Oh no. Cordelia thought of the Pyxis they had stolen months ago: it had exploded during a battle with a Mandikhor demon. She looked at Matthew. He shrugged and nicked a mug of spiced wine from the tray of a passing faerie waiter. Cordelia cleared her throat. “I believe you did, actually. I believe you wished me the best of luck for my future.”

“Not only was it a thoughtful gift,” Matthew added, “it was very helpful in saving the city of London from destruction.”

“Yes,” Cordelia agreed. “Instrumental. An absolutely necessary aid in preventing complete disaster.”

“Mr. Fairchild, you are a bad influence on Miss Carstairs. She is beginning to develop a worrying amount of cheek.” Hypatia turned to Cordelia, her starry eyes unreadable. “I must say, I’m a bit surprised to see you tonight. I would have thought a Shadowhunter bride would want to spend the evening before her nuptials sharpening her weapons, or beheading stuffed dummies.”

Cordelia began to wonder why Matthew had brought her to the Ruelle. No one wanted to spend the night before their wedding being scorned by haughty warlocks, however interestingly decorated the surroundings. “I am no ordinary Shadowhunter bride,” she said shortly.

Hypatia only smiled. “As you say,” she said. “I think there are a few guests here who’ve been expecting you.”

Cordelia glanced across the room and saw, to her surprise, two familiar figures sitting at a table. Anna Lightwood, gorgeous as always in a fitted frock coat and blue spats, and Lucie Herondale, looking neat and pretty in an ivory dress with blue beading and waving energetically.

“Did you invite them?” she said to Matthew, who had turned up his flask again. He tipped it into his mouth, grimaced at finding it empty, and tucked it back into his pocket. His eyes were glitter-bright.

“I did,” he said. “I can’t stay—must make my way to James’s party—but I wanted to make sure you were well accompanied. They have instructions to dance and drink the night away with you. Enjoy.”

“Thank you.” Cordelia leaned in to kiss Matthew on the cheek—he smelled of cloves and brandy—but he turned his face at the last moment, and her kiss brushed his lips. She drew away quickly and saw Kellington and Hypatia both watching her with sharp eyes.

“Before you go, Fairchild, I see your flask is empty,” said Kellington. “Come with me to the bar; I’ll have it refilled with anything you like.”

He was looking at Matthew with a curious expression—a bit the way Cordelia recalled Kellington looking at her, after her dance. A hungry sort of look.

“I’ve never been one to turn down the offer of ‘anything you like,’ ” said Matthew, allowing himself to be spirited away by Kellington. Cordelia considered calling out after him but decided against it—and anyway, Anna was gesturing at her to come join their table.