Cruel Mercy~ Matthew Fairchild {2}

Five

Amelia was just about to join the rest of The Merry Thieves in Christopher's lab when Charlotte stopped her, her lips forming a fine line. She led Amelia into her study, shutting the door behind her.

"Amelia, I know that you are incredibly close with Matthew."

"You could say that," Amelia said, situating herself on the settee.

"Then I should tell you that his name came up while we were discussing who should be on a day patrol to search the area Basil Pounceby was found."

"Aunt Charlotte, you can't let him go. He's in no condition—"

"I know," Charlotte said, rubbing her eyes. "Believe me, I know."

Amelia closed her eyes for a moment, forcing herself to remain calm. She couldn't afford to cry, not in front of the Consul. Not in front of Matthew's mother.

"I take it you know about his drinking, then?" Charlotte asked.

"I don't know how to help him," she said, her voice just above a whisper. "I'm sorry."

"You've always apologized for things you had no involvement in. Amelia, when will you learn that not everything is your fault?"

Amelia was stunned to silence. She supposed that she had always blamed herself for Matthew's situation. She'd blamed herself for not knowing sooner, for being to harsh on him, for—

Charlotte cut off her unwanted thoughts with a tight smile. "Christopher and Thomas are waiting for you in the lab."

Amelia nodded, jumping to her feet and starting towards the door.
"Amelia?"

She turned around to see Charlotte Fairchild, the Consul of the Clave, with tears in her eyes. "Take care of my son, alright?"

Amelia forced a smile. "Of course, Aunt Charlotte."

She gave her pseudo-aunt a polite nod before making her way downstairs to her Uncle Henry's lab. It had been dubbed "the dungeon" long before Amelia was even born. She couldn't say that the name didn't suit it: the stone spiral staircase to the cellar was poorly lit, leaving Amelia to fear falling every time she descended them. Moreover, the basement always smelled like rotten eggs due to the numerous experiments and test tubes sitting on the shelves.

The lab itself, however, was exceptionally lit by witchlight. In the fireplace, which had long ago stopped working, was propped a straw dummy covered in stains and tears: the victim of countless past experiments. Christopher's corner was piled with its usual research in progress and piles of books with scrawls in the margins. An alabaster statue of Raziel, upon whose nose someone had placed a pair of spectacles, looked on benignly from the mantel as Thomas, seated on a stool beside Christopher, examined something in his hands. Thomas had come to the lab earlier to help Christopher with something, but Amelia had promised to come, too.

As she drew closer, she could see that the object Thomas held was a nickel-plated handgun. Shadowhunters couldn't use firearms; weapons had to be runed to be any use against demons, but runes also prevented gunpowder from igniting.

Christopher had been long convinced that there must be some way to fix this problem, and this particular gun had been in the lab for some time; the plating was covered in runes. Christopher had never been able to make it work, regardless of his countless attempts.

"Have you made a breakthrough, Kit?" Amelia asked, gently pulling the gun from Thomas' grasp in order to get a closer look at it.

"Not quite—but I had an idea for some adjustments I could make to the revolver. After what happened to poor Basil Pounceby, I decided to set aside my message-sending project and turn my attentions back to the firearm. Think how useful it could be! If one were able to develop a runed gun that would work on demons and other creatures alike, they could be issued to everyone who goes on patrol. It could be an invaluable tool for defeating Knife Face—or whoever the killer turns out to be."