed dummies.”
Cordelia began to wonder why Matthew had brought her to the Ruelle. No one wanted to spend the night before their wedding being scorned by haughty warlocks, however interestingly decorated the surroundings. “I am no ordinary Shadowhunter bride,” she said shortly.
Hypatia only smiled. “As you say,” she said. “I think there are a few guests here who’ve been expecting you.”
Cordelia glanced across the room and saw, to her surprise, two familiar figures sitting at a table. Anna Lightwood, gorgeous as always in a fitted frock coat and blue spats, and Lucie Herondale, looking neat and pretty in an ivory dress with blue beading and waving energetically.
“Did you invite them?” she said to Matthew, who had turned up his flask again. He tipped it into his mouth, grimaced at finding it empty, and tucked it back into his pocket. His eyes were glitter-bright.
“I did,” he said. “I can’t stay—must make my way to James’s party—but I wanted to make sure you were well accompanied. They have instructions to dance and drink the night away with you. Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Cordelia leaned in to kiss Matthew on the cheek—he smelled of cloves and brandy—but he turned his face at the last moment, and her kiss brushed his lips. She drew away quickly and saw Kellington and Hypatia both watching her with sharp eyes.
“Before you go, Fairchild, I see your flask is empty,” said Kellington. “Come with me to the bar; I’ll have it refilled with anything you like.”
He was looking at Matthew with a curious expression—a bit the way Cordelia recalled Kellington looking at her, after her dance. A hungry sort of look.
“I’ve never been one to turn down the offer of ‘anything you like,’？” said Matthew, allowing himself to be spirited away by Kellington. Cordelia considered calling out after him but decided against it—and anyway, Anna was gesturing at her to come join their table.
She took her leave of Hypatia and was halfway across the room when something caught her eye in the shadows: two male figures, close together. She realized with a jolt that they were Matthew and Kellington. Matthew was leaning against the wall, Kellington—the taller of the two—bending over him.
Kellington’s hand rose to cup the back of Matthew’s neck, his fingers in Matthew’s soft hair.
Cordelia saw Matthew shake his head just as more dancers joined the throng on the floor, cutting off her view; when they passed, she saw that Matthew was gone and Kellington, looking stormy, was headed back across the room toward Hypatia. She wondered why she had been so shocked—it was hardly news to her that Matthew liked men as well as women, and Matthew was single: his decisions were his own. Still, Kellington’s overall air discomfited her. She hoped Matthew would be careful—