Every Exquisite Thing (Ghosts of the Shadow Market #3)

“Yes,” she said. “I know all. You will put out your arm. I will take the blood, I will tell you what you so wish to know, and I will leave. We will both be satisfied. I assure you, what I give you is so much more than I ask. It is a bargain of the highest order.”

You do not have the advantages you think you have, Leopolda Stain, he said. I have known you were here since you set foot on these shores. I knew you were a friend of Mortmain’s. I know you want this blood to continue his works, and I will never allow that.

Her lip curled. “But you are kind,” she said. “You are famous for it. You will not hurt me.”

Jem took his staff, spinning it between his hands, and held it balanced lightly between himself and Leopolda. He knew a hundred different ways to kill her with it. He could break her neck.

That was my Shadowhunter self, he said. I have killed with this staff, though I prefer not to. Either you tell me what I wish to know, or you die. It is your choice.

He saw, from the look in her eyes, that she believed him.

Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you go with your life.

Leopolda swallowed. “First, swear upon your Angel that you will allow me to leave tonight.”

I swear upon the Angel.

Leopolda smiled a long, vulpine smile.

“The ritual that created your Tessa was magnificent,” she said. “Such glory. I never thought such a thing could be done, mating a Shadowhunter with a demon . . .”

Do not delay. Tell me.

“Your Tessa’s father was the greatest of Eidolon demons. The most beautiful creature in any hell, for he has a thousand shapes.”

A Greater Demon? Jem had feared it. No wonder James could turn himself to smoke and Tessa herself could take any form, even that of an angel. A line of Nephilim and Greater Demons. There was no history of such impossible beings. Even now, he could not think of them as new and strange creations with incredible powers. They were simply Tessa and James. People he loved beyond measure. You are saying Tessa’s father was a Greater Demon?

The Clave could never know. He could not tell them. His heart lurched. Could he tell Tessa? Would it be better for her to know, or not?

“I am saying,” Leopolda said, “that he was a Prince of Hell. What an honor to be born of him. Sooner or later, Jem Carstairs, blood will out, and such a beautiful power will blaze through this city.”

She rose to her feet.

The greatest of Eidolons? I need more than that. What was his name?

She shook her head. “The price for the name is blood, James Carstairs, and if you will not pay it, another will.”

She brought her hand out from behind her back and flung a handful of powder at Jem. Had his eyes not been protected by magic, it would likely have blinded him. As it was, he staggered back long enough for her to run past him to the door. She reached it in seconds and threw it open.

On the other side of it were two huge werewolves, flanking Woolsey Scott.

“As expected,” Woolsey said, looking at Leopolda with contempt. “Kill her, boys. Let her be an example to others who would freely spill blood in our city.”

Leopolda screamed and whirled on Jem, wide-eyed. “You said you would let me leave! You swore!”

Jem felt very weary. I am not the one who is stopping you.

She cried out as the werewolves, already half-transformed, flung themselves on her. Jem turned away while the sound of ripping flesh and shrieks tore through the room.





The summer dawn came early. Ariadne was sleeping gently, and Anna heard the maid stirring downstairs. She had not slept yet, even after Ariadne had dropped off. Anna did not want to move from this warm spot. She played with the lace edges of the pillow and watched Ariadne’s eyelashes flicker as if she were in the depths of a dream.

But the sky was turning from black to the soft peach color of sunrise. Soon there would be a maid at the door with a tray. Soon, life would intrude.

It would only hurt Ariadne if she were found here. It was her duty to leave this place.

She kissed Ariadne softly, so as to not wake her. Then she dressed and slipped out the sash window. The dark did not quite obscure her now as she walked through the misty London morning in her men’s clothes. A few people turned their heads to get a second look at her, and she was fairly sure that some of those looks were admiring, even if she was mostly missing one of her sleeves and had lost her hat. She decided to take the longer way home, through Hyde Park. The colors were soft in the sunrise, the waters of the Serpentine still. She felt friendship toward the ducks and the pigeons. She smiled at strangers.

This was what love was. It was total. It brought her together with everything. Anna barely cared if she made it home before someone would notice her missing. She wanted to feel like this forever—exactly this, this soft and fragrant and friendly morning, with the feel of Ariadne still on her skin. Her future, so confused before, was clear. She would be with Ariadne forever. They would travel the world, fight side by side.

Eventually, she had to walk toward her home, where she climbed up to her window with ease. She removed her brother’s clothing and slipped into bed. Within seconds, she dropped into the easy embrace of sleep and felt herself back in Ariadne’s arms.





She woke just before noon. Someone had brought her a tea tray and left it next to her bed. She drank the now-cold tea. She took a cool bath and examined the wound on her arm. The healing runes Ariadne had drawn had done their work. The area was still red and angry, but she could cover it with a shawl. She dressed in her plainest, most severely cut gown—so funny now, to be dressed as a girl—and put a silk shawl over her shoulders, winding it carefully over the damaged arm. She went downstairs. Her mother sat in a sunny corner of the sitting room, little Alexander on her lap.

“There you are,” her mother said. “Are you ill?”

“No,” Anna said. “I was foolish. I stayed up quite late reading a book.”

“Now I know you are ill,” her mother said with a smile, which Anna returned.

“I need to take a walk in the sunshine. It is such a lovely day. I shall go see Lucie and James, I think, and discuss my book with them.”

Her mother gave her a curious look, but agreed.

Anna did not walk to the Herondale house. She turned instead toward Belgravia, stopping to buy a bunch of violets from an old woman selling them in the street. Her steps were light. The world was perfectly arranged, and all things and beings in it were worthy of love. Anna could have done anything in that moment—fought off a hundred demons at once, lifted a carriage over her head, danced on a wire. She passed along the pavements she had been on only hours before, back to her love.

At the house off of Cavendish Square, Anna knocked once, then stood nervously on the step, looking up. Was Ariadne in her room? Would she look down?

The door was opened by the Bridgestocks’ unsmiling servant.

“The family is receiving guests at the moment, Miss Lightwood. Perhaps you would like to wait in the—”

At that moment, the reception-room door opened, and the Inquisitor walked out with a young man who had familiar features and red hair—Charles Fairchild, Matthew’s brother. Anna rarely saw Charles. He was always somewhere, usually Idris. He and the Inquisitor were mid-conversation.

“Oh.” Inquisitor Bridgestock said, seeing Anna. “Miss Lightwood. How fortuitous. Do you know Charles Fairchild?”

“Anna!” Charles said with a warm smile. “Yes, of course.”

“Charles will be the interim head of the Paris Institute,” the Inquisitor said.

“Oh,” Anna said. “Congratulations. Matthew didn’t tell me.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “I imagine he thinks of such things as political aspirations as crass and bourgeois. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Anna and Ariadne have been training together,” the Inquisitor explained.

“Ah,” Charles said. “Excellent. You must visit us in Paris sometime, Anna.”