Chain of Thorns (The Last Hours, #3)

“Your mother, as we all know,” said Anna, “will be very distraught at her only daughter moving away, and so we will be there to soften the transition. Eugenia, you see, is inherently trusted by Mrs. Bridgestock”—Eugenia put a hand to her chest and bowed—“and will put her at ease. I, on the other hand, am a destabilizing presence and will throw your mother off her game so that she cannot begin copiously weeping, or reminiscing about your early childhood, or both.”


“Both seem likely,” sighed Ariadne. “And Christopher?”

“Christopher, apart from providing the reassurance of an authoritative male presence—”

“What ho!” put in Christopher, looking pleased.

“—is my little brother and must do what I say,” Anna finished.

Ariadne ate some toast thoughtfully. It was a clever plan, really. Her mother was nothing if not fastidious in her observation of etiquette and would be polite to a fault to unexpected visitors. Between them, the assembled Lightwoods would keep her busy such that, even if she noticed Ariadne removing her things from the house, she would never be so rude to guests as to make a scene while they were present.

The other cleverness about the plan, she thought, was that it prevented Anna and Ariadne from having to think about Ariadne’s waking up in Anna’s bed, or how either Anna or Ariadne felt about any of that.

“Unfortunately,” Christopher said, “we will have to be quick about it. All three of us are expected at the Institute later this morning.”

Eugenia rolled her eyes. “It’s only Uncle Will wanting to assign us tasks for the Christmas party.”

“Is that still happening?” Anna said, surprised. “With all that’s been going on?”

“Nothing will stop the Herondales’ Christmas party,” Christopher said. “Even a Prince of Hell would balk before Uncle Will’s capacity for making merry. Besides—it’s good for everyone to have something to look forward to, isn’t it?”

Ariadne could not help but wonder what Eugenia thought about that. It was at an Institute party, during the summer, that Eugenia’s sister, Barbara, had collapsed, and not long after she had died, the victim of demon poison.

But if Eugenia’s mind was on that, she did not show it. She remained cheerful and determined all the way out of the flat and down into the Lightwoods’ carriage.

It was once in the carriage, jouncing along Percy Street toward Cavendish Square, that Ariadne realized that if they were going to retrieve her things today, there would be no place she could bring her trunks other than back to Anna’s flat. But that must surely have occurred to Anna already? Ariadne tried to catch her eye, but Anna was caught up in a conversation with Eugenia about neighborhoods where Ariadne might find the right sort of flat for a single young woman to occupy.

So Anna did not expect Ariadne to keep her things at Anna’s for long. Certainly not long enough for the situation to become awkward. Though Anna showed no signs of awkwardness; she was lovely and bright as ever. She wore a spectacular waistcoat, striped pink and green like ribbon candy, which Ariadne felt sure she’d nicked from Matthew. Her eyes were as dark blue as pansy flowers. And soon you’ll be telling yourself the angels sing when she laughs, Ariadne thought to herself sternly. Be less sentimental.

Soon enough they had arrived at the Bridgestock house. At the front door Ariadne hesitated, thinking of a thousand things that could go wrong with their plan. But Anna was looking at her expectantly, apparently with full confidence that Ariadne was capable of handling the situation. It was a look that stiffened Ariadne’s spine and hardened her resolve. With a smile plastered on her face, she used her key to open the door, stepped into the entryway, and called out with forced cheerfulness, “Mother, just look who I ran into this morning!”

Her mother appeared at the top of the stairs. Flora wore the same dress she had worn the day before, and had clearly spent a sleepless night; her eyes were deeply shadowed, her face lined with tension. As her gaze fell upon her daughter, Ariadne thought she saw a flash of relief on her features.

Could she have been worried about me? Ariadne wondered, but her mother had caught sight of Anna, Christopher, and Eugenia spilling into the entryway, and was already forcing her expression into a smile.

“Eugenia, dear,” she said warmly, descending the stairs. “And young Master Lightwood, and Anna, of course—” Was it Ariadne’s imagination that there was a certain coldness in the way Flora Bridgestock looked upon Anna? “How are your dear parents?”

Eugenia launched immediately into a long story involving Gideon and Sophie’s search for a new housemaid after the last one had been discovered to be wildly riding omnibuses all around town while a group of local brownies did all the tidying up.

“Dreadful,” Ariadne heard Flora say, and, “What trying times,” as Eugenia herded her skillfully into the drawing room, Anna and Christopher in her wake. She had underestimated Eugenia, Ariadne thought. She would make an excellent spy.

Ariadne exchanged a quick look with Anna and then hurried up the stairs to her room, where she seized a trunk and began to fill it with her possessions. How hard, she thought, to pack away a life, so quickly! Clothes and books, of course, and old treasures: a sari that had been her first mother’s, a pata that had belonged to her first father, a doll her adoptive mother had given her, one of its button eyes missing.

From downstairs, she heard Anna say loudly, “Christopher has been entertaining us all morning with his latest work in science! Christopher, tell Mrs. Bridgestock what you were telling us earlier.”

That meant Flora was getting fidgety, Ariadne knew. She had only a little more time.

She had just finished folding her gear and was placing the pata on top of the pile of clothes in her trunk when Anna appeared at her door. “Almost ready?” she said. “Eventually your mother will try to get a word in edgewise around Christopher, you know.”

Ariadne stood up, dusting her hands off on her skirt. She determinedly did not look around at her room, at the familiar furniture, the blanket her mother had knitted for her before she had even arrived from India. “I’m ready.”

Together, they carried the trunk down to the entryway, managing not to thump it against every stair. As they passed by the doorway to the drawing room, Ariadne saw her mother, looking up from the sofa at Christopher, glance over at her. Her face was pale and strained. Ariadne had to fight the urge to go to her, to ask if she was all right, to fetch her a cup of tea as she was used to doing in difficult times.

The carriage driver came rushing up the steps to take the trunk, and Ariadne headed back into the house. She could hear Eugenia regaling her mother with another domestic tale and wondered if it was possible that the Lightwoods could keep her distracted long enough for Ariadne to dart down to the conservatory and snatch up Winston’s cage.