𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞: 𝒊 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒉𝒖𝒈𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒔𝒔

♕

"Charles! Will you please, please shut up! The only thing keeping me from slapping your stupid bloody ass into the Thames is my dignity. I wouldn't want to be within a hundred miles of you!" Dahlia screamed, as Alistair tried to pry Christopher from her grip.

"You are the most, heartless, cruel, monster of a person I have ever met. Not even Matthew Fairchild is as disgusting as you. You bloody bastard!" she yelled, her voice rising. The rage she felt at Charles Fairchild was unimaginable.

"I am your-"

"Oh shut up! You say that, you say you can take responsibility, so say you can understand people, but do you really Charles? DO YOU? DO YOU KNOW THE FEAR ONE FEELS AT THE THOUGHT OF LOOSING THEIR PARABATAI ????" Dahlia yelled, finally standing up, Alistair managing to press Christopher to him. She whirled around to Alistair, "Thank you." she whispered quietly. He nodded grimly.

She turned back to Charles and walked to him in quick angered steps and slapped him right across the face.

"Be ashamed, Charles Fairchild. For you are a disgrace to Nephilim, you are utterly horrible." she hissed, stepping on his shoe aggressively. She felt a hand on her shoulder, she whirled around. It was Matthew.

"Come now, Dahlia." he whispered gently, his voice cracking. She fought against his hold on her. "Let me go, Matthew. Let me go." she cried, banging her hands against his chest. He kept his hold on her, carrying her by lifting her feet and her body up and holding her. 

"Please Matthew, let me go." she cried, her voice starting to crack. She was Dahlia Bridgestock, Dahlia Bridgestock did not cry in front of other people.

"Matthew," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Please." 

"Please." she sobbed. Matthew glanced down at her, his gaze stained with pain. 

And there, Dahlia Bridgestock cried into the shirt of Matthew Fairchild.

♕

Dahlia was curled in a corner, at the verge of screaming when Cordelia Carstairs burst into the Devil Tavern.

She will ask if he's okay, she thought bitterly, as if it isn't obvious. 

"What happened?" Cordelia said, a little breathless. "I—what can I do?"

Matthew looked up at her. His voice was hoarse. "We were at my house, using my father's laboratory," he said. "They—the Khora demons—were waiting for us when we left."

"We ought to have been prepared," said James. He was opening and closing his right hand, as if he wished to crush something in his palm. "We should have remembered. We were hurrying for the carriage—they attacked us in front of the house. One of them tore a gash across Christopher's chest."

"I am so—I am so sorry," Cordelia whispered. "Is he ill? What can we do?"

OF COURSE HE'S ILL! Dahlia thought angrily.

There were footsteps on the stairs. The door flew open, and Thomas burst in. He wore a long Inverness coat, though Dahlia could see that he was in gear beneath.

Dahlia shot up. "Thomas!" she cried and ran to him from across the room, jumping into his arms. He held her tightly.

"Sorry," he said breathlessly. "I was patrolling with Anna—didn't get your message until we returned to Uncle Gabriel's house. They all wanted to go to the Silent City, of course, but Brother Enoch came by—said it was impossible—Everyone's frantic. Anna went to ask Magnus for help in putting up extra wards around the house. Aunt Cecily nearly lost her mind at the thought of letting her go, but she went. Uncle Will and Aunt Tessa came, of course, but I couldn't bear to be there too, bothering them all, intruding on them in their fear—"