Forget Me Not | James Herondale

05. The Same Old Way

Speaking of the situation, Almas had assumed that James' transformation episodes were entirely in his control. She knew Brother Zachariah had taught him to govern the power and knew that he'd had it under control for a period. So what had happened for the boy to lose that governance and surrender to his magic? Whatever it was, coincidence or not, Almas did not have a good feeling about it, though she refrained from voicing her feelings at the moment. She doubted stating the absolute obvious, like dear Matthew did, helped any situation at all.

"Well he's irresponsive," Matthew hissed. "Jamie! Breathe, brother," continued Matthew, both hands now on James' shoulders. "Perhaps we should slap him again?" Matthew looked at her in question, a flood of worry in his expression.

"Did they see me?" James said through gritted teeth, his face stone. "Did they see me turn?"

"No. You were at least a very little bit— a bit fuzzy around the edges—"

"It's not funny," cut off James.

"It's a bit funny," Almas murmured pursing her lips, trying her best to hide her smile from Matthew's off-putting remark.

"No, you didn't turn," Matthew continued after seeing James' unwavering expression.

"Then how did you know to come for me?"

"I felt it. That you had gone to— that place." Almas saw Matthew shudder, and she couldn't blame him. When she'd grabbed James, she'd felt it too. He was so cold as though he'd been barely rid of frost after being submerged in ice.

What scared Almas more was that she'd seen nothing. No flashes of images conjured from the very being of things and people. Visions she'd hated for so long yet grown so used to that she felt their absence like a gaping hole in her mind. It was as if this irregularity of her's had been blocked entirely, as though there was no curse inflicted upon her, as if nothing had happened in Constantinople five years ago.

Almas had felt normal, like she imagined a mundane would feel, and even had the sudden urge to deliberately shout the biggest and stupidest lie to the entire hall of people, just to see whether any wound would open on her body, whether she'd survive, whether she was back to being only a girl with no curse to remind her she'd sinned.

The only thing that had stopped her was James' cold and rigid arms and this feeling she could only name as dread that made it hard to breathe. He'd worn the same expression of shock and then terror that had graced his features back when he'd transformed for the first time. And then the terror had vanished, the shadows dancing in his pupils stopping, retreating; a blind man seeing the world for the first time. He was still eyeing her curiously. Almas didn't want him looking at her like that again. She wanted to leave, now.

The discomfort was too strong for her to solely contain it caged in her mind as it had made its escape down her limbs, her hands already prickling with apprehension. She looked around tentatively, the fear of people seeing the 'scandalous', slight proximity with James, the slight awkwardness of it all still lingering. She was relieved to find only Christopher and Anna eyeing the three curiously from the other end of the room, Anna swirling her glass, for dramatic effect, Almas supposed. Now, she was certain her "propriety in society" plan had practically gone down the drain and besides that, she was most likely intruding in James and Matthew's parabatai bonding business. "I'll leave you two to it," she said, giving a small bow of her head, hurriedly turning to wind her way towards the Lightwoods.

"You're lucky she dragged you here," she heard Matthew say. "The dance floor would not be ideal for," he waved his hands at the both, "that—"

"Most would have enjoyed the prospect."

"It's not funny."

"It's a bit funny," she heard James fire back.

"A mature gentleman, you are," called Almas, stopping to face the two, lips morphing into a strained smile. She turned to Matthew with a small wave of her hand. "Remind me to leave him on the floor next time." She was getting the hell out of this business.

Footsteps clattered behind her with an anticipated touch on the shoulder following briskly. The girl turned once again to find James towering over her, perfectly balanced as though he wasn't barely supported by a wall moments ago. She raised her eyebrows like a stern mother would after finding her child causing trouble. She really wanted to leave. His lips parted slightly as if thinking of what to say: "I apologise for—"

Almas couldn't help herself but snort. This boy was an absolute fool. "Save it for Cordelia Carstairs," she said, leaving him taken aback. "You left her unchaperoned, did you not?"

"How did you—"

"It was easy to put together. Grace being here and all that."

James eyed the place impatiently, though Almas could tell a twinge of guilt was clawing at him alright. Fools had feelings, that she could thank. "Now, if you're done holding me hostage," Almas glared at the hand on her shoulder, "I'd like to join Christopher and Anna."

In a gratifying act, James removed his hand carefully as though it didn't belong to him. He swallowed, Adam's apple shifting. Almas pulled her gaze away. "Come to the picnic tomorrow." He scanned her face anxiously. "The same old way?"

Fool. No. Nothing was the same old way, it hadn't been the same old wonderful way in a long time. It had been years since Almas had seen her friends, years since she'd come to London, hell England, and although the entire idea of it had provoked a sense of nostalgia, Almas had barely felt any because she was always so restless and so scared because it wasn't the same, she wasn't the same, it could never be— She blinked forcefully. She had been so terrified of drastic change that as if on queue, a tidal wave of it had looked for her beyond the narrow seas and struck her upon finding her. She gulped, unable to look the fool in the eye. "The same old way." It was an echo of his words rather than a confirmation. She finally looked up at him. "Get some rest, James."

The boy looked startled but only gave her a curt nod in response before Almas started to take her leave. He stopped her once again with another light hand to the shoulder. He really wanted to be forcefully removed. Almas sighed, fighting the temptation to strike him again. She peered down to find his long fingers adjusting the square collar of her dress, hands tracing the connected sleeve. It felt like forever, the act and suddenly, it ended.

A sickening scream pierced through the hall. No, nothing could be the same old way. Almas spun for the source, spotting the gathering crowd. She rushed forward without another word.

Exeunt omnes.