Nothing but Shadows (7 page)

James’s aunt Ella, who he had never seen, had been killed by a demon from a Pyxis box when she was younger than James was now.

All the trees seemed to be whispering about demons.

But Matthew was at his side, and both of them were armed. He could trust himself to kill a small, almost powerless demon, and if he could trust himself, he could trust Matthew more.

They waited, and walked, then waited. There was a rustle among the trees: It turned out to be a combination of wind and a single rabbit.

“Maybe the upper years forgot to lay out our demon buffet,” Matthew suggested. “It is a beautiful springtime day. At such times as these, one’s thoughts are filled with love and blossoms, not demons. Who am I to judge—”

Matthew was abruptly quiet. He clutched James’s arm, fingers tight, and James stared down at what Matthew had discovered in the heather.

It was Clive Cartwright, Alastair’s friend. He was dead.

His eyes were open, staring into nothing, and in one hand he was clutching an empty Pyxis box.

James grabbed Matthew’s arm and turned him in a circle, looking around, waiting. He could tell what had happened: Let’s give Demon Eyes a scare, a demon won’t hurt its own kind, let’s chase him away once and for all with a demon larger than he was expecting.

He could not tell what kind of demon it was, but that question was answered when the demon came toward them through the wild woods.

It was a Vetis demon, its shape almost human but not quite, dragging its gray, scaly body through the fallen leaves. James saw the eel-like heads on its arms lifting, like the heads of pointer dogs out hunting.

James slipped from skin to shadow without a thought, like plunging into water to rescue someone, as easy as that. He ran unseen at the Vetis demon and, raising his sword, cleaved one questing head from its arm. He turned to face the head on the other arm. He was going to call to Matthew but when he glanced back he saw Matthew clearly, despite the sparkling grayness of the world. Matthew already had his bow out, strung and raised. He could see Matthew’s narrowed eyes, the determined focus that always lay behind the laughter, and remained when his laughter was stripped away.

Matthew shot the Vetis demon in the red-eyed, sharp-toothed face that sat atop its neck, just as James cut the other head from its remaining arm. The demon lurched, then fell over sideways, twitching.

And James raced through the trees, through the wind and the whispering, afraid of nothing, with Matthew running behind him. He found Alastair and his remaining friend, hiding behind a tree. He crept up to them, a shadow among the whirling shadows of wind-tossed trees, and held his sword to Alastair’s throat.

While James was touching the sword, nobody could see it. But Alastair felt the sharpness of the blade and gasped.

“We didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” cried Alastair’s friend, looking around wildly. Alastair was wise enough to stay quiet. “It was Clive’s idea—he said he would finally get you to leave—he only meant to scare you.”

“Who’s scared?” James whispered, and the whisper came from nowhere. He heard the older boys gasp in fear. “I’m not the one who’s scared. If you come after me again, I won’t be the one who suffers. Run!”

The pair that had once been a trio stumbled away. James pressed one hand around the hilt of his sword, against the bark of the tree, and willed himself back into a world of solidity and sunshine. He found Matthew looking at him. Matthew had known, all the time, exactly where he was.

“Jamie,” Matthew said, sounding unsettled but impressed. “That was terrifying.”

“It’s James, for the last time,” said James.

“No, I’m calling you Jamie for a little while, because you just displayed arcane power and calling you Jamie makes me feel better.”

James laughed, shakily, and that made Matthew smile. It did not occur to them until later that a student was dead, and the Shadowhunters feared and distrusted the demonic—that somebody would be blamed. James did not discover until the next day that his parents had been informed of everything that had transpired, and that he, James Herondale, was now officially expelled.

*    *    *

They kept him in the infirmary until his father came. They did not say this was because the infirmary had bars on its doors.

Esme came and gave James a hug, and promised to look him up when she Ascended.

Ragnor Fell entered, his tread heavy, and for a moment James thought he was going to be asked for his homework. Instead Ragnor stood over his bed and shook his horned head slowly from side to side.

“I waited for you to ask me for help,” Ragnor told him. “I thought perhaps you might make a warlock.”

“I never wanted to be anything but a Shadowhunter,” James said helplessly.

