Cast Long Shadows (Ghosts of the Shadow Market #2)(11)

Christopher’s face cleared. “Oh! Oh yes, I see. Yes, there is a lady.”

“Christopher!” Matthew exclaimed, delighted. “You sly dog! Do I know her?”

“No, I cannot think so,” said Christopher. “She is a mundane.”

“Christopher, you dark horse,” said Matthew. “What is her name?”

“Mrs.—”

“A married lady!” Matthew said, overwhelmed. “No, no. I beg your pardon. Please go on.”

“Mrs. Marie Curie,” said Christopher. “I believe her to be one of the preeminent scientists of the age. If you read her papers, Matthew, I believe you would be most interest—”

“Have you ever met this lady,” said Matthew in dangerous tones.

“No?” said Christopher, heedless of danger as he often was around irate teachers and naked flames.

Christopher had the audacity to look surprised when Matthew began to belabor him mightily about the head and face.

“Watch the test tubes!” cried Thomas. “There is a hole in the floor at the Academy that Professor Fell calls the Christopher Lightwood Chasm.”

“I suppose I hate some people,” offered James. “Augustus Pounceby. Lavinia Whitelaw. Alastair Carstairs.”

Matthew regarded his very own parabatai with deep approval.

“This is why we are chosen warrior partners, because we share such a perfect bond of sympathy. Come to me, Jamie, that we might share a manly embrace.”

He made incursions upon Jamie’s person. James thwacked him over the head with his book. It was a large book.

“Betrayed,” said Matthew, writhing prone upon the floor. “Is that why you insist on carrying about enormous tomes everywhere you go, that you might visit violence upon innocent persons? Done to death by my best friend—my heart’s brother—my own dear parabatai—”

He snagged James around the waist and brought him crashing to the floor for the second time that day. James hit Matthew with the book again, then subsided, leaning his shoulder against Matthew’s. They were both thoroughly rumpled, but Matthew did not mind being rumpled for a good cause.

Matthew jostled James, very thankful that he had brought up Alastair and provided Matthew an opening to tell his secret.

“Alastair is not so bad,” said Thomas unexpectedly from the sofa.

They all looked at him, and Tom curled up like an earwig under their scrutiny but persisted.

“I know what Alastair did to James was wrong,” Thomas said. “Alastair knows that very well too. That was why he was prickly whenever it was mentioned.”

“How is that different from his usual ghastly demeanor?” Matthew demanded. “Besides him being particularly noxious the day everybody else’s parents came to the Academy.”

He paused to consider how to tell them, but that gave Thomas a chance to speak.

“Yes, exactly. Everybody’s papa came but Alastair’s,” Thomas said quietly. “Alastair was jealous. Mr. Herondale came rushing to Jamie’s defense, and nobody came for Alastair.”

“Can one truly blame the man?” asked Matthew. “Had I such an insufferable toad of a son, and were he blessedly to be sent away to school, I am not sure I could bring myself to blast my sight with his visage until the accursed holidays carried him back to me again.”

Thomas did not look convinced by Matthew’s sound argument. Matthew took a deep breath.

“You do not know what he said to me the day we were expelled.”

Tom shrugged. “Some nonsense, I expect. He always speaks the most shocking nonsense when he is overset. You shouldn’t listen to him.”

James’s shoulder was tense against Matthew’s. James had been the chief object of Alastair’s malice. Thomas clearly intended to defend Alastair stoutly. This line of argument was bound to upset either James or Thomas. Matthew was not about to soothe his own feelings at the expense of Jamie’s or Tom’s.

Matthew gave up. “I cannot imagine why anyone would listen to him.”

“Oh well,” said Tom. “I like his nonsense.” He looked wistful. “I think Alastair masks his pain with cleverly turned phrases.”

“What absolute bosh,” said Matthew.

Thomas was too nice, that was Thomas’s problem. Really, people would let you get away with being the worst sort of scoundrel if you simply had a secret sorrow or did not rub along terribly well with your father.

It was definitely something to look into.

His papa was the best papa in the world, so Matthew had no opportunity to be cruelly oppressed or sadly neglected. Perhaps Matthew should spend his time brooding over a forbidden passion like James was currently doing.

Matthew decided to give unrequited love a try. He stared out the window with all the pensive force he could muster. He was preparing to pass a hand across his fevered brow and murmur “Alas, my lost love” or some other such rot when he was abruptly rapped upon the head with a book.

Honestly, Jamie was lethal with that thing.

“Are you quite well, Matthew?” Jamie inquired. “Your face suggests you are suffering from an ague.”

Matthew nodded, but he ducked his head down against Jamie’s coat and stayed there for a moment. It had never occurred to Matthew that Alastair might be jealous of James’s father. He could not imagine being jealous of anybody’s papa. Having the best papa in the world, Matthew would be perfectly satisfied with him.