There can be no trespass when you are always welcome, said Jem.
Matthew’s smile spread. It was an extraordinarily engaging expression. His warmth was closer to the surface than Charlotte’s, Jem thought. He had never been taught to close himself off, to do anything but delight and trust in the world.
“I would like to hear all about your and Uncle Will’s and Aunt Tessa’s adventures from your point of view,” Matthew proposed. “You must have had a very exciting time! Nothing exciting ever happens to us. The way everyone talks about it, one might think you had a dramatic star-crossed passion with Aunt Tessa before you became a Silent Brother.” Matthew stopped himself. “Sorry! My tongue ran away with me. I am heedless and excited to talk to you properly. I’m sure it is strange to think of your past life. I hope I did not upset or offend you. I cry peace.”
Peace, echoed Brother Zachariah, amused.
“I am certain you could have had a torrid affair with any person you wanted, of course,” said Matthew. “Anyone can see that. Oh Lord, that was a heedless thing to say too, wasn’t it?”
It is very kind of you to say so, said Brother Zachariah. Is it not a fine night?
“I can see you are a very tactful fellow,” said Matthew, and clapped Brother Zachariah on the back.
They wandered through the stalls of the Shadow Market. Brother Zachariah was searching for one warlock in particular, who had agreed to help him.
“Does Uncle Will know you are in London?” asked Matthew. “Are you going to see him? If Uncle Will finds out you were in London and did not come to call, and I knew about it, that will be curtains for me! Young life cut off in its prime. A bright flower of manhood withered untimely. You might think of me and my doom, Uncle Jem, you really might.”
Might I? asked Brother Zachariah.
It was fairly obvious what Matthew was angling to know.
“It would also be very kind of you if you refrained from mentioning that you saw me at the Shadow Market,” Matthew wheedled, with his engaging smile and a distinct air of apprehension.
Silent Brothers are terrible gossips as a rule, said Brother Zachariah. For you, though, Matthew, I will make an exception.
“Thanks, Uncle Jem!” Matthew linked his arm with Jem’s. “I can see we are going to be great friends.”
It must be a horrible contrast for the Market to behold, Jem thought, seeing this bright child hanging so carelessly off the arm of a Silent Brother, hooded and cloaked and shrouded in darkness. Matthew seemed blissfully unaware of the incongruity.
I believe we will be, said Jem.
“My cousin Anna says the Shadow Market is tremendous fun,” said Matthew happily. “Of course you know Anna. She’s always tremendous fun herself, and has the best taste in waistcoats in London. I met some very agreeable faeries who invited me, and I thought I would come see.”
The faeries Matthew had been dancing with previously whisked past, streaks of light in flower crowns. One faerie boy, lips stained with the juice of strange fruit, paused and winked at Matthew. He appeared not to resent being deserted in their dance, though appearances were seldom reliable with faeries. Matthew hesitated, casting a wary eye upon Brother Zachariah, then winked back.
Brother Zachariah felt he had to warn: Your friends may mean mischief. Faeries often do.
Matthew smiled, the lovely expression turning wicked. “I mean mischief frequently myself.”
That is not exactly what I mean. Nor do I intend to insult any Downworlders. There are as many trustworthy Downworlders as there are Shadowhunters, which means the opposite is also true. It might be wise to remember that not all those at the Shadow Market look with favor on the Nephilim.
“Who can blame them?” said Matthew airily. “Stuffy lot. Present company excepted, Uncle Jem! My papa has a warlock friend he talks of frequently. They invented Portals together, did you know? I would like to have an intimate Downworlder friend too.”
Magnus Bane would be a good friend for anyone to have, Brother Zachariah agreed.
It would have seemed disrespect to Magnus, who had been such a good friend to Jem’s parabatai, to press the issue with Matthew any further. Perhaps he was being too cautious. Many of the Downworlders were sure to be taken with Matthew’s ready charm.
Will had made it clear his Institute was there to help Downworlders who sought aid, as surely as it was for mundanes and Shadowhunters. Maybe this new generation could grow up in more charity with Downworlders than any before them.
“Anna is not here tonight,” Matthew added. “But you are, so all’s well. What are we going to do together? Are you looking for something special? I rather thought I might buy Jamie and Luce a book. Any book would do. They love ’em all.”
It made Jem warm to him even more to hear him speak of James and Lucie with such obvious affection.
If we see a suitable book, he said, let us buy it for them. I would rather not buy them a tome of dangerous enchantment.
“By the Angel, no,” said Matthew. “Luce would read it for sure. Bit of a daredevil in a quiet way, Lu.”
As for me, said Jem, I have a commission from someone else whom I hold in high regard. Out of respect for them, I can say nothing more.
“I completely understand,” said Matthew, looking pleased to be this far in Jem’s confidence. “I won’t ask, but is there anything I can do to help? You could rely on me, if you would. We love all the same people, don’t we?”
Thank you most sincerely for the offer.
There was no way for this child to help him, not in this current search, but his presence made Zachariah feel as if he could borrow some of Matthew’s delighted wonder as he looked around the Market, and they strolled around taking in its sounds and sights together.
There were stalls selling faerie fruit, though there was also a werewolf outside the stall making dark remarks about being cheated and not making deals with goblin men. There were stalls with red-and-white-striped awnings selling cinder toffee, though Brother Zachariah had doubts about its provenance. Matthew stopped and laughed for sheer joy at a warlock woman with blue skin who was juggling toy unicorns, mermaids’ shells, and small wheels on fire, and he flirted until she told him her name was Catarina. She added that he certainly might not call upon her, but when he smiled she smiled back. Brother Zachariah imagined people usually did.
The Shadow Market as a whole seemed rather bemused by Matthew. They were accustomed to Shadowhunters arriving on the hunt for witnesses or culprits, not demonstrating huge enthusiasm.
Matthew applauded when another stall sidled up to him, walking on chicken feet. A faerie woman with dandelion-fluff hair peered out among vials of many-colored lights and liquids.
“Hello, pretty,” she said, her voice rasping like bark.
“Which one of us are you talking to?” asked Matthew, laughing and leaning his elbow against Brother Zachariah’s shoulder.
The faerie woman regarded Zachariah with suspicion. “Oooh, a Silent Brother at our humble market. The Nephilim would consider that we were being honored.”
Do you feel honored? asked Zachariah, shifting his stance slightly to stand protectively in front of Matthew.
Oblivious, Matthew sauntered past Zachariah to examine the vials laid out before him.
“Jolly nice potions,” he said, flashing his smile upon the woman. “Did you make them yourself? Good show. That makes you something of an inventor, does it not? My papa is an inventor.”
“I am happy to have anyone at the Market who has an interest in my wares,” said the woman, unbending. “I see you have a honey tongue to match your hair. How old are you?”
“Fifteen,” Matthew replied promptly.
He began to sort among the vials, his rings clinking against the glass and their wood-and-gold-or-silver stoppers, chattering about his father and faerie potions he had read about.
“Ah, fifteen summers, and by the look of you it has been all summer. Some would say only a shallow river could flash so bright,” said the faerie woman, and Matthew looked up at her, an unguarded child surprised by any hurt dealt him. His smile flickered for an instant.
Before Jem could intervene, the smile resumed.
“Ah, well. ‘He has nothing, but he looks everything. What more can one desire?’” Matthew quoted. “Oscar Wilde. Do you know his work? I heard faeries like to steal poets. You should definitely have tried to steal him.”