Ragnor said, sounding disgusted as usual: “You Shadowhunters never do.”

Christopher and Thomas visited. Christopher brought a fruit basket, under the mistaken impression that James was in the infirmary because he was unwell. Thomas apologized for Christopher several times.

James did not see Matthew, however, until his father arrived. Father did not come on a mission to charm the dean. His face was grim as he escorted James through the shining gray walls of the Academy, under the flaming colors of the stained-glass angel, for the last time. He stalked down stairs and through halls as if defying someone to insult James.

James knew nobody ever would, not in front of Father. They would whisper behind his back, whisper in James’s ear, his whole life long.

“You should have told us, Jamie,” said Father. “But Jem explained to us why you did not.”

“How is Mother?” James whispered.

“She cried when Jem told her, and said you were her sweet boy,” said Father. “I believe she may be planning to strangle you and then bake you a cake afterward.”

“I like cake,” James said at last.

All that suffering, all that nobly trying to spare her, and for what? James thought, as he walked out the door of the Academy. He had saved her only a month or two of pain. He hoped that did not mean he was a failure: He hoped Uncle Jem would still think it was worthwhile.

He saw Matthew standing in the courtyard, hands in his pockets, and brightened up. Matthew had come to say good-bye, after all. It did feel worthwhile to have stayed, after all, to have made a friend like this.

“Are you expelled?” Matthew asked, which James thought was slightly obtuse.

“Yes?” he said, indicating his father and his trunk.

“I thought you were,” said Matthew, nodding vigorously so his much-brushed hair went tumbling every which way. “So I had to act. But I wanted to make absolutely certain. You see, James, the thing is—”

“Isn’t that Alastair Carstairs?” asked Father, perking up.

Alastair did not meet James’s eyes as he slunk toward him. He definitely did not respond to Father’s beaming smile. He seemed very interested in the flagstones of the courtyard.

“I just wanted to say . . . sorry for everything,” he mumbled. “Good luck.”

“Oh,” said James. “Thanks.”

“No hard feelings, old sport,” said Matthew. “As a bit of a jolly prank, I put all your belongings in the south wing. I don’t know why I did that! Boyish high spirits, I suppose.”

“You did
what
?” Alastair gave Matthew a harried look, and departed at speed.

Matthew turned to James’s father and dramatically clasped his hand.

“Oh, Mr. Herondale!” he said. “Please take me with you!”

“It’s Matthew, isn’t it?” Father asked. He tried to disengage his hand. Matthew clung to it with extreme determination.

James smiled. He could have told Father about Matthew’s determination.

“You see,” Matthew proceeded, “I am also expelled from Shadowhunter Academy.”

“You got expelled?” James asked. “When? Why?”

“In about four minutes,” Matthew said. “Because I broke my solemn word, and exploded the south wing of the Academy.”

James and his father both looked at the south wing. It stood, looking as if it would stand for another century.

“I hoped it would not come to this, but it has. I gave Christopher certain materials that I knew he could turn into explosives. I measured them very carefully, I made sure they were slow acting, and I made Thomas swear to bring Christopher away. I have left a note explaining that it was all my fault, but I do not wish to explain this to Mother. Please take me with you to the London Institute, so I can be taught how to be a Shadowhunter with James!”

“Charlotte will cut off my head,” said Father.

He sounded tempted, though. Matthew was sparkling wickedly up at him, and Father enjoyed wickedness. Besides which, he was no more immune to The Smile than anyone else.

“Father, please,” James said in a quiet voice.

“Mr. Herondale, please!” said Matthew. “We cannot be parted.” James braced himself for the explanation about truth and beauty, but instead Matthew said, with devastating simplicity: “We are going to be
parabatai
.”

James stared.

Father said: “Oh, I see.”

Matthew nodded encouragingly, and smiled encouragingly.

“Then nobody should come between you,” said Father.

“Nobody.” Matthew shook his head as he said “nobody,” then nodded again. He looked seraphic. “Exactly.”

“Very well,” said Father. “Everybody get into the carriage.”

“Father, you did not steal Uncle Gabriel’s carriage again,” said James.

