𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭: 𝒂𝒕𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔, 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒂𝒈𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒄𝒌

♕

As the carriage rolled under the Institute's gates, Dahlia saw James and Lucie's parents standing in the courtyard. Will was in a cutaway morning coat and a blue sapphire tiepin, Tessa wore a formal day dress. They were clearly prepared to go out.

"And where have you been?" Will demanded, as James clambered out of the carriage. The others leaped down behind him, the girls, being in gear, needing no help to dismount. "You stole our carriage."

"It's only the second-best carriage," James protested.

"Remember when Papa stole Uncle Gabriel's carriage? It's a proud family tradition," said Lucie, as the group of them approached the Institute steps.

"I did not raise you to be horse thieves and scallywags," said Will. "And I recall very clearly that I told you—"

"Thank you for letting them borrow the carriage to come and get me," said Cordelia. Her eyes were wide, and she looked entirely innocent. Dahlia felt an amused stab of surprise: she was an interestingly skillful liar.  "I had very much wanted to come to the Institute and see what I could do to help."

Will softened immediately. "Of course. You are always welcome here, Cordelia. Though we are, as you can see, going out—Charles has invoked the Consul's authority and called a meeting in Grosvenor Square to discuss last night's attack. Only for high-level Enclave members, apparently."

Dahlia grimaced. "By the Angel, that sounds awful. I hope it's all right for me to stay here tonight."

Tessa smiled. "We already made up one of the spare rooms for you."

"As I have known Charles since he was born, I have a difficult time taking him seriously as an authority figure," said Will thoughtfully. "I suppose if he says anything I don't like, I can request that he be spanked."

"Oh, yes, please," said Matthew. "It would do him a world of good."

"Drown him in the Thames if it comes to that." Dahlia said, pushing hair from her forehead.

Will shook his lead in silent laughter.

"Will—" began Tessa in exasperation, just as Bridget emerged from the front doors. She appeared to be carrying an enormous medieval spear: its haft was worn, its long iron point spotted with rust. She clambered into the driver's seat of the carriage and sat grimly, clearly awaiting Tessa and Will.

"I do hope you're going to glamour that carriage," said James. "People will think the Romans have returned to reconquer the British Isles."

Tessa and Will climbed into the carriage. As Bridget gathered up the reins, Tessa leaned out the window. "Uncle Jem is in the infirmary with several other Silent Brothers, looking after the ill," she called. "Please try not to cause them any trouble, and see to it that they have whatever they need." 

James nodded as the carriage rolled out of the courtyard. He glanced at his sister, "Come along then, Luce," he said. "Let's get inside."

She frowned at him. "No need to use your worried voice. I'm perfectly all right, James."

He threw an arm around her shoulder. "It's not every day you see a warlock scattered liberally around his own bedroom," he said. "You might as well take a little time to recover. Raziel knows none of us have had much time to recover from anything lately."

"So, Jessamine," said Lucie. "Can ghosts lie?"

They were all in Lucie's room: Matthew and James had settled Lucie on the settee and wrapped her in blankets, despite her complaints that she was fine and needed no assistance. James had insisted that he hadn't liked how pale she'd looked when she'd come out of Gast's flat.