mirror shards // matthew fairchild {1}

fifteen // hot damn

It's bloody cold out here, and Matthew's about to start wondering where his parabatai is when the Institute carriage rolls up and drops off James and Cordelia and...who on earth is that? 

It's Sydney, but not the Sydney he knows. Her dress clings to her body, the long, tightly fitted sleeves barely attached to the bodice, baring her collarbone and shoulders. The lace that drips from the low neckline looks as if it's made of spun sugar, a thick chain of white metal circles her neck, and her hair is down, her comb tucked into one side to pull it back behind her ear, showing off just how impossibly thick her curls are, thick enough that he begins to think that if he tries to put his hands into those curls, it just simply won't work.

He's staring, and he knows it. Clearly, Sydney knows it too, because she grins and whacks him gently on the arm. "Wake up, you're starting to look a little dazed."

"You're a little bit...daze-inducing"

"You like the dress?"

"I like you," he clarifies, "in that dress."

"Why thank you," Sydney answers. "That was the response I was hoping for."

"And if it wasn't the response you got?" James asks.

"This is the Hell Ruelle. If he didn't like it, there would be someone who would."

Matthew is absolutely stunned. He feels like a silly fourteen-year-old again, in love for the first time. When he offers Sydney his arm, she actually takes it, her fingers gentle against the crook of his elbow, tracing down a little along his forearm and back up. It takes every ounce of self-control he has not to take his arm out of hers and put it around her waist instead.

The Institute carriage is long gone by now, and here comes a second one rolling up the street – Anna, no doubt. Sure enough, she's the first one to get out, followed by Cordelia, who looks just as stunning as Sydney, in a tightly-fitting bronze dress with narrow, off-the-shoulder sleeves and a neckline low enough to bare the tops of her breasts.

James steadies her as she jumps down from the carriage, and all Matthew can think, looking from Sydney to Cordelia and back, is whoa. "Cordelia," he says, trying to come up with a response that won't anger Sydney, "you look different."

"Different?" Anna scoffs. "She looks stunning. Hello Sydney. Lovely dress." She eyes Sydney's tangerine velvet gown with its matching spun-sugar lace. "I seem to be wrong. Orange can be a color of seduction, and not just despair and pumpkins."

"We had better go in," says James, stepping back from Cordelia.

Sydney leans into Matthew's side a little, and they all approach the Hell Ruelle's doors.

< & >

Once through the Hell Ruelle's maze of hallways, they start down towards the main salon.

"The salon's underground," says Sydney. "Have you ever noticed that?"

"It's what?" asks Matthew.

"Underground. Look, all the hallways slope down very, very gradually, and when you enter into a new room, you go down a step. See? By the time you've reached the salon itself, you're in a basement of sorts."

"Huh. I'd never noticed that."

They reach the central chamber, where Hypatia holds court at the far end of the room on a an oak settee upholstered in red-and-green jacquard, in front of a huge triptych depicting Hecate with an owl on her wrist.

Seated with Hypatia is one of the werewolves Sydney saw the last time she was here – Danna had pointed him out as the man in charge of entertainment, and warned her to stay away.