Nothing But Shadows Read Free Page B

James’s heart, which had already been around his knees, sank to his socks.
    Then Thomas said, “Hello!” and smiled.
    James smiled back, grateful for an instant, and then Matthew Fairchild turned around to see who Thomas was addressing. He was taller than James, his fair hair outlined by the sun as he looked down on him. Matthew gave the impression that he was looking down from a much greater height than he actually was.
    â€œJamie Herondale, right?” Matthew drawled.
    James bristled. “I prefer James.”
    â€œI’d prefer to be in a school devoted to art, beauty, and culture rather than in a ghastly stone shack in the middle of nowhere filled with louts who aspire to nothing more than whacking demons with great big swords,” said Matthew. “Yet here we are.”
    â€œAnd I would prefer to have intelligent students,” said a voice behind them. “Yet here I am teaching at a school for the Nephilim.”
    They turned and then started, as one. The man behind them had snowy-white hair, which he looked too young to have, and horns poking out among the white locks. The most notable thing about him, however, the thing James noted right away, was that he had green skin the color of grapes.
    James knew this must be a warlock. In fact, he knew who it must be: the former High Warlock of London, Ragnor Fell, who lived part-time in the countryside outside Alicante, and who had agreed this year that he would teach in the Academy as a diversion from his magical studies.
    James knew warlocks were good people, the allies of the Shadowhunters. Father often talked about his friend Magnus Bane, who had been kind to him when he was young.
    Father had never mentioned whether Magnus Bane was green. James had never thought to inquire. Now he was rather urgently wondering.
    â€œWhich one of you is Christopher Lightwood?” Ragnor Fell asked in a stern voice. His gaze swept them all, and landed on the most guilty-looking person in the group. “Is it you?”
    â€œThank the Angel, no,” Thomas exclaimed, and went red under his summer tan. “No offense, Christopher.”
    â€œOh, none taken,” said Christopher airily. He blinked up at Ragnor, as if the tall, scary green man had entirely escaped his notice up until this moment. “Hello, sir.”
    â€œAre you Christopher Lightwood?” Ragnor asked, somewhat menacingly.
    Christopher’s wandering attention became focused on a tree. “Hm? I think so.”
    Ragnor glared down at Christopher’s flyaway brown hair. James was beginning to be afraid he would erupt like a green volcano.
    â€œAre you not certain, Mr. Lightwood? Did you perhaps have an unfortunate encounter when you were an infant?”
    â€œHm?” said Christopher.
    Ragnor’s voice rose. “Was the encounter between your infant head and a floor?”
    That was when Matthew Fairchild said, “Sir,” and smiled.
    James had forgotten about The Smile, even though it was often broken out to great effect at family parties. The Smile won Matthew extra time before bed, extra Christmas pudding, extra anything he wanted. Adults were helpless to resist The Smile.
    Matthew gave his all to this particular smile. Butter melted. Birds sang. People slipped about dazed amid the butter and birdsong.
    â€œSir, you will have to forgive Christopher. He’s a trifle absentminded, but he is definitely Christopher. It would be very difficult to mistake Christopher for anyone else. I vouch for him, and he can’t deny it.”
    The Smile worked on Ragnor, as it worked on all adults. He unbent a tiny bit. “Are you Matthew Fairchild?”
    Matthew’s smile became more playful. “I could deny it if I liked. I could deny anything if I liked. But my name certainly is Matthew. It has been Matthew for years.”
    â€œWhat?” Ragnor Fell looked as if he had fallen into a pit of lunatics and could not get out.
    James cleared his