Nothing But Shadows Read Online Free

throat. “He’s quoting Oscar Wilde, sir.”
    Matthew glanced over at him, his dark eyes suddenly wide. “Are you a devotee of Oscar Wilde?”
    â€œHe’s a good writer,” James said coldly. “There are a lot of good writers. I read rather a lot,” he added, making it clear that he was certain Matthew did not.
    â€œGentlemen,” Ragnor Fell put in, his voice a dagger. “If you could tear yourselves away from your fascinating literary conversation for a moment and listen to one of the instructors in the establishment where you have supposedly come to learn? I have a letter here about Christopher Lightwood and the unfortunate incident that caused the Clave such concern.”
    â€œYes, that was a very unfortunate accident,” said Matthew, nodding earnestly as if he was sure of Ragnor’s sympathy.
    â€œAnd that was not the word I used, Mr. Fairchild, as I am sure you are aware. The letter says that you have volunteered to take full responsibility for Mr. Lightwood, and that you solemnly promise to keep any and all potential explosives out of his reach for the duration of his time at the Academy.”
    James looked from the warlock to Matthew to Christopher, who was regarding a tree with dreamy benevolence. In desperation, he looked to Thomas.
    Explosives? he mouthed.
    â€œDon’t ask,” said Thomas. “Please.”
    Thomas was older than James and Christopher, but much smaller. Aunt Sophie had kept him at home an extra year because he was sickly. He did not look sickly now, but he was still rather undersized. His tan, combined with his brown hair and brown eyes and his short stature, made him look like a small, worried horse chestnut. James found himself wanting to pat Thomas on the head.
    Matthew patted Thomas on the head.
    â€œMr. Fell,” he said. “Thomas. Christopher. Jamie.”
    â€œJames,” James corrected.
    â€œDo not worry,” Matthew said with immense confidence. “I mean, certainly, worry that we are trapped in an arid warrior culture with no appreciation for the truly important things in life. But do not worry about things exploding, because I will not permit anything to explode.”
    â€œThat was all you needed to say,” Ragnor Fell told him. “And you could have said it in far fewer words.”
    He walked off, in a swirl of green skin and bad temper.
    â€œHe was green!” Thomas whispered.
    â€œReally,” said Matthew, very dry.
    â€œOh, really?” asked Christopher brightly. “I didn’t notice.”
    Thomas gazed sadly at Christopher. Matthew ignored him superbly. “I rather liked the unique hue of our teacher. It reminded me of the green carnations that Oscar Wilde’s followers wear to imitate him. He had one of the actors in, um, a play of his wear a green carnation onstage.”
    â€œIt was Lady Windermere’s Fan ,” James said.
    Matthew was clearly showing off, trying to sound superior and special, and James had no time for it.
    Matthew turned The Smile on him. James was unsurprised to find he was immune to its deadly effects.
    â€œYes,” he said. “Of course. Jamie, I can see that as a fellow admirer of Oscar Wilde—”
    â€œUh,” said a voice to James’s left. “You new boys have barely been here five minutes, and all you can find to talk about is some mundane who got sent to prison for indecency?”
    â€œSo you know Oscar Wilde too, Alastair?” Matthew asked.
    James looked up at the taller, older boy. He had light hair but dark brows, strongly marked, like very judgmental black brushstrokes.
    So this was Alastair Carstairs, the brother of Lucie’s best friend, whom Father hoped James would make friends with. James had pictured someone more friendly, more like Cordelia herself.
    Perhaps Alastair would be more friendly if he did not associate James with snotty Matthew.
    â€œI know of many mundane criminals,”