Read Online Nothing But Shadows by Cassandra Clare - Free Book Online

who is green?”
    â€œJames looks like his father,” said Matthew unexpectedly, then narrowed his laughing dark eyes in James’s direction in a musing fashion. “Or he will, when he grows into his face and it stops being angles pointing in all different directions.”
    James slowly raised his open book to hide his face, but he was secretly pleased.
    Matthew’s friendship made other friends creep forward, too. Esme cornered James and told him how sorry she was that Mike was being an idiot. She also told him that she hoped James did not take this expression of friendly concern in a romantic way.
    â€œI have rather a tendresse for Matthew Fairchild, actually,” Esme added. “Please put in a good word for me there.”
    Life was much, much better now that he had friends, but that did not mean anything was perfect, or even mended. People were still afraid of him, still hissing “Demon Eyes”and muttering about unclean shadows.
    â€œPulvis et umbra sumus,” said James once, out loud in class, after hearing too many whispers. “My father says that sometimes. We are but dust and shadows. Maybe I’m just—getting a head start on all of you.”
    Several people in the classroom were looking alarmed.
    â€œWhat did he say?” Mike Smith whispered, clearly agitated.
    â€œIt’s not a demon language, buffoon,” Matthew snapped. “It’s Latin.”
    Despite everything Matthew could do, the whispers rose and rose. James kept expecting a disaster.
    And then the demons were let loose in the woods.
    *    *    *
    â€œI’ll be partners with Christopher,” said Thomas at their next training exercise, sounding resigned.
    â€œExcellent, I will be partners with James,” said Matthew. “He reminds me of the nobility of the Shadowhunter way of life. He keeps me right. If I am parted from him I will become distracted by truth and beauty. I know I will.”
    Their teachers seemed extremely pleased that Matthew was actually participating in training courses now, aside from the courses only for the elites, in which Thomas reported that Matthew was still determined to be hopeless.
    James did not know why the teachers were so worried. It was obvious that as soon as anyone was actually in danger, Matthew would leap to their defense.
    James was glad to be so sure of that, as they walked through the woods. It was a windy day, and it seemed as if every tree was stooping down to howl in his ear, and he knew that Pyxis boxes had been placed throughout the woods by older students—Pyxis boxes with the smallest and most harmless of demons inside, but still real Pyxis boxes with real demons inside, who they were meant to fight. Pyxis boxes were a little outmoded these days, but they were still sometimes used to transport demons safely. If demons could ever be said to be safe.
    James’s aunt Ella, who he had never seen, had been killed by a demon from a Pyxis box when she was younger than James was now.
    All the trees seemed to be whispering about demons.
    But Matthew was at his side, and both of them were armed. He could trust himself to kill a small, almost powerless demon, and if he could trust himself, he could trust Matthew more.
    They waited, and walked, then waited. There was a rustle among the trees: It turned out to be a combination of wind and a single rabbit.
    â€œMaybe the upper years forgot to lay out our demon buffet,” Matthew suggested. “It is a beautiful springtime day. At such times as these, one’s thoughts are filled with love and blossoms, not demons. Who am I to judge—”
    Matthew was abruptly quiet. He clutched James’s arm, fingers tight, and James stared down at what Matthew had discovered in the heather.
    It was Clive Cartwright, Alastair’s friend. He was dead.
    His eyes were open, staring into nothing, and in one hand he was clutching an empty Pyxis box.
    James grabbed