AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Anna’s arms rose to twine about her, and everything else—Ari’s parents, her future in the Enclave, her imaginary flat—was forgotten in the tide of fire that swept across her skin as she luxuriated in the touch and feel of Anna, of Anna’s clever hands, of the pleasure given and received between them, as strong and shining and delicate as flame.
17 LAMP OF NIGHT
Deep in her eyes the lamp of night
Burns with a secret flame,
Where shadows pass that have no sight,
And ghosts that have no name.
—James Elroy Flecker, “Destroyer of Ships, Men, Cities”
Outside the Whitby Mansions, that big pink wedding cake of a building which housed Matthew’s flat, James looked up at its turrets and curlicues and felt a stabbing reminder of the last time he had been here. He had come racing in, sure Cordelia was here, only to be told by the lobby porter that Matthew and Cordelia had already left for the train station. To go to Paris.
And his whole world had broken apart, shattering like his cursed bracelet. Though it had not broken into two neat halves—rather a sort of pile of ragged bits, which he had been trying to put back together ever since.
This time the porter barely took any notice of him, only waved a hand when James announced he was here to see Mr. Fairchild. James took the lift up and, on a hunch, tried the doorknob before even bothering to knock. It was open, and he went inside.
To his surprise, the first thing he saw was Thomas, kneeling in front of the fireplace. The fire was burning high and the flat was hotter than was comfortable, but Thomas only set another log on the fire and shrugged at James.
In front of the fireplace had been laid a pile of thick eiderdowns. Curled on the blankets was Matthew, in an untucked shirt and trousers, his feet bare. His eyes were closed. James felt a pain at his heart—Matthew looked so young. His chin was on his fist, his long eyelashes feathering down against his cheeks. He seemed asleep.
“Cordelia summoned you as well, I see,” James said to Thomas in a low voice.
Thomas nodded. “All of us, I think. Your parents were willing to let you out of the house?”
“They understood it was important,” James said absently. He went to sit down on the sofa. Matthew had begun shivering, burrowing down into the blanket as his body shook. “He can’t be cold.”
Thomas glanced at Matthew. “It’s not the temperature. He’s… not well. He won’t eat—I tried to get some beef tea into him but it didn’t stay down. He drank a bit of water, at least.”
There was a scuffling noise, which James realized after a moment must be Oscar, shut into Matthew’s bedroom. As if he knew James was looking in his direction, the dog whined sadly from behind the closed door. “Why is Oscar in there?” James demanded.
Thomas sighed and rubbed his hand across his forehead. “Matthew asked me to shut him in. I don’t know why. Perhaps he’s worried about Oscar making noise and bothering the other tenants.”
James doubted Matthew was concerned about the other tenants, but he said nothing. Instead he got up, kicked off his shoes, and crawled onto the blanket with Matthew.
“Don’t wake him up,” Thomas warned, but James could see the thin crescent of green visible beneath Matthew’s eyelids.
“I think he’s awake,” James said, knowing Matthew was awake, but wishing to let him keep pretending if he liked. “And I was thinking—sometimes an iratze can be good for a hangover. It might be worth trying here. Since I’m his parabatai…”
Matthew thrust his arm out from the blanket pile. His sleeves were already unbuttoned at the cuffs, and the loose material flapped dramatically around his wrist. “Have at it,” he said. His voice was raspy, although considering how hot and dry it was in the flat, that wasn’t surprising.
James nodded. Thomas poked at the fire, watching curiously as James drew Matthew’s arm across his lap. He took his stele from his jacket, and carefully applied the healing rune to the blue-veined skin of Matthew’s forearm.
When he was done, Matthew exhaled and flexed his fingers. “Does it help?” said James.
“My head pounds with slightly less intensity,” Matthew said. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Look—I didn’t ask Cordelia to dispatch you here. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,” James said. “You can be an ass, but you’re not a burden.”
There was a scuffling sound at the doors. Christopher had arrived, carrying a black doctor’s bag and wearing a determined expression. “Oh, good,” he said without preamble. “You’re all here.”
“Well, where else would I be?” Matthew said. His fair hair was stuck to his forehead and cheeks with sweat. He stayed propped up on his elbows as Christopher came and knelt on the eiderdown near James. He set his black bag down and began rummaging through it.
“Why is the fire built up so high?” Christopher asked.
“I was cold,” Matthew said. He looked on the verge of pushing his bottom lip out, like a defiant child.
