Every Exquisite Thing (Ghosts of the Shadow Market 3)

"You're sounding a bit dire," Anna said.

"It's true," he replied. "Our greatest poet, and he died in poverty and obscurity, not so long ago. They threw him in jail because he loved another man. I do not think love can be wrong."

"No," Anna said. She had always known that she loved women the way she was expected to love men. That she found women beautiful and desirable, while men were good friends, brothers-in-arms, but nothing more. She had never pretended otherwise, and her close friends all seemed to accept this about her as a known fact.

But it was true that though Matthew and the others often joked with her about slaying the hearts of pretty girls, it was not something she and her mother had ever talked about. She recalled her mother touching her hair fondly in the carriage. What did Cecily truly think of her odd daughter?

Not now, she told herself. She turned to the woman in the turban, who had been trying to get her attention. "Yes?"

"My dear," the woman said. "You must be sure to be here in a week's time. The faithful will be rewarded, I promise you. The ancient ones, so long hidden from us, shall be revealed."

"Of course," Anna said, blinking. "Yes. Wouldn't miss it for the world."

While she was simply making conversation, Anna found that she would like to return to this place. She had come here dressed as she was, and she had received only approbation. In fact, she was sure that one of the vampire girls was examining her with a look that was not entirely wholesome. And Leopolda, the beautiful warlock, had not taken her eyes from Anna. Had Anna's mind and soul not been full of Ariadne . . .

Well, it could only be left to the imagination.

As Matthew and Anna left the house that night, they did not notice a figure across the street, standing in the shadows.

Jem recognized Matthew at once, but was confused at first as to who was with him. The person resembled his parabatai, Will Herondale--not Will as he was now, but Will at seventeen, with his confident swagger and upturned chin. But that could not be. And the person was obviously not James, Will's son.

It took him several minutes to realize that the young man was not a young man at all. It was Anna Lightwood, Will's niece. She had inherited the dark hair and the profile from the Herondale side of her family, and clearly, she had inherited her uncle's swagger. For a moment, Jem felt a pang in his heart. It was like seeing his friend as a young man again, as the two of them had been when they lived at the Institute together and fought side by side, as they had been when Tessa Gray first arrived at their door.

Was it really so long ago?

Jem shook the thought loose and focused on the present. Anna was in some sort of disguise, and she and Matthew had just been at a Downworlder gathering with a warlock he had come to observe. He had no idea what they were doing there.

A full week passed. A full week of Anna running for the post, looking from the window, walking partway to Cavendish Square before turning back. A lifetime. It was agony, and just as it was turning to acceptance, Anna was called downstairs early Friday morning to find Ariadne waiting for her in a yellow dress and a white hat.

"Good morning," Ariadne said. "Why aren't you ready?"

"Ready?" Anna said, her throat gone dry at the sudden appearance of Ariadne.

"To train!"

"I--"

"Good morning, Ariadne!" Cecily Lightwood said, coming in with Alexander.

"Oh!" Ariadne's eyes lit up when she saw the baby. "Oh, I must hold him--I simply adore babies."

The appearance of Alexander bought Anna enough time to scramble upstairs, catch her breath, splash water on her face, and collect her gear. Five minutes later, Anna was seated next to Ariadne in the Bridgestock carriage, rumbling toward the Institute. They were alone now, close to each other in the warm carriage. The smell of Ariadne's orange-blossom perfume wafted up and wrapped around Anna.

"Did I disturb you?" Ariadne said. "I had simply hoped . . . that you might be free to train with me . . ." She looked worried. "I hope I did not presume. Are you angry?"

"No," Anna replied. "I could never be angry with you."

Anna tried to make it sound light, but a husky note of truth rang through.

"Good." Ariadne looked radiantly pleased at that and crossed her hands on her lap. "I would hate to displease you."

When they arrived at the Institute, Anna changed much more quickly than Ariadne. She waited in the training room, nervously pacing, taking knives from the walls and throwing them to steady her nerves.

Just training. Simple training.

"You have a good arm," Ariadne said.

Ariadne was stunning in her dresses; the gear revealed something else. She was still feminine, with her long hair and lush curves, but unencumbered by pounds of fabric, she moved with grace and speed.

