She dropped her airy companion to the floor in her surprise.

“Anna!” her mother called again. “Where are you?”

Anna hurried to her door and opened it just a crack.

“Here!” she said in a panic.

“Can you come down, please?”

“Of course,” Anna replied, already pulling at the ascot around her neck. “Coming!”

Anna had to step right through her fallen dancing partner in her haste. Off with the waistcoat, the trousers. Everything off, off, off. She shoved the clothes into the bottom of her wardrobe. The discarded dress was hastily put back on, her fingers fumbling on the buttons. Everything about girls’ clothing was fussy and complicated.

Several minutes later, she hurried downstairs, attempting to look composed. Her mother, Cecily Lightwood, was sifting through a stack of letters at her desk in the sitting room.

“We ran into Inquisitor Bridgestock while we were walking,” she said. “The Bridgestocks have just arrived from Idris. They’ve asked us to dine with them this evening.”

“Dinner with the Inquisitor,” Anna said. “What a thrilling way to spend an evening.”

“It is necessary,” her mother said simply. “We must go. Can you keep an eye on Christopher while we are talking? Make sure he doesn’t set anything on fire. Or anyone.”

“Yes,” Anna said automatically, “of course.”

It would be a dreadful affair. Clave business accompanied by overcooked beef. There were so many other things she could be doing on a fine summer night in London. What if she could walk the streets, finely dressed, a beautiful girl on her arm?

Someday, the lady would not be imaginary. The clothes would not be borrowed and ill-fitting. Someday she would stride down the street and women would fall at her feet (not failing to notice her perfectly polished brogues) and men would tip their hats to a lady-killer more accomplished than they.

Just not tonight.

It was still sunny when the Lightwood family got into their carriage that evening. There were costermongers out and flower sellers and bootblacks … and so many lovely girls, walking in their light summer dresses. Did they know how lovely they were? Did they look at Anna and see the way she looked at them?

Her brother Christopher bumped gently against her as they rode.

“This seems like a long route to the Institute,” he noted.

“We’re not going to the Institute,” Anna said.

“Aren’t we?”

“We’re having dinner with the Inquisitor,” her father said.

“Oh,” Christopher said. And with that, he was off in his own thoughts, as ever—inventing something in his mind, working out a calculation. In this, Anna felt close to her brother. They were both somewhere else in their minds at all times.