James emerged hours later, to the sinking realization that the sky had gone dark gray and the sounds from the courtyard had faded away. His mother and Lucie were still in London, far away, and now he was sure his father was gone too.
He was trapped in this Academy full of strangers. He did not even know where he was supposed to sleep tonight.
He wandered around trying to find the bedrooms. He did not discover any, but he did find himself enjoying exploring such a big new place on his own. The Academy was a splendid building, the stone walls shining as if they had been polished. The chandeliers seemed made of jewels, and as James wandered in search of the dining hall, he found many beautiful tapestries depicting Shadowhunters through the ages. He stood looking at an intricate, colorful weaving of Jonathan Shadowhunter fighting during the Crusades, until it occurred to him that dinner must be soon and he did not want to draw any further attention to himself.
The sound of hundreds of strange voices alerted James to where the dining room must be. He fought the impulse to run away, steeled himself, and walked through the doors instead. To his relief, people were still assembling, the older students milling around and chatting to each other with the ease of long familiarity. The new students were hovering, much like James himself.
All except Matthew Fairchild, who was surveying the shining mahogany tables with disdain.
“We have to select a very small table,” he told Thomas and Christopher, his satellites. “I am here under protest. I will not break bread with the kind of violent ruffians and raving imbeciles who would attend the Academy willingly.”
“You know,” James said loudly, “Alastair Carstairs was right.”
“That seems very unlikely to me,” Matthew responded, then turned. “Oh, it’s you. Why are you still carrying your bag?”
“I don’t have to answer to you,” said James, which he was aware was a bizarre thing to say. Thomas blinked at him in distress, as if he had trusted James not to say bizarre things.
“All right,” Matthew said agreeably. “Alastair Carstairs was right about what?”
“People are attending the Academy because they hope to become better Shadowhunters, and save lives. That is a noble and worthy goal. You do not have to sneer at everybody you meet.”
“But how else am I going to amuse myself in this place?” Matthew protested. “You can sit with us, if you want.”
There was an amused glint in his brown eyes. James was certain from the way Matthew was looking at him that he was being made fun of, though he could not quite work out how.
“No thanks,” James said shortly.
He looked around at the tables, and saw that the first-year Shadowhunters were now settled around tables in careful, friendly patterns. There were other boys and even a few girls, though, who James could tell were mundanes. It was not so much clothing or build as the way they held themselves: as if they were afraid they might be attacked. Shadowhunters, in contrast, were always ready to attack.
There was one boy in shabby clothes sitting by himself. James crossed the dining room to sit at his table.
“Can I sit here?” he asked, desperate enough to be blunt.
“Yes!” said the other boy. “Oh yes, please. The name’s Smith. Michael Smith. Mike.”
James reached across the table and shook Mike Smith’s hand. “James Herondale.”
Mike’s eyes widened, clearly recognizing it as a Shadowhunter name. “My mother grew up in the mundane world,” James told him quickly. “In America. New York City.”
“Your mother was a mundane?” said a girl, coming over and sitting at his table. “Esme Philpott,” she added, shaking hands briskly. “I shan’t keep it when I Ascend. I’m thinking of changing the Esme too.”
James did not know what to say. He did not wish to insult a lady’s name by agreeing with her or insult a lady by arguing with her. He was not prepared to be approached by a strange girl. Very few girls were sent to the Academy: of course girls could be just as fine warriors as boys, but not everybody thought that way, and many Shadowhunter families wanted to keep their girls close. Some people thought the Academy had far too many rules, and some far too few. Thomas’s sisters, who were very proper, had not come to the Academy. Family legend reported that his cousin Anna Lightwood, who was the least proper person imaginable, had said if they sent her to the Academy, she would run away and become a mundane bullfighter.
“Mmm,” said James, a silver-tongued devil with the ladies.
“Did your mother Ascend with no trouble?” Mike asked eagerly.