"How would you like to begin?" Anna said. "Do you have a preferred weapon? Or should we do some climbing? Work on the beam?"

"Whatever you think is best," Ariadne replied.

"Shall we start with blades?" Anna said, taking one from the wall.

Whatever Ariadne had been doing in Idris, it did not involve much training. She had been accurate in that. When she threw, her arm was weak. Anna came up and guided her, forcing herself to maintain her composure as she took Ariadne's hand in hers and guided the toss. She was surprisingly good at climbing, but once on the ceiling beam, she took a bad tumble. Anna jumped underneath and caught her neatly.

"Oh, very impressive!" Ariadne said, smiling.

Anna stood there for a moment, Ariadne in her arms, unsure of what to do. There was something in Ariadne's gaze, in the way she was looking at Anna . . . as if mesmerized . . .

How did she ask? How did this happen with someone like Ariadne?

It was too much.

"A very good attempt," Anna said, gently setting Ariadne on her feet. "Just . . . watch your footing."

"I think I've had enough of that for today," Ariadne said. "How does one have fun in London?"

Oh, so many ways.

"Well," Anna said. "There is the theater, and the zoo is--"

"No." Ariadne took hold of one of the pillars and gently spun around it. "Fun. Surely, you know a place."

"Well," Anna said, searching her mind frantically, "I know a place full of writers and poets. It is quite louche. It is in Soho and starts after midnight."

"Then I assume you will be taking me," Ariadne said, eyes sparkling. "I will wait for you by my window at midnight tonight."

The wait that evening was excruciating.

Anna picked at her dinner and watched the clock across the room. Christopher was forming his carrots into a pyramid and working something out in his head. Her mother was feeding Alexander. Anna was counting her heartbeats. She had to try not to appear conspicuous. She spent some time in the family room with her baby brother; she picked up a book and cast an eye blankly over the pages. By nine, she was able to stretch and say she was going to have a bath and retire.

Back in her room, Anna waited until she heard the other members of the household go to bed before changing her clothes. She had taken the time to clean her outfit and mend it as best she could. When she dressed, she looked dapper and dangerous. She had decided now that this was how she would dress if she slipped out on adventures, even to meet Ariadne.

She slipped out of her window at eleven, sliding down a rope which she tossed back inside. She could have jumped, but it had taken her some time to arrange her hair under the hat correctly. She walked to Belgravia, and this time she did not bother to avoid the pools of streetlight. She wanted to be seen. She straightened her back and widened her step. The more she walked, the m

ore she felt herself slipping into the gait, the attitude. She tipped her hat to a lady passing in a carriage; the lady smiled and looked away shyly.

Anna knew now that she was never going to go back to wearing dresses. She had always loved the theater, always loved the idea of a performance. The first time she had worn her brother's clothes it had been a performance, but with each time she did it again, it became more her reality. She was not a man and did not want to be--but why should men get to keep all the good pieces of masculinity for themselves because of an accident of birth? Why should she, Anna, not wear their clothes, and their power and confidence, too?

You have stolen fire from the gods.

Anna's swagger faded a bit as she turned the corner on to Cavendish Square. Would Adriane accept her like this? It had felt so right a moment before, but now . . .

She almost turned back, but then she turned on her heel and forced herself on.

The Bridgestock house was dark. Anna looked up, fearing that Ariadne had been teasing. But then she saw a flick of a curtain, and the sash window opened. Ariadne looked down at her.

And she smiled.

A rope sailed out of the window, and Ariadne slid down it, more gracefully than she had in training. She wore a light blue dress, which fluttered as she dropped.

"Oh my," she said, walking up to Anna. "You look . . . quite devastating."

Anna would not have traded the way Ariadne looked at her in that moment for a thousand pounds.

They took a carriage to Soho. Though she and Ariadne were both glamoured to hide their Marks from mundanes, Anna enjoyed the look she got from the driver when he realized the handsome young gent in his cab was a handsome young lady. He doffed his cap as she and Ariadne alighted from the cab, muttering something about "young people these days."

They arrived at the house, but this time, when Anna knocked on the door, the person answering was less accommodating. He looked at Anna, then at Ariadne.

"No Shadowhunters," he said.

"That was not your previous policy," Anna said. She noticed that the windows were now covered in heavy velvet curtains.