“This is your time of trouble. He would want me to have it, and he would have given it to me if I asked him, which as it happens I did not,” said Father.

He helped Matthew up, then heaved Matthew’s trunk into place and tied it securely. He gave it a puzzled look as he did so. James imagined Matthew’s trunk was significantly heavier than James’s.

Then he helped James up beside Matthew, and then swung himself up to sit on James’s other side. He grasped the reins and they were off.

“When the south wing collapses, there could be flying debris,” Father remarked. “Any one of us could be injured.” He sounded very cheerful about this. “Best to stop on our way home and see the Silent Brothers.”

“That seems excessi—” Matthew began, but James elbowed him. Matthew would learn how Father was about the Silent Brothers soon enough.

Anyway, James did not feel Matthew had a right to characterize anyone else’s behavior as excessive, now that he had blown up the Academy.

“I was thinking we could split our training time between the London Institute and my house,” Matthew went on. “The Consul’s house. Where people cannot insult you, and can get used to seeing you.”

Matthew had really meant it about being trained together, James thought. He had worked it all out. And if James was in Idris more often, he could perhaps see Grace more often, too.

“I’d like that,” said James. “I know you’d like to see more of your father.”

Matthew smiled. Behind them, the Academy exploded. The carriage jolted slightly with the force of the impact.

“We don’t . . . have to be
parabatai
,” Matthew said, his voice quiet under the sound of the blast. “I said it to make your father take me with you, so I could execute my new plan, but we don’t . . . have to. I mean, unless you . . . maybe want to be.”

James had thought he wanted a friend like himself, a
parabatai
who was shy and quiet and would enter in on James’s feelings about the terror of parties. Instead here was Matthew, who was the life and soul of every party, who made dreadful hairbrush decisions, who was unexpectedly and terribly kind. Who had tried to be his friend and kept trying, even though James did not know what trying to be a friend looked like. Who could see James, even when he was a shadow.

“Yes,” James said simply.

“What?” said Matthew, who always knew what to say.

“I’d like that,” said James. He curled his hands, one around his father’s coat sleeve, and one around Matthew’s. He held on to them, all the way home.

Shadowhunter Academy, 2008

“So James found a
parabatai
and everything worked out great,” Simon said. “That’s awesome.”

James was Tessa Gray’s son, Simon had realized, a long way into the story. It was strange to think of that: It seemed to bring that lost boy very close, he and his friend. Simon liked the sound of James. He’d liked Tessa, too.

And though he was starting to get the feeling, even without his memories, that he hadn’t always liked Jace Herondale—he liked him now.

Catarina rolled her eyes so hard Simon thought he could hear them roll, like tiny, exasperated bowling balls.

“No, Simon. The Academy drove James Herondale out for being different, and all the people who loved him could do was follow him out. The people who drove them out did have to rebuild part of their precious Academy, mind you.”

“Uh,” said Simon. “Sorry, is the message I’m meant to be learning ‘get out, get out as fast as you can’?”

“Maybe,” Catarina said. “Maybe the message is to trust your friends. Maybe the message is not that people in the past did badly but that now we must all strive to do better. Maybe the message is you have to work these things out for yourself. You think all lessons have easy conclusions? Don’t be a child, Daylighter. You’re not immortal anymore. You don’t have much time to waste.”

Simon took that as the dismissal it was, scooping up his books. “Thanks for the story, Ms. Loss.”

He ran down the stairs and out of the Academy, but he was too late, as he’d known he would be.

He was barely out of the door when he saw the dregs, filthy and tired, arm in arm, lurching up from the training grounds. Marisol was in front, her arm looped with George’s. It looked as if someone had tried to pull out all her hair.

“Where were you, Lewis?” she called. “We could have used you cheering for us as we won!”

Some way behind them were the elites. Jon was looking very unhappy, which filled Simon with a deep sense of peace.

Trust your friends,
Catarina had said.

Simon might speak up for mundies in class, but it mattered more that George and Marisol and Sunil spoke up too. Simon didn’t want to change things by being the special one, the exceptional mundane, the former Daylighter and former hero. They had all chosen to come try to be heroes. His fellow dregs could win without him.