“I’m not suggesting anything. I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking…” Thomas shook his head, sighing. Nothing about this conversation had been easy—it had felt like a sort of footrace, and now Thomas could see the finish line up ahead. Alastair might prefer to keep lying to himself, but Thomas would not. “I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

It took two iratzes to heal Matthew’s hand, which had the side effect of somewhat sobering him up. Cordelia had been able to tell, the moment she caught sight of him, that Matthew was quite drunk, and that he had been arguing with James. She knew the look from Elias, recognizing what it was now, as she had not years ago.

Now Matthew’s hand was wrapped in a handkerchief—a makeshift bandage in case the wound reopened. He seemed to have forgotten all about the argument and was deep in conversation with Lucie and Christopher, examining the purchases clanking in Christopher’s market bag.

“I happened on some powdered hemlock root that was being offered at a terrific bargain—even better after I got him to throw in an adder’s tongue.” Christopher pulled it out to show them—a tiny, leathery strip in a glass vial. “Have you lot turned up anything?”

“Nothing worth pursuing,” James said. “No one’s willing to talk about adamas to a pack of Shadowhunters. They assume we’re trying to shut someone down, so they close ranks.”

Whether he had forgotten the argument or not, Cordelia couldn’t tell. The Mask was firmly in place, hiding his thoughts. She wondered if they had been arguing about Thomas—or perhaps the bottle of wine that had lain in shards around their feet? She felt a stir of unease, recalling Matthew’s shaking hands at the Devil when he’d filled his flask. Matthew is not your father, she reminded herself. This is a place of terrible memories for him, that is all, and the others cannot understand.

“The shopkeepers have reason to keep their counsel,” said Christopher. “Nephilim raids have nearly wiped out the Market in the past.”

“Perhaps we ought to start showing people the box,” said Cordelia. “Seeing if they can say anything about the runes.”

“What about someone who deals strictly in real, powerful magical artifacts?” Lucie asked. “There’s quite a bit of junk here but also some real, expensive items. I could have sworn I saw a copy of the Red Scrolls of Magic.”

“Or what about searching for warlocks for hire?” Matthew suggested. “What about—” He pointed. “Hypatia Vex?”

“Hypatia’s here?” Lucie looked puzzled. “But how—?”