“Cordelia!” Both James and Cordelia turned, startled: Sona was standing on the threshold of the house, candlelight burning behind her. A silk roosari covered her dark hair and she was beaming. “Cordelia joon, do come inside before you catch cold. And Mr. Herondale, it was kind of you to escort Cordelia home. You are truly a gentleman.”

Cordelia looked at her mother in surprise. She hadn’t expected Sona to be in such a good mood.

James’s eyebrow flicked upward, black as the wing of a crow, if the wing of the crow had a faintly sardonic air. “It’s a pleasure to escort Daisy anywhere.”

“Daisy,” Sona repeated. “Such a charming pet name. Of course, you were children together, and now you are reunited and quite grown-up. It’s all so delightful.”

Ah. Cordelia realized what was going on with her mother. James was eligible—very eligible. As the son of the head of the London Institute, he might be expected to wield significant influence in the future, or even to become the head of an Institute himself, a job that paid far more than the salary provided by the Clave to a typical Shadowhunter.

Besides, he was charming when he was not wearing the Mask, and that sort of thing had an effect on mothers. At Sona’s urging, she and James climbed the steps to the front door of the house: warm light spilled out from the vestibule, along with the smell of Risa’s cooking.

Sona was still exclaiming over James. “Delightful,” she said again. “Might I offer you refreshment, James? Tea, perhaps?”

Cordelia was seized by the impulse to flee the scene, but the Angel alone knew what her mother would say to James then. Besides, she could not flee—Alastair should hear this news from her, rather than from gossip or a stranger.

James smiled. It was the sort of smile that could lay waste to a good portion of England. “I remember the tea you made me at Cirenworth,” he said. “It tasted of flowers.”

Sona brightened. “Yes. A spoonful of rosewater, that’s the secret to good chai.”

“You had a beautiful samovar as well, I recall,” said James. “Brass and gold.”

Sona was beaming like a lighthouse. “It was my mother’s,” she said. “Alas, it is still among the things we have not unpacked, but my mother’s tea set—”

“James has to go,” Cordelia said firmly, and steered James back down the steps. “James, say goodbye.”

James bid Sona a quick goodbye; Cordelia hoped he didn’t notice the clear look of disappointment on her mother’s face. She released her grip on his jacket as Sona went back inside.

“I had no idea your mother liked me so much,” said James. “I should come round more often when I am in need of feeling appreciated.”